Lesson learned: never underestimate the expertise of a grumpy disheveled man with a cigarette sucked down to the ash hanging out of his jutted bottom lip. His white T-shirt may be greasy, he is a man of few words, but when you are vacationing in South Dakota just about to drive into the mountains, and your car decides to go kaput, he is your best friend. We drove up in our Acura, loose ball joint wobbling and visions of tow trucks and rental cars swirling in our heads. “Uncle Milt’s Alignment” loomed ahead in all of its rusted, faded signed glory. To the left a dog yapped in a decrepit trailer park and the man sauntered out of his shop to take a look at the car. My dad assisted as the rest of us waited patiently for his diagnosis. “Pull the damn thing in, I can’t see shit ou’ here” the man grumbled. We pulled the car into his shop and got out, thankful he was willing to take a look. This is the point where most people would wonder about their safety and would begin questioning the qualifications of this chimney smoking old man. Knowing it was our best bet if we were to make it to the mountains that day, we set our hope in him anyway. Looking back, the mere questioning of his abilities was my first mistake. The guy had a wealth of knowledge about cars and could tell what was wrong just by looking closer. We learned his name was Marvin, he wasn’t Uncle Milt, as I had first assumed, and didn’t seem very interested in talking about the origin of the shop’s name either. In fact, he wasn’t interested in talking about much at all. He barely put two words together when speaking to my dad until he realized that they were both fellow mechanics.
“With those guys,” my dad said later, “if you can’t talk mechanic talk you better just shut the hell up.” When my dad showed that he knew something about cars Marvin warmed up from a cold Antarctica to a balmy Siberia. In short, he still would have preferred to be left alone to his greasy shop and the warm companionship of his cig. Marvin also had a silent little partner who carefully checked over the car, cigarette similarly clenched between tar stained teeth. “Eh, this is Marvin from Milts,” Marvin muttered into the phone as he called around for car parts to save our vacation. A simple man with a simple task, and he executed it well. No fluff, no regard, just getting the job done. “How much do we owe ya?” my dad inquired after the car was ready. Marvin just walked away, as if he hadn’t heard the question. His silent partner choked out, “nothing,” and threw his burned cigarette on the cement shop floor, crushing it with his foot, “we don’t need no damn money, get out of here.” A slight smile curled the left side of his mouth, almost imperceptibly, and my dad had to nearly break his arm to get him to accept a twenty for their time. As we drove away, I thought of all the people in this world who would have turned up their noses at Marvin and his little silent friend at Uncle Milt’s Alignment in South Dakota. The truth is, people like them are often the most knowledgeable and genuine people you will meet. I for one would much rather be the kind of person to take a chance on Uncle Milt’s than decide its not good enough for me and get charged $300 for some guy in a fancy shop to replace the door handle when he finds nothing is actually wrong with the car. So, in conclusion, its okay to judge a book by its cover sometimes. I do all the time with actual books (seriously though, good cover usually means good book I'll argue that point all day). Marvin and his friend were exactly what they seemed like they were. Beer drinking, cussing, smoking guys who didn't care about you or your money. But they do care about your car and although what you see is what you get, they pretty much saved our asses. So thanks to Marvin and his silent little friend. Love, Jaci
1 Comment
Michele
7/10/2018 10:59:26 am
“As long as you don’t gedder air-born she’ll be okay”.
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AuthorJaci Pederson Archives
January 2019
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