I don’t enjoy running the shop. I tell people their cars are broken, break their hearts with repair estimates that I feel bad giving, and take their money when it’s done. There’s nothing fulfilling about it, no enjoyment or satisfaction of a job well done. I’m good at it, as I’ve helped claw the shop’s reputation back from damage done by an unscrupulous sociopathic dickbag former manager, and have maintained the shop’s income despite often telling people not to fix their cars or to buy Toyotas, but I hate it. Straight up hate it. I’m not a salesman. I hate paperwork and phone calls. I hate being in an office, in front of monitors all day ( I mean, except for you lot...). My toolboxes are in the back, collecting dust, my callouses withering.
Anyway... Canepa is only a couple hours away. They’re looking for a race mechanic. I think I owe it to myself to apply, if for no other reason than to start the ball rolling towards change, and to see what my modest resume can get me. The time has long since passed to find happiness in what I do, to find a way to keep learning every day, and to rekindle the love I’ve lost for cars.
The time has also long since passed to crack another Ninkasi and continue my thoughts.
‘Night Oppo, cheers.