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Camaro owner records mechanics abusing car


dune_rat
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When I was 17, I worked as a service porter at a Ford dealer in Glendale, AZ. Early one Saturday morning, I went to move a Cobra that was in the service drive out to the parking lot. It was the first time I had driven a Cobra, but I had driven plenty of GT's and even a couple of the Panoz roadsters the dealer carried. We were in a rush because the drive was full and the line was going out to the street so without thinking much about it, I must of "stabbed" the throttle a little more than I thought I would. Now mind you, I was probably wearing work boots that weighed more than my whole leg (I was a lanky kid) with a couple layers of socks so that my feet weren't swimming in them, so I didn't exactly have a whole lotta "throttle feel". Hey, I was driving Fords. It's not like I needed to worry about smooth throttle application.

Needless to say, this stupid thing TOOK OFF. Nice and loud in the enclosed service drive too. I was scared shitless, so I didn't get out of it right away. Come to think of it, I probably made a decent rolling-start 1/8 mile pass...

Anyway, once I parked it, I sat in it for a second contemplating my fate. I was holding the handheld radio we all carried waiting for someone to start yelling at me. I was shaking so hard from the adrenaline that I might have loosened a filling or two. After about 15 seconds that felt like 15 minutes, I decided to march my a$$ back to work. As scared as I was, I was always taught to take responsibility like a man. I wasn't gonna hide, but I wasn't happy about making an a$$ of myself like that.

This would probably be a good time to describe the owner of said Cobra. This car had, maybe, 5000 miles on it. I don't remember reading the odometer, but I do remember that the sum beetch was CLEAN. It couldn't possibly have more miles than that. It was red on tan and SPOTLESS. The chrome wheels had a shine so deep that I think I saw mermaids swimming in them. Yep, a VERY proud owner. I should have known that a gentleman like him would be standing there in the drive nervously watching his baby being moved by a lanky teenager.

As I trudged back toward the drive, I notice that the owner of the car and the service manager are both standing there, hands on hips, staring right at me so intensely that I'm pretty sure that I felt my nads crawl up and nest themselves in my throat.

I should explain that I had never met the service manager. I got the job because a buddy of mine, who worked at the technical school I went to and was in charge of the porters, vouched for me. I had only ever seen the manager through the window of his office. He was the kinda guy that was so busy running the behemoth of a service department, that if you found yourself in his office, you had better be right with your God. I was a good employee, but not good enough that he would have known who I was because I was a crucial employee. He knew who I was because I was dating his daughter. His ONLY daughter. His princess. The apple in his eye. Through her, and through stories legends, I knew two things about this man: He didn't play around and he was an avid gun collector (in AZ, mind you). Apparently I was a little cavalier about who I dated.

So there I was, walking toward my imminent fate. I ran through in my head what I would have to turn in: badge, keys, radio, my nut#####, etc. It felt like forever to get there. I could see a couple of the service writers looking at me the same way people look at a cat toying with an injured mouse. They didn't exactly feel sorry for me, but they were gonna hate watching me get gutted.

When I finally arrived to where they were standing, all I could do was stare at their shoes. I'm about 6'1", and each of them were all of 5'8", but I felt like they were TOWERING over me. Instead of absolutely tearing my head off, I just heard one thing: "Well?" I couldn't even tell who said it because I had never heard either of their voices. Didn't matter though. I raised my head, looked straight in the Cobra owner's eyes (which looked like what I imagine is EXACTLY like looking into the depths of Hades), and said: "I'm sorry. I screwed up. I had NO idea your car was that powerful. I apologize for any damage and I promise to use my last check to pay for it." (my paychecks could barely feed me, so giving up one of my checks was akin to offering my very life).

They didn't say anything at first, which was its own special kind of torture, but I could tell that Cobra Man's blood pressure was coming down. How could you be pissed at a sincerely stupid kid, right? Amazingly, all he said was "Be careful next time" The service manager told me to go sit in the locker room until he could talk to me.

I had NO idea what just happened. Walking over to the locker room, I was pretty sure I still had all my body parts attached, and nobody had so much as raised their voice.

I must have waited 30 minutes for someone to tell me to head to the manager's office. Just when I couldn't take it anymore, my buddy (yeah, the one who vouched for me) walks in, tosses me some keys and says: " I don't know how the fak you still have a job, but c'mon we got cars to move."

I learned some valuable lessons that day. Fords are louder than they are fast (I would have surely died if I let a Chevy get away from me :P ), and chicks dig when you piss off their dad and get away with it...

I guess it was probably OK that the car's owner was pretty understanding too...

Sorry for writing a novel, but this thread reminded me of the story.

Edited by rushjunkie
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yah, great post eddy! That's frickin awesome.

Quite a bit different character you had though, than these two jerks. They were malicous and even manipulative trying to cover their tracks...This is just another reason I don't trust anyone who works at the dealership service department :stirthepot::P

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