Are your customers automotive connoisseurs?

Dec. 1, 2014
I’m like the rest of us in the automotive aftermarket, fighting for solid ground and my share of customers that appreciate nerdy automotive technicians as well as a seasoned counterman or service writer who can dish up the goods on a moment’s notice, with the precision of a knife juggler.

We live and work in an area where there are a lot of tourist attractions, and therefore a lot of tourists. Rafting, boating, fishing, hiking, rock climbing, bungee jumping, base jumping, skiing, hunting, camping and sightseeing from multiple mountain vistas. Many of these attractions, while worthwhile, are just part of the normal routine for us natives. It’s not that we don’t appreciate these things, we are just kind of used to them.

The interesting thing about the influx of the tourist thrill seekers is the additional influx of businesses that cater to them. I am speaking mostly of the restaurants and trendy little cafés that are popping up every season, only to close, and then be replaced by another bohemian eatery with the unlikeliest of names like “Chez Possum” or “Stuff Freshly Kill’t on Route 1.” This is West Virginia, so using local folklore taglines gets the attention of city folk.

My wife and I accompanied by our son, recently travelled to one of these granola-crunchy diners mostly because we were hungry, and the lure of the establishment’s name. My wife being a murder mystery addict would of course be drawn to anything mysterious, I thought to myself as we waited to be seated at “The Secret Sandwich Society.”

The restaurant itself was quite a little dump. Difficult to find, and not very pretty either, it screamed for Chef Ramsey to come and give this place a makeover in his ruthless fashion. Every rule about being in business was ignored, and yet, the place was packed.

Once inside the crowded little dive, I noticed that the seating was totally inadequate and cramped. The tables were just inches apart and so close that a party of three could easily be confused with a party of 12, or rather a mosh pit where everyone’s food order had to be passed down a gauntlet of other patrons before reaching its destination.

As my family sat looking at the menu trying to decipher the allegoric names of the sandwiches and drawing plausible conclusions based on the ingredients, a boisterous young waiter squeezed up, greeted us and began to explain with glee the menu, how the food was prepared and all of the home made munchies they offer. He offered his advice on combinations that paired well together, then told us of all the other special things that they could not offer due to supply shortages, poured us three glasses of water, then bounded off, tripping over another waiter, rolling off the shoulders of another seated patron, and snapping to attention at his next seating of shocked patrons with that same unfazed upbeat greeting: “My name is Mica and I’ll be taking care of you on this beautiful day.”

I was uncomfortable, yet my interest was piqued. The unorthodox setting of what appeared to be the basement of an old abandoned farmhouse, a dining area equally askew, a crowd of people for unexplainable reasons, a quirky name, and a menu of romantically unreasonable food titles. Our food was served with equal provocative flair, and with the exact amount of pomp and circumstance exercised during the pepper grinding to garnish and flavor the salad. The food was excellent and surprisingly affordable. Their cover was blown and the secret to their success was no longer a secret at all.

I waxed melancholy thinking of forgotten days when my favorite old auto parts jobber store resembled that of a dank and dreary cave. Poorly lit with flickering fluorescents, displays in disarray, smelling of grease, clutter everywhere, and tucked into very odd offbeat locations. Often times full of cigarette smoke, with a bunch of old mechanics and technicians that 30 years ago, even they longed for a by-gone era of cars that you could actually work on.

The Weatherly index was never followed, and there was no rational reason why the racks of catalogs were assembled in such chaotic pseudo-alphabetic logic. Although not home made, everything that was served up was done by hand, as electronic cataloging was just in the planning stages. Most of the older, skilled countermen didn’t need many books because everything was committed to memory, much the same as the practiced delivery of the polished waiter. These old parts stores and garages didn’t adhere to a CPA’s business model, yet they all were busy. Delivering parts, taking orders, satisfying customers and wowing clientele with automotive prowess and their own mosh pit of countermen fighting over an ignition catalog that contained an illustrated guide complete with ripped, missing and smudged pages of a cross-reference table. The service was excellent, and all seemed happier with the added bonus of making more profit on average than a traditional jobber in today’s marketplace. Oh, how I long for those grungy days of “dungeons and dragons” automotive jobbers. How provocatively romantic it was for us automotive connoisseurs.

The fast foodies don’t fully appreciate the nuance of gourmet, because they think of the extensive preparation and perceived cost. Likewise, automotive parts buyers that are “Zoneies” don’t really appreciate the keenly honed skill of a professional counterman and cite availability along with perceived cost of products. There is comparative defect to consider. If you eat strictly fast food you’ll probably shorten your life span by 10 years. If you heed the advice of blog sites and job hopper countermen, the life span of your car and wallet size diminishes in proportional disappointment. Simply put, speed and price sell and lure a lot of people. However, a connoisseur of anything is lured by the romanticism of the transaction and in the end, feels the result is a much more rewarding bargain. 

Let’s face it, as independents we will never match the marketing machine of the big box retailers, and that machine touts speed and price. Although we arguably provide both speed and price, we can offer something they can’t – world-class service with vast knowledge. Fast food joints clutter every town. Retail giants also dot the corners. But when a tourist comes to town and asks us to recommend a place to eat, we send them to a local diner or café. That’s where the good food can always be found. If someone is trying to find a difficult to locate part or service, likewise they are sent to people like us. I’m certainly not Mica the waiter, nor Bubba the oil changer. I’m like the rest of us in the automotive aftermarket, fighting for solid ground and my share of customers that appreciate nerdy automotive technicians as well as a seasoned counterman or service writer who can dish up the goods on a moment’s notice, with the precision of a knife juggler. So how about the “Secret Auto Parts and Service Center?” We need to blab that secret to everyone we know, and maybe our waiting rooms also will be full. 

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