I still have the number programmed into my cell. The time will come to delete it, maybe it's past time, but I am just not ready.
The cheerful voice that answers was my automotive lifeline for many years. The voice and John its owner and his sidekick Rob are etched into my thoughts, associated with a generalized sense of confidence, skill and trust. These are good men who daily give their best, without heroics. In a large, indifferent metropolis where the population turns over every few years, that is extraordinary.
They probably wouldn't remember most of the cars I've brought to them. They always seemed to look for practical solutions, gauging my pocketbook by the fray on my jeans. They made reliable referrals. If they didn't know how to proceed they gave me options and we puzzled on it together. Sometimes they let me know (with unexpected tact) that I needed to find new wheels.
We swapped stories and probed political pot holes, shared some of the personal and our current pet peeves. I drove away knowing that my car was running its best because it was cared for by real people who happened to be master mechanics. And I often wished that I could hand them something other than money, something as real as what they gave me. Guess if I could write a song about them, that might do it. Meanwhile, I suppose they are content with the cash. They probably sleep well, knowing they did a good job for their customers and looking forward to tomorrow, with more people like me who count on them. Bet they've forgotten all about me and my old cars, but it's not easy to let go of my associations with Allied Automotive.
I still have the number programmed into my cell. The time will come to delete it, maybe it's past time, but I am just not ready. 
The cheerful voice that answers was my automotive lifeline for many years. The voice and John its owner and his sidekick Rob are etched into my thoughts, associated with a generalized sense of confidence, skill and trust. These are good men who daily give their best, without heroics. In a large, indifferent metropolis where the population turns over every few years, that is extraordinary.
They probably wouldn't remember most of the cars I've brought to them. They always seemed to look for practical solutions, gauging my pocketbook by the fray on my jeans. They made reliable referrals. If they didn't know how to proceed they gave me options and we puzzled on it together. Sometimes they let me know (with unexpected tact) that I needed to find new wheels.
We swapped stories and probed political pot holes, shared some of the personal and our current pet peeves. I drove away knowing that my car was running its best because it was cared for by real people who happened to be master mechanics. And I often wished that I could hand them something other than money, something as real as what they gave me. Guess if I could write a song about them, that might do it. Meanwhile, I suppose they are content with the cash. They probably sleep well, knowing they did a good job for their customers and looking forward to tomorrow, with more people like me who count on them. Bet they've forgotten all about me and my old cars, but it's not easy to let go of my associations with Allied Automotive.
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