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“Sounds great,” I only half lied.
He patted me on the knee. “Terrific. It’s settled then.”
A couple of phone calls later, and everything was set. I was going to El Paso, well known as a car city, to stay with my auntie Blair while I did an apprenticeship at one of the state’s top garages. Daddy never did anything halfway.
“Thank you, daddy,” I said, hugging him tight, “it is the best present I ever had, and I will cherish it.”
“No problem, baby doll.”
Little did he know I was actually talking about my first and best chance at true independence.Chapter Two - ChadBad things come in threes. That’s what I’d always heard. If it was true, I’d prefer if someone could tell the bastards in charge to stop.
It really was humiliation on the meta-level, like a commander maimed by his own sword. There were few things more ironically pathetic than a mechanic whose trunk won’t start. Particularly in a town when any passing third-grader could quick-change spark plugs.
The hot asphalt scraped under my boots as I got out. Unlike most of the guys I knew, I opted for the steel-toed variety. Cowboy boots had their appeal but were of little help with heavy, falling metal. I’d always been something of a rebel. Not in the sense of breaking the rules for the sake of it so much as questioning whether there were any rules at all. The practicality of a situation often outweighing what arbitrary social mores might demand.
Sugar. Fuck. Twisting the cap back onto my suddenly sweet gas tank, I set off walking in the general direction of work. Still having a hot dog’s chance in hell of getting there on time.
Walking was healthy. Waling was good. As my six-pack abs and 4% body fat would attest. My family was poor growing up, and if it wasn’t for my own two legs, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere. I had it down to an art if I did say so myself — looking casual while still covering up to five miles within an hour. The trick was to look like you didn’t care where going you were going. Though a bit of a swagger didn’t hurt either.
My calm amble was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a beer bottle smashing into the wall beside me.
“See you in hell motherfucker!” bellowed the front seat passenger as the hick in the back seat wasted even more Miller. The second bottle missed even worse than the first.
I shook my head, unable to keep from smiling at the sheer absurdity of the situation. A display of mirthful merriment that earned the death eyes of a passing dog walker as she tried to keep her pooch away from the shattered and frothy remnants. Taking a moment to be a good citizen, I picked up the broken bottles and threw them out in a nearby trash can, where they could pose no risk to man or beast.
It was a temptation on par with Job. The sign of the bar glowing like a beacon in the early morning dim. The local bakery was the only other business on the block that was open this early. Still, probably best not to get hammered before lunch, particularly on trainee day.
They were already there at the shop. Milling about like nerds waiting for the library to open after a long weekend. I should know. I was one. From what I could see, they were the usual gaggle of keeners. Not that I’d ever done trainees before, but I knew the type. It wasn’t my first choice, but circumstances will necessitate.
On paper, some might think my new plan looked like a scam, particularly in light of all the ethnically illegal internships — which was most of them — that had been exposed in the last few years. I did my best to work clean, though. These interns would be doing unpaid work needed for the shop but in a way in which they learned practical skills applicable to their further career. It was more like an apprenticeship or four-year medical practicum. I liked to think of it as a sort of boot camp for promising mechanics.
It was what was best for the shop, though the circumstances that brought this plan about had been less than ideal. Things had gotten real expensive real fast. Part of the reason most businesses failed in the first year. Long and depressing story short, I had to fire a couple of wonderful mechanics to save money. They were good guys and great mechanics, but I had a business to run and couldn’t afford their pay anymore. The trainees were at least partly a stopgap to my shop going under.
I got the kids to work and went back to the office, on the off chance that anyone came in that time of the morning. I would have brought my own motor in for the kids to have a crack at, but I couldn’t see myself calling a tow truck. There would be no end of razzing from everyone in town if that happened. I would become a near-mythic object of ridicule. Like the doctor’s son who got his girlfriend pregnant because the goober thought it didn’t count the first time. He was still known far and wide as “One-Shot Shane.” A name said in the same tones as Paul Bunyan or John Henry though without the usual undertone of respect.
