Red Flagged

Every now and then I like to encourage a little competition among the staff; it keeps them on the cutting edge.

“Aaarg!” hollered Tooner. “Beanie, I think you’ve rigged this blasted tire machine!” He grabbed a hammer and started beating on a stubborn tire bead that wouldn’t fold over the rim. No matter how good Tooner was at his diagnostic work, simple things like installing a tire often frustrated him.

Beanie hooted with laughter as he waved a red flag. “Tough break, Toon. Time’s up. You still can’t beat my record of changing a tire in under one minute.” He clicked his stopwatch. “Care to try it again?”

Tooner paused to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “Grr. C’mon over to the scan tools and fight like a real man. I bet you I can …”

The rest of us were enjoying ourselves. The ongoing battle for one-upmanship between Tooner and our apprentice was legendary. “Hey, Beanie,” called out Quigley, our service writer, “why don’t you challenge Tooner to a wiper blade changing contest!”

“Better not!” I joined in, slapping my knee. “We can’t afford another cracked windshield insurance claim!”

“Very funny,” growled Tooner.

Basil handed Tooner a mug of coffee to soothe his wounded ego. “Relax, big guy. We all know quality takes time.”

“All right, let’s start paying the bills around here,” I said. “Beanie, take a look at that ’93 Toyota Tacoma pickup that was towed in last night. I suspect it might need a fuel pump.”

“Right,” said Beanie as he headed for the back service bay.

“And don’t forget to check for good power and ground connections,” Tooner hollered after him. “Remember the runaround we had last time because you forgot to do the basic checks.” Beanie waved him off, knowing Tooner was just spouting sour grapes.

Before long he brought me his diagnosis. “You were right, Boss. There’s power and ground when I turn on the key, but no pump pressure. Sounds like a bad pump to me.”

“Good,” I replied. “Give Quigley the information so that he can order up a new one, and then start dropping the fuel tank. Maybe we can still get Ben’s truck on the road today.”

Before long our lad had the new pump installed and the fuel tank back up in place. “What a mess that was,” he said as I came over for the start up. “Somebody had changed the fuel pump before, and used a universal-style one. The wiring inside the tank was all sloppy, and the rubber cushion for the pump motor was missing. It must have really been noisy!”

“As long as it works properly now, that’s all that matters,” I said, getting in the driver’s seat and reaching for the keys. “May I?”

“Be my guest!” The Bean was in a grand mood, probably because he had beaten the flat rate for the job by 20 minutes. But his cheeriness quickly disappeared as I cranked, and cranked, and cranked…with no sign of life from the engine. His mouth dropped open in disbelief.

“Ha!” Tooner’s voice rang out from across the shop. “What’s this I hear? Nothing? Ha!” He started to dance a little jig around his tool cabinet. “Looks like we missed something, Beanie. I love it!”

Beanie grit his teeth. “Leave it with me, Slim. I’ll figure it out.”

And I did. Sometimes the best way to learn is to simply fight your way through it.

The three-hour job had turned into six hours by the time he dragged himself back into the office. “You’re not going to believe this,” he moaned. “You’d better come take a look.”

Intrigued, I followed him out to the truck. Both doors were open, and the driver’s seat was removed and sitting off to the side. The carpet was also lifted up out of place. “What in the world have you been doing?” I asked incredulously. “Why have you dismantled the interior to try and fix a fuel pump?”

Beanie pointed to a wiring connector that normally lies underneath the carpet under the driver’s seat. “Because that’s were the problem is.” He pulled something out of his coverall pocket. “This red flag was wiring to the connector,” he said glumly. “Here, read it yourself.”

What The Bean had found was a note from a previous technician. Apparently the wiring to the aftermarket fuel pump had been connected in reverse before installing it into the fuel tank, and rather than pull the tank out again to change it, they had swapped the power and ground wires in a wiring connector. The note read: Red Flag! Pump wired incorrectly; Pins 1 & 3 are reversed in Data Link Connector. But instead of swapping wires in a logical spot, like at the ECU connector under the dash, they had chosen a connector that was not only under the front seat, but under the carpet as well.

I slapped Beanie on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t look so glum. At least you found the source of the problem.”

At that moment, Tooner sauntered over waving the red flag. “Tisk, tisk,” he said gleefully. “Six hours to do a three-hour job?” He shrugged. “Well, don’t take it too hard, Bean. One day you’ll be able to fix cars just like the big boys.” Beanie scowled as Tooner stuffed the flag in his back pocket and whistled his way out to the coffee room.

“Grr,” he growled. “I’d like to Red Flag him.” Hmm, now there’s a thought…

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About The Writer

Rick Cogbill is a freelance writer living in the Okanagan valley of Southern British Columbia. A licensed technician with over 25 years in the automotive repair industry, including ten years as a shop owner, Cogbill creates his comic scenarios with Slim, Basil, Tooner, and The Bean out of actual case histories. “What you have just read is true,” drawls Slim Shambles. “Only the names have been changed to protect my hide!”