There is a scene in the movie "Young Frankenstein" where Gene Wilder, aware that an above-average brain is being studied at the local university, sends Igor (pronounced Eye-gor and played by actor Marty Feldman) out to retrieve that brain for his monster.
Igor breaks into the lab and realizes there are a number of brains to choose from. Confused, he finally makes his choice returning with what he thought was the correct brain. After the monster is brought to life, Wilder recognizes a number of strange inconsistencies in the monster's behavior. When he confronts Feldman and asks him what brain he pilfered from the lab he is told that the brain belonged to someone named A.B. Normal - not realizing that he had, in fact, chosen an ABNormal specimen.
I believe A. B. Normal stands for "Anything But Normal," and I don't think the story ended there. I think after the movie was over, Dr. Frankenstein took samples from that abnormal brain, extracted the DNA and then slipped those cells into the ground water, infecting countless individuals across the world. I know this is true because I've had to deal with some of them: people suffering from the genetic fallout of those A.B. Normal brain cells. People whose behavior is anything but normal.
I don't know about you, but as this great parade of humanity winds its way through the shop, we see it all the time. There are incredibly understanding and considerate women living with brutish and abusive men; kind and gentle men living with caustic and abrasive women; parents ignoring their kids; and kids raising their parents. After four generations, it would be safe to say that we've seen it all.
There is no question that it's hard to watch, but as long as it doesn't spill over into the waiting room or on to the service counter, there isn't much that any of us can do about it. When it does, however, things can turn in a heartbeat. I know because it just happened . . . again.
Yesterday morning I received a frantic phone call from someone with an unfamiliar voice at the other end. The first question was strange enough: "Are you busy?" I replied that yes, in fact, we were. The second question was consistent with the first: "Can you fix my truck?" I replied that we probably could, but I wouldn't know for sure until I had at least some idea of what needed to be done.
He told me who he was and that his wife had been in many times before. I knew who his wife was instantly because she was just one of those really nice, easygoing clients you just love to do business with. Then he went on to let me know that his late-model pickup had just failed on the freeway, and he was calling to have the vehicle taken someplace willing to guarantee the vehicle would be back on the road by that evening. This is something I always find fascinating, given the fact that at this point in the process, neither one of us had any idea what had caused the vehicle to leave him stranded in the first place.
I told him that depending upon what was wrong with it and what time it finally arrived here at the shop, there was a pretty good chance it could be completed in one day, but I wasn't willing to promise anything until after the vehicle was actually here and someone had a chance to look at it. That didn't seem to satisfy him.
It didn't matter, at least not to me. I can't lie. I never could, not even when I was a little kid. It didn't have anything to do with the fear of God or anything like that. I had my father to deal with if I got caught lying, and that was scary enough for me. Aside from that, I'm no good at it, and telling someone that a vehicle will be ready when you really don't know is close enough for me. Consequently, I try very hard to never make promises I'm not 100 percent positive I can keep; to me, it is the same as writing checks you know you can't cash.
The more I resisted his attempts to force a commitment, the more adamant he became until I finally had to tell him that if he continued insisting on a blind promise the vehicle would be ready that evening he would have to tow it someplace else. Forty-five minutes later, the truck appeared in the driveway, and the plea for instant automotive service began all over again. I explained our position as clearly and patiently as I could, which must have been enough because the vehicle was left for inspection and repair.
The inspection and evaluation was straightforward enough; the fuel pump had died. I estimated the labor and looked up the replacement cost of the pump and the filter online. There was more than one pump for the vehicle and no real way to be sure until it was out. I called the supplier, hoping their catalogues would help eliminate some of the confusion. I'm not sure it did, but that didn't seem to faze the person I was talking to at the warehouse. He was certain he knew which pump to ship.
