In the last posting I quickly went over a bit of the genealogy that landed me in the kitchen. So, how in the world did I end up in the stressful, unrelenting, unforgiving, yet satisfying, and invigorating brotherhood there is? My dad.
Yes, I know it’s cliche. Daddy’s little girl follows in his footsteps etc, but it’s really not how it seems. My dad isn’t a salesman. If someone held a gun to his head and told him to sell sand to an Arab, he’d take the gun and either pistol whip ’em or take it apart in 20 seconds and walk away. He is not a salesman. My dad is a technician, an engineer, a comedian, and genius to boot.
When I was four years old, my dad came into my room he told me, “common little bit, I’m going to show you what daddy does on the weekends.” My dad used to go out on Saturday morning with his best friend Bill and not come home until dusk. He was always filthy and I didn’t understand what he could be doing to make him so dirty.
Dressed in his uniform and work boots off we went. He took me to the junk yard. We were looking for parts for a car that I had never heard of, something American–I was born and raised in Sicily (more on that later). After finding the right part we went to the Hobby Shop. Bill and my father owned their on automotive shop for American cars. One would start on one end, then cross the other and double check their work before they released the vehicle. I watched in awe and listened to the drills and ratchets. Dad made me in charge of the hand jack that day, and a car girl was born.
Over the next couple of decades my dad made sure to buy me my own coveralls, my own Homak tool box, and orange hand scrub. He taught me how to change my oil, tires, brakes, clutch–yes I can drive a stick, spark plugs, fuses, and engine. I love the inside of a car as much as I love the outside. So, when I was given the opportunity to work for Audi a few years ago I jumped right in. Learning the truth in engineering was compelling and I took to selling the product like fish to water. I loved the sounds that the cars made, the feel of the steering wheel, the curves, and I would not rest until one of these beauties were sitting in your driveway.
That’s how I got my start in the Brotherhood that is called the Car Biz. It’s the most fun and torturous profession known to man. Maybe akin to working in a successful restaurant. Throughout these posts I’ll let you further into the businesses that I love and maybe dish out some advice…wheels down…
Lancia…watched my dad weld this car hood on accident
Car Biz Girl 