At his going away party, Bill Tanner feels that maybe now was the right time to let his sons take over. After all it’s not the same business it once was…
Lori, my wife, has earned this trip in a thousand ways. She raised two good boys almost by herself, and that alone is worth more than anything that can be expressed through an airport.
She also put up with a lot of crap from me over the years, and the business that has been my obsession for our entire marriage.
Two months in Bali doesn’t even begin to cover it, but it’s all I can do. It’s going to be tough to walk away from it all, even for two months. It’s a trial run of sorts, letting the boys take over.
Everything has changed, anyway. I still haven’t quite figured out what Tanner Auto Group means anymore. The new service franchise is doing well, and Dylan has thrown himself into it.
Ethan’s still handling the retail side, but he’s found someone he thinks has potential to help run the show when Dylan takes it over too. I’m half convinced I’ll come back from Bali to find the entire business has disappeared in a puff of smoke.
I’ll tell you what it does, all this virtualness. It makes you realize how tenuous the bricks and mortar were all along. I saw some peaks and valleys, sure, but I never lost my shirt. I never hit rock bottom. I expanded judiciously and never really had much experience with failure. I’m one of the lucky ones.
NOT THE SAME
Here I am getting maudlin at my own going away party. The showroom turned out to be too small to hold the party — can you believe that? They had to rent a hall. I keep thinking back to all the parties we had at the old place. All those streamers and glasses of champagne, even a band a time or two.
Always did like a good party. There were always cars around, and it drove Lori crazy the way people would leave their drinks on the hoods and roofs. The lighting was terrible, of course — who wants overhead fluorescents at a party? Here the lighting is subtle, and there are bar-height tables here and there instead of fenders — it’s elegant, and unnerving.
The other thing that’s unnerving is how few of these people I actually know. The staff has dwindled, and I don’t know half the people from the new service franchise. Dylan seems to be popular, though, which is good to see. I know they respect him. A combination of affection and respect, and people will do almost anything for you. He treats them well.
Besides the staff and the family, there are some customers here I’ve known for almost 40 years. Back then, we got our “big data” by getting to know someone. We had conversations. We learned about their wives and their kids, not just their demographics and their buying preferences. Boy, do I ever sound like a grouchy old man, even in my own thoughts.
“Bill!” I hear from behind me, and feel a clap on the back. I turn to find Mike Cutter Sr. and Jr. Some of my most loyal clients have been Cutters, and I have liked them all. Good people. I lean into a handshake/half-hug with each of them and they wish me well. We make small talk a minute before Mike Sr. — who must be going on 80 — spots someone he knows and wanders off. Mike Jr.’s face takes on a serious expression and I find myself thinking, “Uh oh.”
ONLY HUMAN
“I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” he says, leaning back on his heels, hands in his pockets in an aw, shucks sort of way. I know he doesn’t like confrontation.
“Sure, Mike,” I say, leading him away from the crowd by his elbow. “What’s on your mind?”
“You know we’re fans, Bill, but, well, I’m just shocked at how you treated Paul, that’s all.” Paul, my mental contacts list was quick to place, was Mike’s youngest son. Had some troubles, as I recall. A couple of bad marriages in quick succession. I don’t think I’ve seen Paul for years.
“What do you mean, Mike? What happened?”
“I know he’s had some money troubles, but I thought given our history …” He was starting to grind his jaw. “I was sure of all people, you at least would treat him like a human being.”
“Listen, Mike, I’m going to be honest with you,” I said, gently putting a hand on his lapel for a second and mustering all my powers of persuasion. This was a good man and he was getting hot under the collar. “I don’t know what happened. I’ve been busy with the service stuff and I don’t always know what’s going on at the showroom.”
He softened. “I know, man.” He lowered his voice to a near-whisper, and I had to strain to hear. “We were just really surprised. I mean, I know his credit’s not good and we’re just not in a position to co-sign right now, but I was sure as long as he was in your hands, you could do something. He’s a good boy. He wouldn’t screw you.”
LOST IN THE NUMBERS
I began to suspect what must have happened. I delved a little, and sure enough, Paul had come along with his sub-par credit rating and gone home without a car. Damn. Where had I been? Why hadn’t he come to see me directly? I probed a little more. He’d been enamoured of the process, it seems, and had a bit of a thing for Fiona, our hologram. Poor kid. Fiona was a beauty. The numbers just hadn’t added up, and Fiona had broken it to him gently and sent him packing.
I exacted a promise from Mike that he’d get Paul to come back in, and see one of my sons directly while I was gone. We’d get him his car. But now I’m thinking the craziest thoughts, that maybe I don’t mind, even though I’m leaving for Bali tomorrow. I got into this business because I loved two things: cars and folk. Now I deal in car simulations and phantoms.
It’s still a great business — Dylan loves it, and even poor Paul decided to try it the new-fangled way before he entertained the idea of talking to a person. For me, I’m starting to think maybe the life has gone out of it.
Wonder what they eat in Bali?
