THE HANGAR QUEEN (2 TIM 2:20-21)
Having taken an unfortunate lateral job transfer with my large technology company employer, I found myself not only with over 100 customer service employees reporting to me but also with unexpected responsibility for a host of other pesky manager decisions. Input was required for: Office décor, the content of holiday parties, whether to celebrate birthdays, how to grant time off fairly, the shape of the new conference room table, whether to celebrate Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hannukah, or all or none… and how to effectively manage the company car pool.
Most of my people were inside service representatives, but there was a notable contingent of about a dozen outside sales reps. Other outside types also operated from our downtown office building in Wichita. I happened to have the largest single contingent.
The outside people were expected to be… well… out. Out with customers, making proposals, selling, handling complaints on-site, and generally providing face-to-face contact to ensure customer loyalty and ongoing sales.
This meant travel by automobile. Public transportation in our city was limited and impractical; taxis were too expensive. The company, therefore, provided a car pool for the use of non-management outside sales reps, and because I had the largest group, I had the responsibility for the car pool.
This meant checkout lists, routine maintenance, repair, cleanliness, key management, and a myriad of other unexpected problems. Perpetually there were issues of low tires, ripped upholstery, non-working air conditioning, cracked windshields, old batteries, befouled carpeting, full ash trays… perhaps you get the picture.
In a car pool where no one is assigned a particular vehicle, no one takes responsibility to clean the one he uses prior to returning it.
Although it was a violation of the holy rotation order, the outside sales reps would socially engineer the daily vehicle assignment (by sweet-talking the clerk with the keys) to get the cleanest and newest car available.
Some of the vehicles were more disreputable than others… such as Number 12, the 15-year-old Ford Escort.
Company policy quite reasonably suggested that a car could only be replaced once the mileage passed a certain high threshold, in those days 150,000 miles. We had a contract with a local repair shop, and if routine maintenance were performed this was not an unreasonable expectation. A different department held the budget for repairs and maintenance, so I had no concerns about spending their money on operations. As long as the car’s systems worked fine, all we had to do was deliver it for maintenance… a minor hassle involving a trip across town with a chase car, but no big thing.
But in the case of Number 12, things were a little different.
It was an uncomfortable car. The seats were too small for some of our people, it had an unusual odor inside, it was lightweight for highway cruising, and was less than impressive when showing up in a customer’s parking lot. Previous management of my group had let the maintenance lapse.
When I reviewed Number 12, the list of required repairs was nothing short of impressive: Cracked windshield, malfunctioning radio, torn seat covers, fouled carpeting, worn out seat cushions, defective air conditioning, unadjustable mirrors, two flat tires, limp shocks, unaligned steering, a dead battery, and significantly chipped paint. In fact, once we got it running, the factory white paint on the hood would flutter and fly off at highway speed, looking something like a popcorn machine.
I asked for the vehicle to be replaced, but no: It only had 90,000 miles on the odometer. Give it another three years, I was told, and then maybe it could be traded in. Except that no one would actually use it—and I was not about to force anyone to drive the beast—so it would remain the perpetual Hangar Queen.
One day in frustration I decided to give it my full attention.
I personally called the repair shop and asked them to bring a full set of tires and a new battery, and replace them in our parking lot. Once the car was running, I checked it out myself; I drove it around town and on the highway, and made a list of required repairs.
When I submitted the list to the maintenance shop, the response was a shocked silence.
The repairs amounted to over $3,000. The trade-in value of the car was less than $800.
But policy is policy, and when I discussed it with my counterpart in the maintenance group, I explained the urgent necessity to provide a working company vehicle in top-running mechanical condition. I pointed out it was a matter of employee safety, after all.
Incredibly, they complied with every requirement I had submitted. In a month they returned to us a 15-year-old Ford Escort with new everything, in perfect condition, repainted, gleaming in the morning sun with brand new company decals. I took it as my personal staff car, for when I needed wheels.
My phone rang a week later.
“Hey, Curt, this is Barry!” said an unusually happy voice. “How’s it goin’, brother?”
Right. Barry was not that good a friend. “Hey, Barry, what’s up? Something I can help you with?”
“Listen, buddy, you may have heard we’ve got this really high-level new account working out of my group. I’ve got two reps assigned to it and they are over at the customer’s place all the time.”
He paused and I waited for what I knew was coming. “But getting them there is a real hassle, Curt. To get a car, we’ve got to see your clerk, find a car that runs, use it, and then return it and the keys when we’re done. That has to happen each day. It would sure be nice—“ here it came—“if we could just have one that maybe you’re not using much and keep it in our own lot.”
I let the pause run for a second, to let him know he was on thin ice. “Did you have a particular vehicle in mind, Barry?”
“Funny you should say that,” he said. “I was at your building this morning, and that old beat-up Escort you have is sure looking good. I know your people don’t use it much, and it’s been a real problem for you, but if you were looking for a place to dump it…”
“Glad to talk with you, Barry. That Escort is in the rotation, and I really wouldn’t be able to lose it. But listen,” I hurried on, interrupting him, “come by sometime and we’ll have coffee. It’d be good to catch up with you again.”
“Well, sure, Curt, but I—“
“Good to talk with you, buddy. Gotta run.” I hung up.
What a rat he was. And, gee, that felt good.
Theological Contemplations
In the context of avoiding false teachers, godless chatter and ungodly pursuits, Paul urges Timothy to a more useful lifestyle.
In a large house, he says, there are articles not only of gold and silver, but also of wood and clay; some are for special purposes and some for common use. Those who cleanse themselves from the latter will be instruments for special purposes, made holy, useful to the Master and prepared to do any good work (2 Timothy 2:20-21).
The company car prepared for good work was ready for… good work. The car with two flat tires and a dead battery was good for absolutely nothing.
Keep the accounts short and your maintenance log up to date.
Stay prayed up and ready for assignment.
And that is as briefly said as I can say it.
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Have a good week!
Curt
Alligator Briefly Said: The Hangar Queen