Confessions Of A Service Advisor

Friends…

I’ve got a confession to make. I’m here to take your money.

Not here with this publication, although I wouldn’t complain about that. No, I’m not expecting people to pay me for my ramblings. In fact, the only paid subscriber I’ve got is my father. Embarrassing and heartwarming all at the same time. He’s a real cool guy, but the feeling is similar to your parents cheering you on when you piss your pants on stage during your 4^th grade musical.

Good job, sport! You can do it, buddy!

I’m talking about my day job. My real job. Shudder with me, folks… My 9 to 5.

Automotive service advisor.

Sounds cool, right? Sounds like somebody who knows their stuff. Almost sounds like somebody who likes cars and everything about car culture. Sorry gang, that ain’t me. I don’t even like cars that much. Sure, I can appreciate a classic as much as the next guy, but I’m not going home to drink Miller Lite in my garage full of tools and muscle car calendars.

I do, however, possess a wealth of knowledge about different vehicles, common repairs, maintenance schedules, and all the other fun stuff that goes along with the world of automotive repair. Industry professional over here. Got my big boy pants on and everything.

Now, some of you might immediately think of the shady dude at the dealership service department that tries to sell you a $90 air filter. We all know the type. He’s got stupid hair, a just barely too tight shirt, and always recommends more flushes than a truck stop toilet. He tells you all about how the manufacturer recommends these things, his dipshit ear piercing glistening like a fucking Aladdin character. Gross.

I like to do things differently. At my shop, I don’t lie to my customers. I don’t trick them into bullshit repairs to pad my wallet. If you bring me a rusted-out bucket of junk, I’m going to tell you just as much. Professionally, of course, but sometimes people need to be protected from their own terrible financial decisions.

The trick to this job, the secret sauce, if you will, isn’t my devilish charms or my eloquent verbosity. No, no.

It’s honesty and clarity.

Let’s be real. Most people, excluding the Miller Lite-drinking car bros, have no idea what to do with their cars. They put the key in and drive. They assume their oil change interval is a loose guideline, as opposed to the easiest way to avoid major repairs. They buy Jeep Wranglers and expect them to be reliable vehicles. (If I have to look at one more stupid rubber duck, I’m going to freak out, I swear to sweet Americanized Baby Jesus…)

In short, they’re car morons.

Here’s where the honesty and clarity thing comes in. I’ve presented inspection reports to customers that have so many red marks on them it looks like a murder scene, only to have them decline all repairs. People buy parts off Amazon made by kids in Chinese sweatshops surrounded by suicide nets and then wonder why they don’t work properly. I’ve explained catastrophic engine failure to customers and received responses like, “Can I still drive it?”

No, Lisa, you sure fucking can’t. You have a rod protruding from your engine block.

But this isn’t because these people are unintelligent. Actually, most of my customers are smart, well-adjusted, and functional members of society. Except for Larry, he’s kind of like a meth-head dwarf from Peter Jackson’s beloved films, The Lord of the Rings. But many of them are doctors, teachers, lawyers, or engineers. These people know things. They can solve complex problems and keep the gears of the world turning. Their brains just tend to collapse in on themselves like an interstellar anomaly when the topic of car maintenance is brought up.

What’s worse, that ridiculous excuse for a frat-bro at the dealership has given me and all my people a bad name. Our reputations have been tarnished by the shady practices of others. Independent shops are often grouped together into this misconception of con men, rip-off artists, and grifters. The shade-tree hillbilly types condensing a 16-hour job into an afternoon for 200 bucks and some beer don’t help either. And no, your brother-in-law who watched some YouTube and failed his small engines class in high school is not a “mechanic,” let’s have some self-respect here, people.

What my shop, and many others all across the country, offer is something I like to think of as “the way business should be done.” My team of technicians has well over 100 years of combined experience. They’re certified. They’re continuously learning and growing. We send them to seminars and workshops. We’ve got somebody enrolled in additional night classes for advanced training pretty much all the time. We utilize the latest technology. Scan-tools that cost thousands of dollars apiece. Equipment that can handle virtually every type of repair or maintenance you can think of. Alignment rack. Tire balancer. A/C machine. The list goes on.

You have any idea how much an alignment machine costs? It’s a hell of a lot more than 200 bucks and a case of beer.

When I charge you $150 an hour for labor and refuse to let you bring in your own parts, it’s not because me and my crew are chortling in the back and railing lines of cocaine off the hood of your car like some sort of automotive kingpins. Expertise costs money. Running a shop costs money. And setting our prices low enough to compete with some asshole named Terry who wants to put the wrong size used tires on your grandma’s minivan is entrepreneurial suicide.

My job is convincing you to spend your money. The technicians work out the recommended repair; I present it to you in a way you can understand. Do I want you to spend your money on things like air filters and transmission flushes? Absolutely. Because I’ve seen firsthand the effects of proper maintenance on the longevity of automobiles. I’ve seen people like Mark rack up half a million miles on the family van, and I’ve seen young adults blow up their 2-year-old SUVs (looking at you, 2.4-liter engine from General Motors) because nobody ever taught them the importance of having their oil changed.

So please, find a reputable and family-owned repair shop. Build a relationship with the owner and the service advisors. Leave a Red Bull in your car for the technician with a funny note. Whatever you must do to avoid those unscrupulous other guys out there. But, most importantly, once you’ve found that place. Once you’ve found your shop. Trust them. I promise the good guys want what’s best for you and your car.

Sure, I want your money, but truthfully, I want you to love your car. I want your vehicle to take you and your family wherever you want, safely and reliably. I want my industry to be respected and appreciated for the valuable service we provide. And please, Jeep people, enough with the ridiculous ducks. I just can’t take it anymore…

Thanks for reading.

I’m still a little surprised that people actually want to read these things, but I’m grateful for every subscriber, comment, and share.

If you’d like to follow along, feel free to subscribe.

See you in the next one.

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