"Gus? Gus, I got something stupid to ask you. Can I
ask you a stupid question?"
"You do all the time, Josh. I can handle it."
"Gus. Where'd you go to school?"
"That's the stupid question? I can answer that. I
graduated from Exeter High in 1963. I had a 1954 DeSoto that was voted
best car in the class. I'd rebuilt it and painted it myself. Classic. I wish
I still had that car."
"What happened to it? No. Look, that's not my
question. Where'd you learn to work on cars? To run a garage?"
"Still easy. I learned from my uncle. Boy, I wish I still
had some of the cars he had. We'd find old wrecks in the
woods—piles of rust, mostly—and work on `em until they looked new. And
then we'd sell them for a couple of hundred bucks and start over. Boy,
I wish I still had some of those cars. They. . . ."
"Gus. Listen to me. Did you ever go to automotive
school? Did you ever get some training in how to run a garage? Did
you have anybody teach you from a book?"
"No, Josh. No, I never did. I learned from my uncle. I
took a couple of home study courses from the oil company when
I bought this place. And I read manuals all the time. You know
that. We've got racks of them, telling us what to do. No. I just
never found the time. And I guess I never saw the point. Thought I
knew enough to do what I had to do."
"You did, didn't you? I mean, you do. You do know
enough to do what you have to do."
"Well, yes and no. I own this garage and I fix cars and
do pretty well. But you know what I think? Well, if I'd had a chance
to take some of those courses they offer kids today, and if I'd done
a little bit of tech school, well, I could be making twice what
I'm. . . . Now, wait a minute. What's your stupid question? You
haven't asked it yet, have you?"
"Nothin'. I'm all set."
"Oh, I get it. You want to know if you need to go to
school. Or if you already know enough to work here, to run this
place. Well, look. You know enough right now to be me all over
again, and that was good enough thirty years ago. But times are
changing. I don't know if I can keep this place going for another thirty
years. Or if you can. It's not just cars anymore. It's the world. The
world is running faster and faster, and I can't keep up. And if you're
going to run the next lap for me, then you better get all the training
you can get."
"Then here's another question for you. Will you fill this
out? Just say whatever. I don't think it's important. You know,
just scribble a couple of things."
"The Michigan School of Automotive Technology. Look
at the seal on this form! Pretty impressive. What's the matter
with Stratham Tech?"
"Nothin'. Give that back."
"No. No, I can do this. I can say some good things
about you. I think I can impress these dudes out in Michigan."
"Well, I. . . . I just thought I might send them some stuff
and see what happens. It's no big deal. Only if you have the time."
"You seem pretty low key about an impressive
school. How'd you find them? Some automotive magazine?"
"They sent me an application. And a letter."
"Just out of the blue? A stroke of luck, maybe."
"Ms. Parsons sent them some of my stuff. A story.
She didn't even ask me."
"She likes you. She likes you a lot. You're a lucky
kid, Josh."
"She should've asked me, don't you think?"
"You would have said no. She's your teacher. She's
supposed to help you, do things for you."
"That's what she said. Hey. She's been talkin' to you.
This is a conspiracy. Did she call you? Have you guys been talking
about me? Huh?"
"Josh. I don't even know the lady. Wouldn't recognize her
if I saw her."
"Oh."
"But she did say you'd have an envelope for me. With
a stamp on it."
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