Some Fatherly Advice              
               Gonzo 2010

       Before my father passed away we spent several
years under the hood of cars working together at my
shop.  He was an old school repair guy.  Always looking
out for the customer, and wanting to do that little bit
extra for them.  You know, adjust that crooked license
plate, grease the door hinges before they pulled away
from the shop, that kind of thing.

        I usually did the diagnostic work, and he would
stick with the mechanical repairs.  But most of the time
his favorite thing to do was to entertain the customer
while I figured out the problem.  The one thing that
would give him fits was the way a customer would react
after I diagnosed the problem, especially if I diagnosed
it quickly.  A quick diagnostic might be fine for some
people, but others it was more of a matter of pride
that their “regular” mechanic hadn’t found it so quickly,
or that the customer themselves didn’t find it so easily. 
It didn’t set well with them.  I got the impression that a
quick diagnosis led to some sort of mistrust with my abilities, or that I didn’t thoroughly examine the problem to their satisfaction.  A lot of times it had more to do with the previous technician taking so much time and not coming up with an answer, so they think it can’t be that simple.

  Dad had his own answer for it.  He was going to get one of those aluminum foil fire suits, a couple of tall curtains on moveable stands, a disco ball, and some strobe lights.   His idea was to pull the car into this “special” diagnostic area turn on the strobe lights and hang the disco ball over the car.  Stick the suit on and make some comment like, “I’m going in…” and then let the light show begin.  After a few minutes, come out from behind the curtain wall, whip off the aluminum fire suit hood and say something like, “Whoo that was a tough one.”   Maybe then, these types of people would be more likely to believe the results of a quick diagnosis. 

  We never tried it, but I think about doing it from time to time.  With the advent of the scanners to read and show detailed parameters diagnosing has taken on a whole new approach. A lot of problems are a matter of following the diagnostic tree correctly to get to the source of the problem. (Codes don’t fix cars… codes are the starting point) Sometimes it’s a quick trip on the diagnostic ladder, and other times it’s quite lengthy.   It really depends on the problem, of course.

Trying to be quick and on the right track with every diagnosis is what makes the money in the shop. Stalling the results just for the sake of making it look like it was an extensive search to find the problem doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.  Then on the other hand, I sometimes believe this is one of the many reasons why a doctor has you wait so long for his 10 minutes of time.  Even though he may have walked into the exam room, looked at the chart, took some quick looks at you, and back out of the exam room in less than 10 minutes, I’ll guarantee his bill isn’t going to show a 10 minute charge on it.  But, in my business, time is money… and most customers are watching the clock. 

  Back in the days when my father and I worked together, he came across an old Bosch injector tester for the early K and L injection systems.  The old tester was done for.  Not only was it dated, it had several missing connectors and the information booklet didn’t come with it.  I took it apart and rewired it as a large volt meter, with a lighted buzzer attached to a separate set of wires.  We then rigged up a swinging arm mounted to the wall out of PVC pipe.  The pipe contained the wires to the tester that we mounted on the wall.  It was more for decoration than usable, but it was kinda cool in its own funky way. 

  Anytime we got one of those “lookylews” (one of my dad’s favorite words), you know the type, the kind that has to hover over the hood while you’re working on it.  Dad would motion to me to wire up the buzzer to the battery, and use it as a way to find the draw or short in the car.  His job was to entertain, while I looked for the problem.  Most of the time, I’d study the wiring diagrams, determine the most likely spot for the problem, and find the solution.  As I would get close to the problem I would intentionally ground out the buzzer on the wall, and it would make a horrible noise.  Dad would make a comment to the customer as to what was going on. His old school charm was what made the difference.  At times this whole thing would get quite humorous.  I’d be lying under the dash zapping the buzzer and good old dad would be working his magic with his broad smile, and his quirky sense of humor. 

  These days the electronic scanners have somewhat evened the playing field.  To some degree the abilities of a good tech are now wrapped up in a good quality diagnostic machine.  But it still takes a good tech to understand it, and evaluate the information he/she sees on the screen. 

  I still try to diagnose things as fast and accurately as I can.  I don’t have the old buzzer, or my dad’s inventive conversations with the customers to help me with the diagnostics.  It’s a memory I’ll never forget.  But, I’ll always keep in mind some of those lessons from my father… “Take your time son, you’re good… but they (the customer) don’t know how good you are… so you’ll have to prove it to them each and every time.”  

        Old school wisdom is still important, and fatherly advice is some of the best.