I got a call some years ago from the used car manager of a large car dealership that was well out of my service area. I’d known the man for many years, having serviced his account when he was here in Houston. Art explained that he’d fired one of his salesmen and on the way off the car lot shouted, “If I can’t sell cars here then nobody else can either!”, as he took off running with a box containing the keys to every car on the front line. I’d known Art long enough to visualize his reaction; in his earlier years that would have been one heck of a foot race followed by a knock down drag out scuffle.
Art asked if I’d consider driving a few extra miles seeing as how he was in a real bind; explaining how the local locksmith wasn’t up to the task of doing so many cars all at once. I begged off at first; not wanting to drive quite so far, taking me away from my regular service area and being out of pocket for my regular customers. Art pleaded and finally twisted my arm to where I agreed to help him out.
“What kind of discount are you gonna’ give me since there are so many cars involved?” I really didn’t want the job to begin with, wondering if it might cost me one of my regular accounts while I was so far away and couldn’t respond in a timely fashion. The fired salesman had taken the keys to fifteen front line cars; Art’s voice was stressed as the veins in his neck constricted his vocal chords, I could visualize his hands wringing the phone as he swore, “I’d ‘ave shot the no good son of a “%@$%!” if I’d had my pistol handy!!”
“Art, your discount is that I’m coming.” I went on to explain how I was gambling I could hold off any calls from my regular customers and keep a lid on things until the next day.
“Well, alright, come on then!” Art was between a rock and a hard place and had sense enough to know it. I drove the distance wondering what I’d be up against; what kind of cars and the level of difficulty associated with each. Normally when a call for service comes in I can picture in my mind how I’m going to complete the job; this would be a little more involved.
I walked down the line of cars making a mental note of which cars would be the toughest challenges as the angle of the sun forced me to decide the order I would attack and conquer. I started with the foreign cars and was able to finish them all before dark; the rest I could do under the lights. This was before the advent of transponder keys keeping things fairly simple by today’s standards.
I finished up a couple of hours later and handed Art the bill; making sure he hadn’t found his pistol as a precaution, anger sometimes being directed at the messenger. Art let out with a string of insults implying that I’d taken advantage of the situation while checking around one last time to see if the rotten no good son of a “%@$%!” might be still be close enough to get a shot off and save some other car dealership the trouble.
John Kimble, one of my locksmith friends, gave me a chance to help out on a similar situation several years later. Some fool of a thief walked off with an entire key board, several rows of a large used car lot, many with transponder technology. I happened to be sick with the flu bug and really didn’t want to get out; but the idea of starting out the year with a huge check prevailed. The weather was ugly by Houston’s standard, cold and damp with a mild breeze; January.
John pointed to a row of cars and trucks, mostly newer Fords and asked if I’d start at one end and do as many as I could. Are you familiar with the line, “Oh, please, don’t throw me in the briar patch.”?
I had two programming computers and they were both going as I worked my way down the line, staggering the start times so I’d be able to program each car without interruption. I still felt like last weeks warmed over stale muffins, my nose running the whole time and wondering what kind of fool I must be working myself into an early grave as a light rain fell.
I ended up doing one entire row of cars and half of another that afternoon before my body told me it was time to get back into bed; “I was feeling poorly” would be an understatement as I begged off and went home. John had enlisted the help of some other locksmith; more of a locksmith “wanna-be”, as I noticed that I’d completed fifteen or so vehicles and the other fellow had just started his third. Why couldn’t that call for assistance have come in when my body was up to the challenge; that would have been some kind of start to the year, not that I wasn’t grateful as it was.
When someone asks me who my friends are I like to explain that I have a few close ones; but that my best friends are confused or disorganized used car salesmen who can’t remember where they put keys, topped only by those who just got fired and are determined to make a statement as they hurriedly leave the ranks of employment carrying as many keys as they can. “Oh, please, don’t throw me in the briar patch!”
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