“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 ismyjob 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.
