Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
RILEY
I’ve successfully established my authority over the garage, and I take the sour mood that follows as a badge of honor. Whether or not Jimmy, Carlos and Blade like following my rules is not my concern. As long as they do follow my rules, we won’t have a problem.
We get our first customer around ten a.m.
“Well, I’ll be. Stewart’s is open again?” A man with thick white hair in a plaid shirt pops his head into the workshop.
I’m training the mechanics on the importance of the vehicular testing checklist. When I see the customer, I stop abruptly.
“Can I help you?”
“Are you that mechanic who fixed the go-carts?”
“That’s me.”
“My car is making this weird noise when I turn the key. I need someone to look at it for me, but those gals down at The Pink Garage said they’re full.”
Remember, Riley. Good customer service dialogue.
I peer over his shoulder. “Did your vehicle come on a flat-bed or did you drive?”
“I drove here.”
“Great. Blade. Jimmy. Carlos. Come over here and bring your logbooks. I’ll walk you through the checklist for recording customer complaints.”
Blade drags his feet.
Carlos yawns.
But thankfully, Jimmy doesn’t show any outward signs of attitude—although when I subtly check the old man’s notes, he’s writing down gibberish.
Oh well. At least he has a good attitude. I can always train someone who lacks skill, but it’s near impossible to teach someone who doesn’t want to be there.
“Can you fix it?” the customer asks after we drive the car in. “Because I really need my car back.”
I draw him away from the other mechanics and toward the door. “First, we’ll do an assessment of your car. When that’s done, I’ll call you back with a list of issues and some estimated costs.”
The man scowls. “I just want you to fix my car so it doesn’t make that noise when I turn the key.”
“I understand. Like I said, we’ll call you after the assessment.”
“Fine,” he grumbles. “But I don’t want this to take long. That’s why I brought it to you.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t guarantee a timeline, especially if we have to order a part. But I assure you that we’ll be extremely thorough.”
“They said you used to work on planes.” He wags a gnarled finger. “I want my car fixed like it’s a plane and lives depend on it.”
“Then you came to the right place.”
He hands over his key and his information and then leaves.
Right away, I pass the key to Jimmy along with instructions. “Put the customer’s name on a piece of paper and tape it to the key. Then…”
“Log it down,” Jimmy mumbles.
“Exactly.”
“I’ll be logging notes in my sleep,” the old man mutters as he walks away.
“Carlos, Blade. Do a full assessment. Log all the issues you see. I’ll verify and sign off on the logbook when you’re done.”
Carlos scratches the back of his head. “That seems like a lot just for a bad starter.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “How do you know it’s a bad starter?”
“Dunno. Just sounds like it to me based on what he said.”
“Rather than guessing, we should conduct a full assessment. After inspection, we can discuss our theories based on the symptoms and come up with a detailed repair plan before presenting to the customer.”
“Complicated for no reason,” Blade whispers belligerently.
“What was that Blade?”
“Nothing.” He slips his hands into his jumper pockets and removes himself to the other side of the garage to sulk.
Unbothered, I retreat to my office where I carefully document the time the customer arrived, the car type and model, and the complaint lodged.
Rebel gave me access to The Pink Garage’s computerized maintenance records system, but at my old job, we used paper as the primary, authoritative record. So that’s what I stick to.
There’s a knock on the door while I’m writing.
I look up and find Jimmy hesitating in the doorway.
“Hey, Jimmy.”
“Boss, I put up the key nice and safe like you asked me to.”
“Thank you.” I draw a long line in the book and head the column as ‘labor tracking’. “Did you label it like I asked?”
“I did but…”
I glance up when Jimmy goes quiet. “But what?”
“Why do we have to label a key when there’s only one key?”
“Because it’s the system, Jimmy. Even if it’s only one car, we need to follow the system.”
“Right. Right.” Jimmy bobs his head, but I get the feeling he doesn’t really understand.
It’s only our first day. They’ll get into the habit of meticulous note-taking eventually.
Alone again, I jot down all the details that I need, close my book and head to the bay.
To my horror, Carlos has the hood of the truck open and he’s pulling wires out at will.
My eyes widen and I trot over. “What are you doing?”
“Fixing the starter,” Carlos says matter-of-factly. “It was exactly like I thought. Even Blade saw it.”
