The Kid Who Coulda Been a Contenda

The late 20’s kid seems sharp enough, but he hangs with some losers. One of whom is himself.

I met him while he was an intern at the local Porsche dealership, in their very rigorous tech-training program. Given the car’s country of origin, Germans and technical obsession are like politicians and money-favors: chemically bonded.

He was eager, clean-cut, clearly gifted for the craft of byzantine engine management systems that balance the immense power and pragmatism of the Porsche brand. This is a near-heart-surgical specialty among mere physicians. To a car guy, he “spoke” the language; to a typical customer, he could tone it down for comprehension.

In other words, an ideal Tech. Except for “the sickness.”

After twenty six weeks of training, that are mind-numbing enough for a near 60% drop-out rate (some of their own volition, most due to Porsche’s unwavering perfectionism) this kid got his head turned in two ways at once.

His inner voice repeated what had oft been said to him, “You’re really good at this. You’re going to make it.” That was his confidence and drive talking. Yet a dysfunctional ego added a comment he’d never heard, “… and you should now be rewarded accordingly.”

Not so fast.

He “forgot” the investment and sacrifice made for him. He disregarded the hierarchy of reward that follows proven work, clearly laid out from the beginning. He was blind to other players on the team funneling work his way, and handling myriad details thereafter.

Though his hands were adept and his head ever-increasing in technical knowledge, he began questioning management (a field about which he had zero training). “Why do you charge this?” “How much did that customer pay for this service?” “Why are these parts marked up so much?”

His next step sealed his fate, just as it has for countless thousands before and since…

In time, he convinced himself that “his” $26 per hour pay was financial pillage against the $105 per hour shop rate.

Slowly, he waged a one-sided mental warfare that management was “unfair” in how they charged, while contradictorily feeling “justified” for more pay to lessen the gap. He voiced unfairness to co-workers, to management, and then editorialized this “injustice” to customers.

Things did not go his way.

He and his tools were soon escorted out, and there went $9,000 in education, a lot of hope, and another refuge into the self-delusioned camp of “I can do it better myself.”

Nearly a year passed since the kid with a gift left the dealership, and I saw him at a local pizzeria. He seemed unkempt, sloppy of stance, and had gotten a little loud with a waitress. When he turned around and saw me, he reintroduced himself.

We chatted briefly. He was doing oil changes and odd-jobs, “…trying to stay busy!” he repeated a couple times.

“Hey, if you ever want me to work on your car” he fished into his stained t-shirt pocket, “here’s my card. I do most anything, plus I’m a lot cheaper than those rip-offs at the dealer.”

Pause here for TWO things that will bind him to absolute mediocrity, struggle, and likely financial/professional suicide.

1. Since he knew I was a customer of the dealership (and still was according to our conversation) his “rip off” comment could be translated as “you fool”. Not a good term to drum up business.
2. The “I do most anything” plus his admission of accepting any jobs, put him out of the specialty business and into the generalist business. That’s fine, but you can’t be both. He now competes on the most base level, throwing his once-lauded training into a ditch. He’s the Harvard-educated philosophy major working the Star-Bucks drive through, sanctimonious attitude and all.

He “coulda been a contenda” I thought to myself with a foggy echo of Marlon Brando’s famous thick-lipped pronouncement from “On the Waterfront”.

Had he stayed at the dealership, he’d be making a relatively comfortable $60,000 income. His clean uniforms would be waiting on him every morning, as would a well-lighted and comfortable shop, with several million dollars of equipment, and a line of customers.

In time, the customers would’ve gotten to know the top technician with the great reputation, who might one day open his shop to a base of fans who’d welcome an alternative.  Or not.

As it stands, an unthankful and self-absorbed ego was thrust into the marketplace ill-equipped for much beyond a bitter recollection, aimed at no one in particular. Except as Marlon Brando found out too late. .. himself.

Here’s hoping the young man meets an old man to whom he’ll listen. Stay tuned.

Adams Hudson

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Questions for You:

What was the most valuable learning experience you had starting out? (Mine was not learning how to say ‘no’ early enough. The power of ‘no’ is a liberating, focusing exercise.)

If you knew THEN (when you started) what you know NOW, what lesson would you’d share to a class of graduating business seniors? (Who promised not to open up a shop within 500 miles! Send to smi@hudsonink.com. Would love to share with other readers!