[MD] Stuck on a Torn Slot

[Dan Glover]

Soul as a Verb

I have some extra parts left over.

The old boy whom I hired to rebuild carburetors for me seemed
perplexed. Call him Ed. I explained that the kit was made for several
different makes and that was why he ended up with seeming extra parts.
At least I hoped that was why. I have to admit though, the fact that
Ed didn't know that caused me a bit of consternation.

I don't work as well with people as I do with machines. They say I
have a knack. And I suppose it is true. I just seem to know what to do
when it comes to machinery. But, when it comes to dealing with people,
I am for the most part flummoxed. I get pissed when someone doesn't
catch on right away.

Let me see, I said. I hate having to do work over again that I have
already paid someone else to do, and I could hear the anger in my
voice. So could Ed. And I felt bad that I was angry with Ed but I
couldn't help it. I popped the cover off and checked to see if any
seals were missing. It seemed okay. But I was still pissed.

I dislike it when someone claims to know something when it is clear
they do not know. The thing is though, sometimes they don't know that
they don't know and there is no telling them. I mutter to myself that
they are idiots but it is more than that. They have no soul... not a
soul as a thing, a noun, but rather soul as a verb, as caring action.

Don't bother coming in tomorrow, Ed, I say. He has a hurt look but I
don't care.

The building that serves as my motorcycle shop is a hundred years old.
It once housed a butcher shop. Years ago, they'd butcher cows and pigs
and keep the meat cool with ice they cut from the river during winter,
sprinkling saw dust over the ice to act as insulation. The floor of
the shop was made of foot-thick cork, again, to act as insulation from
the summertime warmth. When I bought the building the floor was rotten
so I hired a local boy to tear it out and replace it with concrete. We
added a pneumatic floor lift at that time so as to make it convenient
to change oil in cars and do brakes and other mechanical work.

Winter is coming... and the bike shop doesn't do well in the winter.
The last couple years I've rented the place out to a couple brothers
who diddle daddle with stock cars. They like my pneumatic lift. And it
has served me well too. Still, in a town of 300, there are only so
many cars that need oil changes and brake jobs, which kind of
supplemented the income I made during spring and summer working on
motorcycles. But it wasn't enough to keep the lights turned on and the
taxes paid, so I rented the shop out three months a year. The brothers
were good enough to let me come in and work when I had work.

This year, though, they are not renting the shop. I guess they don't
have the extra money. So I printed up some flyers to try and scare up
work,  otherwise I will have to go into my pocket to pay for the
building's upkeep. I justified hiring Ed by telling myself the work
would be there. And it might. But, if I cannot depend on him to do
what he claims he knows how to do, then I may as well just do the work
myself.

I feel stuck. Machines, I can fix. People, I can't. I suspect it is
the difference between soul as a noun versus a verb. And I suspect
that is exactly what Robert Pirsig is on about in ZMM when he talks
about stuckness. He uses the torn slot in a screw to explain that
stuckness but in my case, it pertains to people rather than machines.
Still, the analogy is the same.

I realize as Ed is leaving that I've effectively fired him over a
simple misunderstanding but I still don't care. I tell myself to shout
out to him that I am sorry... go ahead and come on in tomorrow. But I
don't say anything. I just let him leave. I know that there will be
hard feelings but I still don't care. The thing is, a machine has no
feelings.

Maybe that's why I like working with machines better than with people.

Thank you for reading,

Dan