The Game

Working as a mechanic at different car dealerships has been interesting, both good and bad. There are rewards and punishments, both deserved and undeserved. The rewards are steady work, good pay, and good working conditions. One punishment is having to do warranty work where you get paid by the factory time—which is never enough. And then there’s the issue of boredom.

I worked at Aston Martin, Chrysler, Ferrari, Lamborghini, Lotus, Mercedes- Benz, Peugeot, Rolls-Royce, Saab, Toyota, and Volkswagen dealerships. There were many good times. Oh, the exhilarated feeling of the g-force on my body when test driving a Ferrari or Lambo. The brisk feel of taking a corner at high speeds, the spit wanting to fly out of your mouth sideways. And the pompous air from cruising along in a Rolls-Royce, sitting in the company of all that burl-wood interior.

Being a dealer tech has also doled out some of the most trying times in my career as a mechanic. It hasn’t been so rosy either. By far, the biggest downside of being a dealership tech is boredom. Big time boredom. Routine services, day after day, week after week. B-o-r-i-n-g! Of all the dealerships, working at the Mercedes dealership in Palo Alto made me almost lose my sanity due to boredom.

Einstein said when you keep doing the same thing over and over again, and expect different results, you’re insane. Well, I’m here to tell you that I went insane at that place. Day after day, week after week, doing the same routine service on the exact same types of cars. I really lost my marbles.

I had to invent a game in order to keep from totally losing it. I mean, I wanted to run screaming out the door and into the street! So I invented this game that I would play with myself. No one else knew about it. My game was a memory testing game. Here’s how it worked:

I would roll my Hazet service cart up to my toolbox and load up all of the tools that I would need, in order to carry our a certain type of service. The game was to see if I picked up every tool needed. I would take away points for each additional trip that I had to take back to my toolbox to retrieve a tool that I had forgotten to pick up. In order to win the game, I would have to complete the service, and not have to go back after a single tool.

In a way, this was a great distraction and provided enough of a mental challenge that helped keep me from going bonkers. 

Being a typical Mercedes-Benz dealership, we offered a number of factory services, the most common being a “C” service—which was basically a lube-oil-filter service. And this was the easiest service because you only needed a few tools to carry it out. But a major service, like an “E” service was much more involved, and required a whole host of tools. The biggest part was a valve adjustment. It also included a power steering fluid and filter service, along with a host of other operations.

The Germans are known for their efficiency. The owner of that dealership was very true to form in that manner. I like to be efficient too, and my “getting all the tools” game made me even more efficient than anyone else. And that didn’t go unnoticed by the owner either. My productivity report was consistently the highest in the dealership, primarily because I completed the job with less effort. My tool game saved me countless trips back and forth between the car and my toolbox.

And to fight boredom and looming insanity, I worked my method so I would carry out all the service operations on one side of the car before I went over to take care of the other side. I imagined myself a robot that only moved as necessary. I tried to make no unneeded motions. Each job operation was carried out with absolute determination and precision. And when I was done, every step had been executed exactly in order, every tool needed was within easy reach, and I was standing on the correct side of the car to complete the particular operation required.

For one thing, the owner could also see how efficient I was by the number of cars I was able to service. And by being so efficient, I was able to crank out more cars than anyone else at the dealership. This meant the dollar amount I produced outpaced even the 22-year veteran employee, which made me into a valuable worker. But it didn’t come without its drawbacks either. For one thing, it made me unpopular because I was businesslike and unsociable. I didn’t jabber with my co-workers much, and concentrated only on what I was doing.

I had to. If I engaged in social conversation with another mechanic, I would lose my train of thought and forget a step or miss a tool. Then I would have to go back to the other side of the car or raise the car a second time in order finish something I neglected to do the first time. Or I would have to go back to my toolbox to retrieve another tool. So, in order to keep my concentration, I didn’t talk.

Mind you, this was a union shop. We were paid a salary, and there wasn’t any incentive to work quickly. We got paid the same, regardless of our productivity. “Just stay busy” was the rule of the day. And if you walk back and forth between the car and your toolbox twenty times, that’s ok—because you still look busy. And for everyone else in the shop, that’s what they did.

But not me. I was different. I was fighting boredom and was busy engaged in my own game. And being more productive for it made me feel good about myself at the end of the day. Otherwise I would become insane, doing the same things over and over again.

Unbeknownst to me, I had earned the owner’s regard for my salient efforts. But, this didn’t make Steve, the service manager very happy. He was best buddies with Chan, the shop foreman. My fastidiousness made them feel threatened somehow, and they were suspicious of my work. They must have figured that I wasn’t doing my job correctly. Maybe because I finished doing each service so quickly. I was beating the allocated factory time by half!

I remember what happened one day when I was parking a car I had just finished servicing. I saw Chan under the hood of a car that I worked on earlier that day. I walked close enough to see that he was re-checking the valve adjustment I had already completed as part of the service.

“He was checking on my work to see if I did it correctly!” I thought to myself as I saw what he was doing. “He doesn’t trust me!” I thought, feeling both angry and insulted. Warily, I walked up to Chan and said, “Everything OK?” He smiled and said, “Sure. Fine. Just fine. Maybe just a little tight, but no problem.” And after that I never heard another word about it.   

Then there was that one morning I’ll never forget. The one that haunts me still, and will no doubt haunt me for the rest of my life. A day that I wish I could erase, that I could cut from the script, that could be edited out of this movie I call my life. Everyone has some skeletons in the closet. This is mine.

That day started out just like any other day. My in-box contained the usual assortment of repair orders. And as usual, they were routine services. Chan got all the interesting work. The rest of us lackeys got the same old routine stuff. The first one was a “C” service with the words, “Customer wait” highlighted on it. Because of my efficiency, I usually wound up with the “customer wait” jobs because I was able to complete them so quickly.

