Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Johnny Rumble:
Busted Bumper

Theres a Merc S600 Lorinser sitting in the shop right now, the bumper is broken, busted by us, the employees of The Company, broken on a piece of curbing, it was sitting to low when we backed it up.  Broke the lower valence, a some of the Slot A into Tab B connectors.  The paint got chipped, and it's Jet Merc Black.

We'd already broken a center cap, replacement cost: $180.

This is probably going to cost around $4000 to fix all told.  New front aero, new matched paint, install, all that shit.  I got thinking about it though, started to poke in and around, shining my new $150 flashlight into places and all the training I had in bodywork started to flood back.  I thought about the C-10, the Buick, the Power Wagon, the Cobra.  I remembered the motions of the sanding blocks, the smell of primer dust, the proportions of of hardener to glaze coat,  I remembered it all.

I looked at it, and figured the fix could be done in my garage for maybe $500 bucks.  Glue the crack and carefully fiberglass mat the back side for strength, sand, sand, sand, sand, prime, sand, sand, paint, clearcoat, sand, clearcoat, and call it good, because the orange peel on the rest of the body is pretty shit anyway.

I told my manager that it could probably fixed right here in The Company's shop, but not painted, he gave me this look "Do you really do bodywork?" and I wondered if anybody really reads the resumes people hand over at interviews,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble:
This Time, Nice Guys Finish First

I don't know if it's still the case in the Japanese industry, but I read a few years ago how employees usually don't switch jobs or careers very often, if at all, because of the way The Company will actually take fucking care of it's own.  Lay-offs and work stoppages are uncommon.  The Company won't enter into short term high profit contracts if the possibilty of the employees being hurt happens.  Hearing about this revelation in business occuring in a far-away land that isn't America jaded me to the whole fucking system here.

What the fuck does somebody do with $14.7 million a year before stock options anyway?  "Honey, the Royce has a bit of dirt in the carpet.  I'm going to buy a new one.  What color would you like for this one?"

For the record, Rolls-Royce has 14,000 different shades of paint.

I'm happy that I found another Company that really does give a shit about thier employees.  I'm well compenstated, over-time is an accepted reality for the accountants, and job-related self-improvment is rewarded with a pay-bump and bonus.  Some of the people I'm working with have been at the store for 10+ fucking years.  There are very few places where somebody can actually retire with twenty+ plus years anymore.  Military is one, Ministering the sheep is another.

This Company actually seems really happy for me to be there, I got promoted from relegation to mid-table with-in three months, given chances to show what I'm made of, burned, sweated, bled, and even let out a teardrop or two.  I've come to work happy, smiled through it all, complained little, and got rewarded. 

Now to just learn how to do my new job quickly and effectively,

Johnny Rumble

Tuesday, August 02, 2011

Johnny Rumble:

Traveling back to California in November.  Not happy about it, not angry about it, not sad about it, kinda... beige.  Just beige about the whole thing.  It'll be nice to see the wife's family again.  With all thier lunacy and very flexible rigidity and "Oh honey, you must be starving, here, eat this huge slice of grilled ham, onions, bell peppers, hash browns, gravy and biscuts and...".  Any weight I might have lost in the coming few months of DIETting (Dead If Eatting Trash, as in, she will kill me if I eat a donut.) will be put back on with the home cooking and white people soul food.

I've been sustaining myself with make-at-home Gatorade, grilled cheese sandwiches and Tomato and Red Bellpepper soup.  This mechanic's job in an open shop, in the dead of feckin' summer, is murder.  I nearly passed out today from heat exhaustion.  Or it could have been the "Chicken Bacon Ranch Tacos" the wife made.  I was hungry for two.  Should only eat one.  But the job is paying the bills quite nicely, and it's funding the trip back to the land of the living dead.  So, eh, beige.

The thoughts of cas keep creeping, around and around.  A Chevy Trailblazer chassis, four wheel drive, with a Model A pickup body on it.  Rusty, chopped, ratted, with all the reliablilty to get to work or whereever at the turn of a key.  Plus, if it can pull it off, a four-by-four lowered rat with big chunky off road tyres would be just plain sweet looking.  And the most unique car in the parking lot, anywhere.  Hard parking.

It's a rambler, this was known, but the need to get thoughts out trancended the need to have "real" posting with "real" thoughts, fleshed out in the usual Johnny style, which is constantly evolving and devolving and paradigm-shifting and getting lost in the woods.

Wishing cars still came with tape-decks, mixtapes sounding good,

Johnny Rumble