A good day’s work down the drain
Published: 03 April, 2022
I got my fingers burnt with a battery replacement recently. Not literally of course, as that would be very painful, and I would have mentioned that aspect first. I have a very low pain threshold, and I am also a talker. This is not a good combination. Anyway, luckily, we’re not talking about an electric car battery either, or else you might be reading ‘Arthur Parkit – in Memoriam’ as written by Mrs P. We are set up for EVs, but I am scrupulously careful around that bay.
So I was talking about that battery. We had an older car in here recently with a dead battery, well, more than one actually, but I will get to that. The customer, a regular of ours, just couldn’t get the thing to start. I know what you are all thinking. Older car, post-lockdowns, was it the second car that wasn’t getting much use for the last two years due to less travel? Well, it might have been. Whatever the issue might be, as we didn’t know yet, it was completely dead when one of my guys went over to their house and tested it. Our loyal customer was very keen to get it back on the road fast. Our mechanic rang me to tell me his progress, and against my better judgement I said we would just swap out the battery for a new one. Yes, I know, I know.
Of course, almost the first phone call in the morning was our loyal customer, who said despite the car working the night before, it would not start again. Right, I said, let’s listen to that little Arthur in our head this time, and actually get the thing in here. We towed it in, and started going right through the ignition system, electrical system, the whole shebang.
Getting the answer itself was quite a process. Let’s start with the original battery. First, one of the connectors on that car was loose. I realised this when I was taking off the one we put on, but that was not the only problem. When we went through the options, we looked at the wiring, we checked everything, we had meters going up and down that vehicle. This was an older car, so we could get to the fuses quite easily, and aha, one of them really was ropey. So that was another problem. None of it seemed quite enough though.
Now, as I indicated, early on in this process I was not that involved. By this point though I was sitting in the driving seat, wondering where to look next. I was staring at, well, nothing. Behind nothing though, was the switch for the headlights, which was on. We changed the first battery in daylight. Then, when we picked up the car to tow, it was daylight also, Why would the headlights be…oh…It was at this point I realised that, while no music was playing, the radio was on. It was turned right down.
In short, dodgy connections, masses of parasitic drain, and us, diagnosing like first-day-at-college apprentice mechanics. Actually that’s unfair. Our current apprentice does better than this usually.
See, even old pros like me and my boys get caught out sometimes. You should have seen Mrs P’s face when I told her. We charged for the labour, but we covered the cost of the two batteries we had to put on the car. That hurt more than a burn, and will make me remember for next time.
- Accept all cookies?
I was feeling peckish at the end of the day yesterday – well it was nearly closing time, so I headed for the biscuit tin. A hobnob or a digestive or some sort of cookie will usually give me another 20 minutes, and perhaps an extra inch within my overalls around the waist, but I digress. However, when I got to our little kitchen, the cupboard was locked. This was a double-surprise to me as last week it was your average common-or-garden kitchen unit. However, come Monday it sported a shiny new heavy-duty padlock. This was Mrs P’s way of telling me that the diet she was making me go on was non-negotiable.
- Stock, aching and what a man
I had a visit from an old associate earlier this week – High Street Ken. He’s a local car dealer who was, until quite recently, based on our local high street, until the value of the plot in terms of putting in flats became to obvious to ignore, and he sold up and moved his operation to an edge-of-town site like mine. After all, with the internet, you don’t really need a shop window like he had. Besides, he owned the building outright so my rich friend has become richer. Apart from the location of his business, it was ironic that he really is called Ken, in that his wife’s name is Barbara…
- How to disappear completely
I’m not here. This isn’t happening. Or, I might as well not be – No, really. Over the last few days, here at Parkit Motors we noticed a steep drop-off on fresh customers making enquiries. We continued to be booked up, but the backlog we had before Christmas seemed to start dissipating. Initially, I put this down to better time management on the part of the team, and everyone completing their jobs faster. Then I looked at the jobsheets, and realised that everything was happening at the same speed as usual, sometimes slower actually. Just leafing through these and looking at the times logged on some of these very simple tasks, words will certainly need to be had with…Arthur…oh that’s awkward, moving on.
- The Holly and the Arthur
Christmas is upon us again here at Parkit Motors. A time of joy, the Season of Goodwill, twinkly lights and a tree in Reception, winter checks reminders decked out in red going out via email, and the staff Christmas party to arrange. Well, I’m not too sure about some of this. To be honest, with the rising cost of energy, and everything else I think we will have to pass on it this year. No, don’t call me Scrooge, I’m not completely stone-hearted. We could probably afford sausage rolls with a sprig of holly in to give to the staff before we close on Christmas Eve. Maybe a glass or two of Mulled Wine too, for those who are not driving…
- To the manner born?
I recently had a visit from someone I knew when I was a teenager who also ended up in the trade; Local classic car dealer Piers Bonnet. Of course, I know what you are thinking; “His name is Bonnet? Of course he was destined for this business.” Well, you’d think that, except it is pronounced ‘Bon-nay’ as in ‘Bon-nay Prince Char-lay’. Yes, it’s all a bit Keeping Up Appearances, but who am I to tell him (well, more specifically his parents years ago) how to pronounce their own name. It could have been worse; I seem to remember being told they nearly went double-barrelled as the Morgan-Bonnets. He really would have been doomed to be a classic car dealer then.
