All kinds of horrible, ear-corrupting sounds can originate from a typical service bay – everything from squeaky customers to seized tensioner pulleys – but the sudden phonic assault emanating from the parts room last week caught me by surprise.
I poked my head through the doorway. “Everything alright in here?”
Tooner logged off the shop computer and pushed back his chair. “Sorry, boss…just practicin’ my Japanese.”
“That didn’t sound like ‘konichiwa’ to me.” I glanced over my shoulder at the car in his bay. “Having import troubles?”
“You said it. That Toyota is throwing ghost codes, an’ it’s driving me nuts.”
Across the shop, the 2005 Corolla with a 1.8L engine just sat there with its hood up, trying to look innocent. “What’s the story?” I asked.
Tooner sighed. “The owner says it runs fine, but it keeps setting a repair code – P0171, fuel system lean.”
“And?”
“And nothin’. It runs smoother than a rickshaw on rails. The sensors all read within parameters and the fuel trims never go above 8.” He removed his cap and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “If this thing’s running lean, I’ll east sushi for a week.”
For a red meat and potatoes guy like Tooner, that was a serious threat. “Sounds like an air leak of some sort,” I suggested. “How are the intake gaskets?”
Tooner shrugged. “I’ve tried sniffin’ the intake with propane – no sign of a leak anywhere.” He pointed at the computer screen. “I’ve been searchin’ for service bulletins, but so far…”
We were interrupted by Quigley, our service writer, who informed us that Hank Brink was out front. Hank was the local business enforcement officer, an individual not exactly loved by the business community. I followed Quigley into the front office.
“Morning, Hank,” I said, more cheerfully than I felt. “What drags you…er, brings you out to this end of town?”
Hank was scribbling in his notebook – not a good sign. “Checking business licenses, Slim. It’s that time of year again.” He glanced around our office walls with a wicked smile. “Funny – for some reason I don’t see yours.”
I scanned the walls quickly. “But – but I paid for one! In fact, you took my check and stamped the license yourself last week, right there at the counter in city hall!”
Hank blinked innocently. “Well, maybe I did and maybe I didn’t. The point is, it ain’t on display, and that’s a $100 fine!” He ripped the ticket off his pad with a flourish. “Here’s your autographed copy.”
“Now wait a minute,” I protested. “I’ve just misplaced it somewhere. At least give me a chance to find it.”
Hank frowned. “Well, seeing how my truck is in for an oil change…” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll give you until 2 o’clock today. If that license ain’t on the wall when I come to pick up my vehicle…” The threat lingered in the air as he left.
I quickly turned on Quigley. “What gives?! Where’d you put that license when I came back from city hall?”
Quigley reeled back in surprise. “Hey, I don’t remember! Maybe I filed it by mistake when I put away some invoices.”
I went over to the filing cabinet and started hauling out folders. “Well, start looking. Someone’s gonna lose $100 if we don’t find it soon – and it sure won’t be me!”
But the license wasn’t in the filing cabinet. When lunchtime came around, I informed the crew that we needed their help to search the building.
“Count me out,” grumbled Tooner. “I got my own filing problems. I put a request out on the repair forums ’bout that Toyota, and 16 guys replied – somethin’ about a service bulletin on the plastic intake manifold not sealing well, ’specially in cold weather.”
“So what’s the problem?” I snapped. “Find the bulletin and fix the car. It can’t be that hard!”
Tooner glared back at me. “I tryin’! I’ve searched our entire repair database, and the bulletin just ain’t there!”
I groaned. There are days when I wonder why I’d always wanted my own business.
After lunch, we searched high and searched low, but couldn’t find a trace of the missing business license.
Finally, Basil put down the magazines that he’d been flipping through, just in case the license had been used as a bookmark. “Let’s go over this again, Quigley. What did you do when Slim came in and handed you the business license?”
Quigley threw up his hands. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! I don’t even remember him handing it to me!”
Basil raised an eyebrow and looked at me. “Slim, are you sure…?”
“Of course I‘m sure!” I counted the steps out on my fingers. “I went down to city hall, I paid the license fee, I put the license inside the check book, and then I… I…” I stopped. “Uh, excuse me for a minute.”
I went out to my truck, got the checkbook out of the glove box and opened it up. There was the license – right where I’d left it.
Things were pretty tense at coffee time when Tooner dragged himself into the lunchroom. “Finally!” he groaned. “One of the guys on the forum faxed me a copy of the service bulletin. The new gaskets are ordered and on the way.” He paused. “Hey, why’s everyone so quiet?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I said casually. “Say, did you ever find out why you couldn’t pull up that TSB on our database?”
“Yep.” Tooner took a long swig of his coffee. “Turns out the TSB was filed wrong. They originally posted it in the ‘New TSBs’ section three years ago, and then later forgot to move it into the engine and power train management sections – which was where I’d been looking.”
Basil sighed. “It sounds to me like proper filing procedures would be helpful in more ways than one, eh Slim?” He shot me a stern look as he reached for one of the donuts I’d brought in as a peace offering. “At least you managed to avoid Hank’s $100 fine.”
“Well…not exactly.” I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “When Hank came to get his truck, he was a little choked because he couldn’t fine me, so…”
“Let me guess,” Quigley interjected disgustedly. “To keep on his good side, you gave him the oil change and tire swap for free. Am I right?” He snorted. “That invoice was worth a hundred bucks!”
I wearily rubbed my aching forehead. Like I said, there are days…
Rick Cogbill, a freelance writer and former shop owner in Summerland, B.C., has written The Car Side for a variety of trade magazines for the past 14 years. “A Fine Day for a Drive,” his first book based on the characters from this column, is now available for order at thecarside.com. A collection of his past The Car Side columns is also available at that website.