I'm easy. Since I knew I would have the failed pump out by the time the parts arrived, I suggested sending both. He assured me that wouldn't be necessary and like a rookie, I trusted him. We removed the pump and waited. A new pump arrived with the next delivery; only it was not the right pump. The right pump was sitting on the shelf at the warehouse and needless to say, it was significantly more expensive. I called the customer and quietly listened as he voiced his disappointment and displeasure. I let him finish. After years of doing this, if I have learned nothing else it is to allow an angry customer the opportunity to vent before cutting them off regardless of how important whatever it is you might have to say could be. When he was finished, I asked if there was anything else to which he answered, "Yes! When can I pick up my truck?"
I had already been on the phone to the warehouse and had a new ETA on the correct pump. Adding in a 'fudge-factor' for any other potential disasters, I told him I was reasonably sure we could have the vehicle completed and back to him by 11 o'clock the next morning if there were no other problems. He told me that wasn't good enough, but it was obvious in the absence of an alternative, it would do.
That's not exactly what you want to hear when you are trying to build a Total Quality Service, Customer-Centric, organization - but, it was the best we could do given the realities of the current situation.
We called the warehouse when the pump failed to arrive as promised and were told what shop owners have been told as far back as I can remember: "It's on the truck." I know that's supposed to serve as some kind of an explanation, but I think we both know the only thing those four words result in is heartburn and an increase in blood pressure. Trying to avert an ugly scene in the office, I called the customer to let him know there was a possibility the vehicle might be ready later than 11. I'll let your imagination paint the portrait of his response.
The pump appeared shortly thereafter, but not before the vehicle owner called back to let us know just how inept we were. We installed the pump, adjusted the price to reflect the number on the original estimate and road-tested the vehicle. When the vehicle returned from the road test I called the customer and sent it down to be washed. The time of the call: 10:53 a.m. Then I braced myself for what I knew was going to be a difficult few moments at the service counter.
It was a few minutes before 11:30 when the customer arrived to pick up his truck. He came through the front door with his hand thrust forward and a smile on his face. He pumped my hand up and down like an old vacuum-style water pump in a Western movie and thanked me profusely for getting his vehicle done so quickly. I felt my jaw drop open enough to bounce off the service counter. Was this the same guy who had just a few minutes ago been gnawing on my self-esteem? Was he being sarcastic, or was he genuinely grateful?
I looked up and prayed: "God, please give me a sign."
He was sincere. He was happy to be back on the road again and the fact that I had promised the vehicle by 11 and had called at 10:53 had impressed him beyond words.
I stood there and stared. "What were all those phone calls about? Why the tirade? Why the insults?"
"Oh, that? Nothing! I just thought it would help motivate you to complete the work as soon as possible. I didn't mean anything by it!"
I guess I felt it was my turn at that point. I turned to him and said, "Nothing? Didn't mean anything by it? What's that all about? You beat me up on the telephone three times just to motivate me? The only thing that's going to motivate me to do is ignore you the next time you call, if I decide dealing with someone who would do something like that is even worth it."
He looked at me a bit perplexed, thanked me again, paid his bill and left. I should have been thinking about the operational side of the business, what to do to avoid the stress and the pressure of something like this happening again. I should have been thinking about insisting that if there is a choice, both parts are ordered and delivered with the assurance that the incorrect application will be returned within 24 hours. I should have been thinking about "realistic expectations" and how to better communicate them to someone who hasn't a clue about what they are or should be. But, I wasn't . . .
I was thinking about Gene Wilder, Marty Feldman and that "Anything But Normal" brain. I was thinking about how hard it is to remain sane while everyone around you seems to have some of that A.B. Normal DNA coursing through their veins. Then I wondered about what I do and why I keep on doing this to myself.
That's when it hit me. That's when I realized that I drink water and could be infected with the same DNA. It would certainly explain a number of the odd choices I've made and the strange situations I've found myself in from time to time. Maybe we're all infected. Maybe "Normal" isn't. And, everything is Anything But Normal, especially us, this industry and our relationship with it.
