Consider this story when you feel like collecting is a lost cause.
About fifteen years ago, my dad had a Ford F-250 pickup truck for towing his trailer and boat. Well at some point during a fishing trip the engine blew, and because my dad was cheap financially responsible, he thought he would save some money by finding a small mechanic shop rather than taking it to a dealership to get repaired.
The ad in the newspaper read “Cheapest Engine Rebuilds in Town!”, so of course, this mechanic was my dad’s guy. After just one phone call, my dad was sold. He towed his broken down truck to the mechanic’s shop and gave him an advance of $1,000.00 to get started.
“Don’t worry, your truck is safe with me. Should be a quick project so I will have it back to you and running better than ever in no time at all.” Said the mechanic.
“Hey, just let me know if you need anything else or if you run into any issues.” My dad replied and then he went on his way.
“Sure thing.”
After a few days, the mechanic called my dad and stated that he needed another $800.00 because the original engine block was cracked and had to be replaced. My dad took the money to him. A couple days later, another $500.00 was needed. Then $400.00, $200.00, and finally after having had the truck for a full month, another $1100.00.
“That’s the last bit I need for parts. Should be done any day now and you can pay me for my labor upon pick up.”
My dad, who was not happy with how long the “quick project” was taking, was now feeling a little relief as it appeared that his truck was finally about to be finished. But then another week passed and there was no call from the mechanic. My dad called several times, but there was never an answer. So he hopped in his car and drove down to the mechanic’s shop.
When my dad arrived, the shop door was closed and no one appeared to be around. But he listened closely and could hear someone was in the shop. The mechanic! Ready to get his truck back, he banged on the mechanic’s door, but it never opened. He yelled at the mechanic to come out, but there was no reply. He was both frustrated and infuriated. What to do?
Then he saw it… not his truck, but rather the electrical power box to the building’s lights was out on an exterior wall of the building. Since the shop was just a large storage unit, it had no windows, and without power there would be no light. My papa doesn’t fool around so he flipped the breaker and cut power to the shop.
“He’s gotta come out sometime.” My dad thought to himself. “He can’t stay in total darkness forever.” My dad waited patiently. Minute after minute and no movement from the shop’s door.
I don’t really blame the mechanic for being hesitant to come out and investigate the power problem. After all, my dad, who is as tough as he is kind, had been yelling and banging on the door for several minutes. Enough to intimidate any man.
Realizing the mechanic was willing to spend the night in the shop, rather than risking a confrontation, my dad cleverly staged his own departure. He yelled a few final choice words at the mechanic’s door, got in his car, and (seemingly) drove away. In reality, he just pulled his car out and came back around the lot, parking it on the opposite side of the building. He sat motionless in wait, glaring at the shop door as if he were a hungry lion in the safari stalking its prey.
“Crreeeeeeeeek.” The rusty shop door slowly began to open. First, one eye, then a nose, and then a hand on the door became visible. Soon he was out.
“Screeeeeech!” My dad hit the gas in his 1994 Toyota Corolla like it was a drag racer! The poor guy went running and my dad was in chase.
My dad jumped out of his car and caught up to the mechanic in no time (hey no one could outrun my dad in a footrace, at least that’s what he says). “Why are you running?! Where is my truck?! Where’s my money?! Well I ought to…!”
“It’s in my shop. The money is gone. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
After some time, my dad called me and the police. Things finally settled down. The cops kept the two men separated from each other and I helped my dad pull the truck out of the shop and subsequently tow it away.
It turned out that after nearly six weeks of having it, the mechanic had not completed the engine repairs on my dad’s truck. He had merely pulled the engine out and sold it. Not only had my dad lost the $4,000.00 he gave to the mechanic, he was out the motor as well.
After the dust settled, my dad was thinking about suing the mechanic in small claims court, and I encouraged him to do so. However, after he spoke with a few people who advised him that going to court would be a further waste of time and money, he decided not to file suit. My dad concluded that even if he won a court judgment, the mechanic would never pay.
About 5 years later, my dad ran into the mechanic. He happened to get a job at a large auto repair chain and had apparently been there for quite some time because he was the assistant manager. No words were exchanged, but the look amongst the two former foes spoke volumes.
This story has taught me two distinct lessons. First is that there can be a dual meaning in “He’s gotta come out sometime.” It’s obvious that the mechanic would eventually need to come out of the pitch black storage unit and go turn his power on. But what was less obvious is that he would eventually come out of the financial dark by getting a regular job earning good money. Too bad my dad hadn’t filed the law suit years earlier so that he could garnish the mechanic’s wages and recover what was owed to him.
The second lesson is that my dad is awesome! Who would think of cutting power to the building and forcing the mechanic out. Brilliant!
