They scraped my punch-drunk body off the floor and propped me against a post.
“You OK?” Someone tentatively asked. Everyone was cringing and hiding in corners. The mechanic, who’d been beaming over his superb work, was nowhere to be found.
A devil appeared on one shoulder. An angel on the other. A silent internal debate ensued.
“Kill them. Kill them all!” Grinned the devil.
“Really? Is that all you got?” I asked impatiently. What’s the point of having a dark side if he’s a moron?
“OK, fine. How about a tantrum? Scream and shout. Tell ‘em how you earned this money and you’re not gonna’ let them fuck you over like this. Tell them you coulda’ bought new and pushed this old piece of shit in a lake for damn near the same price. Seriously, you’ve earned it!” The devil was worked up. He knows I’m a cheap bastard and none too shy about it. He knows I hate blowing money on this kind of equipment.
I turned to the angel, “And your rebuttal.”
The angel was totally laid back. No uptight seething for this dude. He was wearing sunglasses. Looked like he’d just popped over from his metaphysical beach on some eternal Tahiti. He yawned. As if saving my soul was boring.
“Don’t be a pussy.” Said the angel. And poof… he was gone.
The devil and I looked at each other. “I’d sorta’ expected a more cogent argument.” Mused the devil. I nodded.
“So, you’ve been screwed by this insane bill… how shall we overreact and make a jackass out of ourselves?” He warmed to the well-used sales pitch. I’m a cheapskate and was gripping a huge bill that had caught me by surprise. He’d win this round.
I tuned out and looked at the bill. Holy shit there were a lot of parts replaced. And hours of labor. The fabrication, which is a luxury but one I savor, was only a third of the bill. The rest was parts and repair. Spindles, belts, new blades… Yeah, I needed new blades. I hadn’t asked for ‘em but I’m sure they were shot. He’d just known it was time for a replacement and taken the lead.
“…then after you bitch them out and make a big ugly scene you can stomp around and talk about a payment plan!” The devil concluded.
Only a pussy would act like that, I concluded.
I approached the desk and whipped out my checkbook.
“You fellas did a fine job. Thank you.”
Everyone let out a breath and smiled. I cut a check and handed over an amount that not too many years ago would have left me sleeping in my car. My newly repaired stuff really was nice. It was exactly what I needed. It took two trips to get it home.
Then I drank a beer. It started raining. The testing phase would have to wait.
I’m in IT. Data Security, to be specific. For a credit card brand. (No, I don’t sleep well, thanks for asking.) About the time my relatives and neighbors determined this meant I would do free repairs, upgrades, virus removal, etc… on their ancient malware-infested machines I started looking at bills from the tradesmen a little differently. Parts? I’d pay the same, maybe less but it might not be a decent part I’m buying either. The pros know what stays out of the shop for years. Supplies? Sure, I can relate. Labor? If it’s anywhere near what I charge, no worries. I can save a lot of money doing it myself, sure. Or I could pay somebody to do it properly if I’m not certain of my abilities — think about *that* next time you get a bill from the dentist!
Or I could be spending that time out earning money doing something else. Perhaps something other than cutting my knuckles in the confines of an engine compartment. Perhaps someplace warm, rather than in a -20 machine shed with my bare fingers in hydraulic oil sludge repairing the hydraulic pump on a 1948 Ferguson TE-20. Perhaps something I enjoy? Could happen.
– Max
I have total respect for tradesmen… I hold this guy in high esteem especially because he can “fabricate” instead of just “change parts”. So that’s why I try to accept a huge bill from his outfit with better humor than bills from the ten thousand other greedy hands that crawl into a man’s pockets. A tradesman earns more honestly than a bank’s “service fee” or whatnot. But it’s not something that comes naturally. I have to work at it. I’ve been pretty broke at times and I’m naturally cheap. I promised the guy I’d come back with more jobs in the future (and I will) I also thanked him a lot.
But did you say “Thank you!” in a language he could understand?
Or did you let the dude sittin’ on your left shoulder translate for you?
}:-]
I’m not one for subtlety; “Thanks man, it was expensive but you did a fuckin’ awesome job and I love it.” Is that not gushing enough?