I sipped my coffee while I stood next to the 300D, waiting for the oil to drain. Before I raised the car, I had already unbolted the oil filter canister top and lifted up on the huge filter. I did this to break the filter’s lower seal in the container, so the oil hung up in the canister could drain out. This was done before I raised the car, so that by the time the oil had drained from the pan, the filter and canister would be empty too.

By doing this operation first, the filter wouldn’t leave a trail of nasty oil drips as I carried it from the canister to the drain pan. Less drips, less cleanup, less wasted time. And you don’t even want to think about how nasty dirty diesel oil is to try and clean up! One drop on a customer’s finish could cause a major uproar. You’ll pay hell trying to get it off the shiny painted fender, and not leave incriminating evidence behind.

Clean, clean, clean! It must be kept clean. The car must be spotless when you’re done. You can’t leave any evidence of your work. No smudges, no fingerprints, no tracking marks. Our uniforms had to be clean, our shoes grease-free and our work area spotless—including floors that were clean enough to eat from. And one unintended oil drip on a shiny Mercedes fender could result in a wasted twenty minutes in removing it from the paint including wax and polishing. And even then, you may still catch hell if the owner could see any evidence of your cleanup.

For this reason we always had fender covers draped over the entire work area, and faced dismissal if we didn’t. And if some oil or grease got on your uniform, we were to change into a fresh uniform immediately. We had to look good at all times. After all, a customer might want to inspect the shop and see how we looked! Shoes shined, uniforms clean, hair combed, floor spick-and-span. Boring!

While the oil drained out, I would do the services under the car. Inspect the hoses, water pump, motor mounts, driveshaft couplings, tires, brake pads, and exhaust system. Suddenly, as I turned around I almost ran over the customer! There he was, standing right in my face. And even worse, he started chatting incessantly, like there’s no tomorrow.

By now you’ve probably heard someone say how insurance regulations prevent customers from going into the work area. Well, at this dealership, that wasn’t true. There were certain customers who were allowed to wander wherever they wanted. Either they knew the owner, or the service manager—and were considered “privileged customers”.

Certain people were allowed to walk into the service bay and hang out with us while their car was serviced. Usually, they hung out with Chan. I had never had anyone come into my bay. But on this particular morning this customer was there standing next to me under the car and annoying me.

At first, I was amused and entertained by this break in my routine. I didn’t see it as a threat, as I should have, and listened politely as he jabbered away. But, I had suffered so much from boredom, I looked at him as a sort of reprieve. It was just like Einstein said. I was looking for a diversion to change things. And because of it, I made a terrible mistake. Instead of politely asking him to excuse me while I finished his car, I listened to him. I let him distract my attention.

Soon, his incessant jabber became more annoying. It was as if he had saved up all of his questions for years, and was pouring them out machine-gun style. He was asking me “Would you check this?” and “What about that? Why are you doing that? What does that mean? It that good or bad?” On and on he went. His mouth never stopped.

It was like he had diarrhea of the mouth, he just couldn't stop talking. And unbeknown to me, my attention was being sidetracked. His incessant questioning demanded my attention. It became so irritating that I wanted to tell him to shut up.

To make matters even worse, he kept standing very close to me. Now that really gave me the heebie-jeebies! Every time I turned there he was in my way. I had to walk around him to get at the various things I needed to do. He reminded me of a overly-friendly puppy that’s always in the way—right underfoot. He was a pest and I couldn't wait to finish so I could get away from him.

But! Since he was a privileged character, I didn’t want to treat him with disrespect. After all, he may be the president of some local big company, or a personal friend of the owner. “Stow your anger. Kids gloves. Treat customer with kids gloves. Just get finished and he’ll be out of your hair,” I thought to myself.

Finally the service was completed and I would be rid of my pest. Ironically, I couldn’t wait to return to my private and boring routine. Next, I took it for a short test drive around the block, as was the dealership policy. Then all hell broke loose. I was barely a block away from the shop when the engine began making a knocking sound that grew in intensity.

This was a sound unlike the usual diesel clackety-clack. It was much lower and deeper. Then the red oil pressure light winked on and I suddenly realized what I had done. I was hearing the rod bearings. They were making that noise because there was no oil pressure.

I had been in such a hurry to get away from the irritating customer that I forgot to put oil back into the engine! The jabbering customer had broken my routine. I had become distracted. The customer’s battery of questions and jabber had not only distracted me, but caused me to rush. And I forget the most crucial step—to refill the oil! Now I was in big trouble—and would probably lose my job because of it!

With my head bowed, I sat in the service managers office waiting for the dealership owner to arrive. Then, when he came into the room, I pleaded with him to let me keep my job. I offered to repay the dealership for the ruined motor and to install it without pay. With an expectant wife, this would have been a very bad time to be without a job! 

Well, everything turned out okay. I was so well liked by the dealership because of my work habits, I was allowed to keep my job. The owner of the car got a new engine, and I never saw him again. I agreed to pay back the dealership for the ruined engine, which I did by working overtime after hours, off the clock. It took me over a month to earn enough to pay for my mistake. A mistake I should have never have made. A mistake I’ll never forget!

The lessons to be learned from this nightmare are:

If you’re a shop owner, don’t let your mechanics be distracted while they work.

If you’re a mechanic, remember that one break in your train of thought can result in a big mistake.

Even minor distractions can cause disastrous results.

Mechanical repair involves a process of many small steps. Concentration is needed to keep from leaving out even one step.

Develop a routine that had double-checks for critical service operations. For example, pull out the dipstick and leave it sticking out until you’ve refilled the oil. That way, if you forget, you’ll (hopefully) see the dipstick hanging out before you close the hood.