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Authors: John Elder Robison
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money, and it began to pay off. Though I wasn’t restoring many cars, my ads were bringing in service customers, and the money was enough to support us. The bank account stopped its alarming downward spiral. Now I just needed to reverse the trend. I began to think I might actually pull it off.
Just then, my business partner decided to pounce again. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. I had learned those words always presaged something bad, and this time was no exception. “You’re doing pretty well out there in that shop. I think it’s time you started paying me some rent. You can give me a few thousand every month, starting next Monday.”
I could almost feel my blood pressure rising. I had to earn back the money I had lost and pay rent on top of that. It was becoming clear that the big loser in this arrangement was me, and there was nothing I could do. Nothing except make money for him and keep a little for myself.
So I came up with a plan, which I prayed would get me out of the hole I’d gotten into. It was time to revisit the business of selling cars. That was where the real money could be made. I was making fifty- and hundred-dollar profits on service jobs. If I was smart, I could make ten times that on a single car sale. That became my goal. I used the credibility I was building in my service department to sell cars in a nontraditional way.
“If you want a late-model Mercedes,” I told people, “I’ll go to the Mercedes-Benz auction and find the one that’s perfect for you. You pay me a six-percent commission, just like a real estate agent. I’ll buy you a better car than you’d find at any dealer, for a better price. You’re hiring me to be your expert.”
In those pre-Internet days my idea took off. Soon I was buying five, ten, and even twenty cars a month. I wasn’t worried about finding buyers for my inventory, because everything I bought was presold. Customers loved the transparency of my system. If I paid ten thousand for a car, they paid me ten thousand six hundred. There was no fear that they’d paid too much, or that an unscrupulous salesman had taken advantage of them.
I made fifty thousand dollars selling cars that first year. That was when the next problem surfaced. My partner announced that I had to pay back the money I’d lost “after taxes.” So making backa hundred grand was not enough. I had to make back two hundred grand. A year before, I’d have been crushed, but now I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. Unfortunately, the better I did, the nastier my so-called partner became. There were days I just cringed going to work, he was so venomous and ugly. He could not stand to see my business take off, as his own company withered and he got older and sicker. He was a mean, bitter old man.
He lurked in his office, looking out over the parking lot. Whenever he saw the chance, he’d charge out and belittle me in front of customers. “Move that car,” he’d bark. “Get that oil off the ground.” I don’t know what he thought he was doing, but my customers came to see him as an arrogant bully, and they wondered why I put up with him. I just kept my mouth shut. I knew I was winning. Slowly but surely, I was building a bank account and planning my escape.
By that time, I had learned to keep my new son as far from my work as I could. I never shared with Little Bear how ugly the situation at work had become. Perhaps I was ashamed, since I blamed myself for getting us into the mess. The worst was when Little Bear would visit, bringing Cubby along. It made me sick, the way my partner acted nice while they were there and they had no idea what a beast he really was.
It was a hard grind, the hardest work I’d ever known, but I knew inside I could win.
I’ve observed a lot of kids, and one thing they all have in common is a strong curiosity about their origins. Once the basic words like
Mama, Dada
, and
car
are out of the way, and the first yelled exclamations
(I’m hungry! Gimme
Just then, my business partner decided to pounce again. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. I had learned those words always presaged something bad, and this time was no exception. “You’re doing pretty well out there in that shop. I think it’s time you started paying me some rent. You can give me a few thousand every month, starting next Monday.”
I could almost feel my blood pressure rising. I had to earn back the money I had lost and pay rent on top of that. It was becoming clear that the big loser in this arrangement was me, and there was nothing I could do. Nothing except make money for him and keep a little for myself.
So I came up with a plan, which I prayed would get me out of the hole I’d gotten into. It was time to revisit the business of selling cars. That was where the real money could be made. I was making fifty- and hundred-dollar profits on service jobs. If I was smart, I could make ten times that on a single car sale. That became my goal. I used the credibility I was building in my service department to sell cars in a nontraditional way.
“If you want a late-model Mercedes,” I told people, “I’ll go to the Mercedes-Benz auction and find the one that’s perfect for you. You pay me a six-percent commission, just like a real estate agent. I’ll buy you a better car than you’d find at any dealer, for a better price. You’re hiring me to be your expert.”
In those pre-Internet days my idea took off. Soon I was buying five, ten, and even twenty cars a month. I wasn’t worried about finding buyers for my inventory, because everything I bought was presold. Customers loved the transparency of my system. If I paid ten thousand for a car, they paid me ten thousand six hundred. There was no fear that they’d paid too much, or that an unscrupulous salesman had taken advantage of them.
I made fifty thousand dollars selling cars that first year. That was when the next problem surfaced. My partner announced that I had to pay back the money I’d lost “after taxes.” So making backa hundred grand was not enough. I had to make back two hundred grand. A year before, I’d have been crushed, but now I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. Unfortunately, the better I did, the nastier my so-called partner became. There were days I just cringed going to work, he was so venomous and ugly. He could not stand to see my business take off, as his own company withered and he got older and sicker. He was a mean, bitter old man.
He lurked in his office, looking out over the parking lot. Whenever he saw the chance, he’d charge out and belittle me in front of customers. “Move that car,” he’d bark. “Get that oil off the ground.” I don’t know what he thought he was doing, but my customers came to see him as an arrogant bully, and they wondered why I put up with him. I just kept my mouth shut. I knew I was winning. Slowly but surely, I was building a bank account and planning my escape.
By that time, I had learned to keep my new son as far from my work as I could. I never shared with Little Bear how ugly the situation at work had become. Perhaps I was ashamed, since I blamed myself for getting us into the mess. The worst was when Little Bear would visit, bringing Cubby along. It made me sick, the way my partner acted nice while they were there and they had no idea what a beast he really was.
It was a hard grind, the hardest work I’d ever known, but I knew inside I could win.
I’ve observed a lot of kids, and one thing they all have in common is a strong curiosity about their origins. Once the basic words like
Mama, Dada
, and
car
are out of the way, and the first yelled exclamations
(I’m hungry! Gimme
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