Blade bobs his head and sticks a toothpick in the corner of his mouth.
“You’re fixing the car without getting my sign off?”
Carlos takes a step toward me, his large body throwing mine into shadows. If I were anyone else, I’d inch back, but it’ll take a lot more than an angry face and a few steps to run me off.
I hold my ground.
Carlos faces me with a scowl. “This is how we used to do things with Stewart. A client brings a car in and we fix it.”
“Stewart isn’t running this shop anymore. We have a new system.”
“When things start picking up around here again, there won’t be no time to run to you every minute so you can sign some stupid book.” Carlos lifts the book and lets the pages flutter before it drops on the ground.
I drag a hand through my ponytail and let out a deep breath. As much as I want to rant at Carlos for not following the system, it is my job to calmly and maturely lead the team.
Besides, I don’t ever want to be accused of being an ‘emotional woman’. It’s the kiss of death in workshops like these.
Bending down, I pick up the book and smooth out the bent pages. “Put the car back the way it was.”
“But—”
“Follow the system. That’s all I need you to do.”
Carlos hurls an expletive, and I pretend that it’s not aimed at me even though it probably is.
Dropping the logbook on a nearby table with a little more force than necessary, I stomp back to the office.
Carlos and Blade take all day to do their inspection. Every time I ask, they claim they’re ‘not done’. When they go for lunch, I take a peek at their logbook and I’m relieved to find that they at least marked down a few more issues with the vehicle.
At least they’re doing their job.
I doublecheck their work and add a few notes of my own. When I’m done, I start to close the hood when I notice something weird. It’s a long strip of rubber hanging limply from the hood.
What an eyesore.
I won’t feel good handing this car back to the customer with that thing sticking out, so I jot that down in the logbook too.
During lunch, I eat a sandwich alone in my office and spend the rest of the time organizing the factory service manuals in alphabetical order. When a car needs a new part, I want to be able to quickly pull the right car manufacturer data.
All three of my mechanics wander in from lunch late. Jimmy, in particular, smells heavily of smoke. I bite my tongue. It’s been a tense day and I don’t want to sweat the small stuff.
After lunch, I walk Carlos and Blade through my findings, discuss the estimated labor for each of the issues we found and then sign the logbook.
It’s three o’clock when I take a picture of the assessment.
My finger hovers over the ‘send’ button, but then it occurs to me that this is my first official job as the manager of the shop. Maybe I should include the team in the moment.
Full of doubts that they’ll be interested, I shuffle outside.
“I’m sending the assessment over to the customer now,” I announce.
“And?” Carlos asks, giving me a sharp look from his perch on the ramp.
“Nothing. Just thought you’d want to know,” I mumble. Tail between my legs, I return to my office and send the logbook pictures for approval.
When it’s over, I lean back in my chair, spent but satisfied.
Sure, two of my three employees hate my guts.
And sure, maybe we only have one car in the bay.
But we did good work today. I hope the customer feels how seriously we take the job of making his car road-worthy again.
Just then, my phone rings.
It’s the customer.
I sit up breathlessly and run a hand down my throat. “Ah. Ah.” I warm up my vocal cords and answer in the most professional tone that’s ever been uttered. “Hello, this is Riley Carter—”
“What in hogwash bucket is this mess?”
My facial muscles freeze in place as if I’ve been injected with twenty years of Botox. “W-what?”
“I’ll report you to the police. Ya’ll are a bunch of scam artists! You want to charge me this much!”
“Sir, please calm down and let me explain.” I lean forward on the desk, blinking rapidly as I fight to remain calm. “The issues outlined are all no-go’s. Your car will always have another problem pop up if you don’t address them.”
“That little rubber thing on the hood doesn’t need to be addressed, you scammer! It wasn’t hurting nobody!”
I flinch and fight to stay calm. “All the issues don’t need to be tackled all at once. We have payment plans available. Just tell us what you’d like us to repair first and we’ll get it done to the highest quality.”
“So now you’re telling me that I can’t get my car back until you fix every little thing on it?”
“Sir—”
“You must think I was born two minutes past yesterday. I’m coming down there and getting my car back. Don’t you dare touch it.”
Desperate to salvage this, I blurt, “If you feel that strongly, we can prioritize the list—”
Click.
He hung up.