AI can still remember the last time I was in the principal’s office. Mr. Blightmeyer wasn’t a happy camper.
“Slim Shambles!” he thundered, pounding his fist on the desk. “Whatever possessed you to tamper with the performance curve on my distributor? I’ll have you know I almost ran over Miss Purdy at the school crosswalk. I’m not used to that much power!”
I sank lower in the hard-backed wooden chair. “S-sorry, Mr. Blightmeyer, but my shop teacher said you wanted a tune-up and I thought that…”
“Thought? Young man, I doubt you’re capable of such a thing!” He glowered at me. “And the worst part is this ridiculous invoice.” He waved a crumpled sheet of paper. “Do you realize that high performance parts cost twice as much as stock ones? I’m just a poor educator. Do you think I’m made of money?”
I managed to escape Mr. Blightmeyer’s office with my diploma intact, but I learned a valuable lesson that day. When it comes to automobile maintenance, academics are some of the cheapest customers on the planet, second only to real estate agents.
Today I was standing behind my service counter listening to Principal Marty Gumby lecture me on the relative merits of proper diagnostic techniques. I’d just presented him with a bill and he wasn’t buying it. I shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Look, Marty, you saw for yourself how worn out those old parts were. They really needed replacing!”
Principal Gumby waggled a stern finger in my direction. “Tsk, tsk, Slim. Worn out they may have been, but they were not the real cause of my vehicular malaise. I don’t mind paying for that last item on the bill, but the rest, well…” He spread his hands out plaintively. “Really, it’s the principle of the thing.”
Marty’s 1999 Dodge Dakota pickup had arrived on our doorstep just yesterday, but the malaise he referred to really began five years earlier. That’s when we’d advised him that the tired little truck was badly in need of a tune-up. No, he said, he was going to sell the truck, so why waste time and money on maintenance that somebody else could do.
The only trouble was he never sold the truck. Now five years later, it was stalling on low speed corners.
“An’ I ain’t surprised, neither,” said Tooner when the principal had left. He wiped his greasy hands on a rag. “I can’t believe this rattletrap runs at all.”
“Oh? You mean you’ve found the problem?”
“It’s obvious.” Tooner pointed to the idle speed control assembly. “There’s more carbon buildup in there than on a Jurassic Park dinosaur bone!”
Beanie shoved a spark plug under my nose. “Talk about getting your money’s worth – these plugs have wear grooves in the porcelain!”
Even Basil was arguing the case. “According to these maintenance records, Slim, Principal Gumby has done nothing but oil changes for the last 60,000 miles.” He adjusted his reading glasses. “And you know the cardinal rule: Always start with the basics. I’m sure some proper maintenance will solve our local educator’s vehicular problems.”
It made sense. We had misfire codes on cylinders 2 and 6; the distributor cap was a maze of carbon tracking and corroded terminals. Even the ignition wires were throwing sparks everywhere. I picked up an old spark plug and studied it – the gap was large enough to drive a truck through.
“Okay, let’s go to it. Marty’s not going to like it, but…”
The boys attacked the little truck with noisy enthusiasm. Dirty filters flew into the garbage, fuel system cleaning machines got hooked up, and Marty’s truck got poked and prodded in nooks and crannies that hadn’t seen daylight for years.
But when it came time for afternoon coffee break, things were quiet – too quiet.
“Nice weather we’re having,” I ventured. Basil buried his nose in the newspaper – the one he’d already read twice.
I paged through a flyer. “Hey, Big Stan is having a tool sale…his truck should be pulling in any time soon.” Tooner grunted and stirred his coffee.
I picked up the coffee pot. “Seconds, anyone?”
“Sure! I’ll have some!” Beanie thrust out his mug, a sure sign something was up – nobody has seconds of my coffee of their own free will. I put down the carafe.
“Okay, what’s wrong?”
Basil sighed and lowered the paper. “It would appear that our initial diagnosis of Principal Gumby’s Dakota was a tad off the mark.”
“Meaning…?”
“Meaning our tune-up didn’t fix the stalling problem,” growled Tooner.
“But all the engine codes are gone,” offered Beanie. “So at least the CEL light is out.”
At least the CEL light is out? I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is there another light that isn’t out?”
Beanie winced. “Yeah, the ABS light is on steady. It says we’ve got a bad rear diff sensor, but that shouldn’t…”
I held up my hand. “Just a minute…don’t these Dakotas use the rear differential sensor to run the speedometer?”
Basil looked pained. “Yes, and before you ask – no, the speedometer wasn’t working. We discovered that on our road test.”
“How interesting.” I folded my arms. “This truck has a standard transmission, so when you push in the clutch at slower speeds, the computer will momentarily raise the idle to keep it from stalling. But if there’s no speedometer signal, then…”
Basil sighed. “You can desist with the lecture, Slim. We get the point. We’ve already installed a new diff sensor and that has solved the stalling problem.”
“Yeah,” said Beanie. “We just didn’t know how to tell you.”
Telling me was not the real problem; explaining it all to Principal Gumby was. And that takes us back to the beginning of this story.
I looked over the work order again as my customer droned on about the principles of problem solving. According to him, doing a bunch of work that the truck really needed was not exactly the same as doing extra credit work in high school – especially when it involved tapping into his wallet.
Our mistake was obvious. Starting with the basics is a good business practice, but only if you’ve educated your customer first.
It’s just like the old days, I thought, remembering Mr. Blightmeyer’s high performance upgrade. You might be trying to improve things, but all you’ll get is a failing grade.
