Hey guys, CarHop here. It’s been awhile. I briefly escaped Retail Hell for Corporate Hell, but after a year realized I’d rather deal with crusties I can put a face to (and imagine punching) than faceless voices and emails from three states away. I’ve got a story or two I might share from there, but in general, the less said about it, the better. I lived, I learned, I moved on.
Luckily, my old boss needed me back and offered me a substantial raise to return. So I’m back in my little mechanic shop, and aside from sweltering in the heat and my sore feet, I’m happy as a clam. However, after being gone a year, I haven’t slipped back into my old role as gracefully as I thought. I had a little hiccup yesterday. One of the mechanics asked me to pull a car out of the bay, which is something I do often when I’m caught up on the front end or if the car is kinda small, seeing as I’m only 5’2 and two of my guys are over 6’. So I hop in this little 2010 Elantra, turn the key…nothing. Not a click, not a sound, nothing. Ok…push the brake pedal down because some cars require that and try again. Nada. At this point, I’m a bit befuddled because it had just been in for an oil change, the lights hadn’t been left on, and it had started just fine to pull it into the bay.
So I get the mechanic’s attention. Let’s call him TallBoy. I show TallBoy that the car won’t start. And he just looks at me, as Weird Al once said, the way a cow looks at an oncoming train. Now, I should preface this by explaining, this mechanic shop is tiny. Its present owner bought it from his father, who opened the place a gajillion years ago. There are a grand total of nine employees, counting myself and the owner. The head mechanic and our odd jobs guy have literally been working there longer than I’ve been alive. TallBoy has been working there in one capacity or another since he was 15. Aside from this past year, I’ve been there since 2013, so we’re basically all family. Without a word, he turns around, grabs his flashlight from his toolbox, and shines it in the car down at the floorboards at my feet.
Right by my left foot, in fact.
Right on the clutch pedal.
In my defense, it was a black pedal on a black interior in a dark blue car, our shop lights are shit, and since Mr six and a half foot TallBoy had been the one to pull the car in, I'd had so much leg room when I got in, I couldn't even reach the pedals. Of course, I have no defense for the fact the gearshift lever was CLEARLY marked like a standard.
Ah well, it's good to be home.