ADHD and Mechanics

This is a serious subject and I ask that you be hesitant to judge me on something I don't completely understand.  I'm always willing to learn.  My opinions on this subject are not shooting from the hip, they are based on personal experience.  I ask that you read all the way to the end of this article before you even think about leaving a comment.

To date I have had three coworkers with, fairly, severe ADHD.  Person #1 worked, briefly (spoiler alert), at the shop before I was the night foreman so I had no responsibility for his actions.  He was a young man in tech school (never finished the first year) and zoomed around like he was running on 440 volts.  He would be tasked with taking wheels off, or something similar, he would have the axle jacked up, impact out, the sound of that impact would be heard and, then, ten minutes later...  He was nowhere to be found.  Half of the wheel nuts would be off.  The foremen at that time (first and second shift) would ask "Where the f*&k is Person 1?"  We would find him doing something else.  "What are you doing?  Get back over there and get those wheels off!"  Repeat this scenario multiple times per day, every day.  Person 1's tool box was usually empty because he would be distracted to the point where he left his tools all over the shop and never put them back into his box.  Person 1 got canned before his probationary period was up.  The shop's owner saw, firsthand, what was going on and wasn't having it.

Person 2, somehow (not my choice by the way), managed to remain employed at the shop for two years.  Person 2 is a dumpster fire and worthy of an article on just him but I'll keep it brief for this article.  Person 2 was hired as a sixteen year old "apprentice" and, despite his enthusiasm was, right from the first couple of days, not going to be a mechanic.  When Person 2 was hired the previous foremen had either retired or left for other jobs.  I was/am night foreman (read that "babysitter" for reasons I'll explain at another time) and "Beaver" was/is the current day foreman (I defer to him, even though I have a lot more experience.  Reasons).  I am not involved in the hiring process but I am saddled with the people who are hired because nobody wants to work night shift.  Yet, I'm the one getting yelled at when these idiots fuck up.  I digress.  Before Person 2's probationary period was up (within his first week actually) I said "Get rid of him."  I was, of course, ignored and Person 2 continued being an employee.  Making the best of the shit I had on hand, I talked with Person 2 and learned more about ADHD.  I talked with my sister, who has a Master's in education (and she got all the "difficult" students) and I learned more about ADHD.  I found a, for lack of a better word, "checklist" of ADHD syptoms and Person 2 had 90% of them.  Hoarding being the worst.  I kept telling Beaver that we had to get rid of this person but I was, again, ignored.  Beaver seems to be a person who has to save every stray puppy he sees.  But Beaver is all about business at the same time.  It's an account that I still can't reconcile.  Beaver eventually came around and Person 2 remained a "clean up" person.  I can't even tell you how much shop equipment he (Person 2) lost.  

Person 2, finally, after two years, was gone.  In those two years he had, somehow, managed to graduate high school, attend tech school for one semester (failed), destroy three of his vehicles and a list of things I can't describe here.  But, he remained an employee of our shop.  I had learned about ADHD (Beaver did not) and had made attempts at finding a way, any way, that Person 2 could fit in at the shop.  It did not work.  The only thing Person 2 succeeded at was toasting engines and making me lower the bar to the point where if anyone could remove a bolt without depending on the ratchet stating "on" and "off" they were a success.  Yes, he was that bad.

Person 2 was not fired (much to my chagrin) but left for another job.  He was frustrated with only getting "broom" duty.  Person 2 was hired as a mechanic at a local garbage truck place and, surprisingly, remained employed there for a few months.  He toasted a couple of engines and was promptly canned.  Person 2 then made the usual rounds of shops within commuting distance and never made it longer than a couple of weeks.  I would give Beaver, when the Person 2 came up in conversation, the "look".  The look that says "I was right, but you ignored what I had to say."  The sad thing is that Beaver was considering re-hiring Person 2 because "We need a clean-up guy."  I put my foot down and and said "We were more than gracious with him.  All of the other places he's worked at canned him  post-haste and that should tell you something.  We can hire high school kids for clean-up all day long and they may actually amount to something.  Person 2?  No way.  If you re-hire him I'm gone.  I'll go back to cleaning toilets or bagging groceries before I work with Person 2 again.  For once someone, the lead mechanic, agreed with me.  Person 2 is somewhere out there doing something.  I don't care what.

Person 3 is a recent hire.  First year of tech school, full of piss and vinegar...  ADHD.  He falls somewhere between 1 and 2.  That's all I'll say about him.

The things I've learned from Persons 1, 2 and 3 are many.  I don't care how much ambition a person has, the "You can be whatever you want to be" is bullshit.  It's the "participation trophy" mentality.  That shit doesn't fly in the real world.  I can only speak of my profession and I will say vehicle repair is a grind, like any other job, and it requires people who can remain focused and stay on task.  

Before you judge me I have scenarios for you to contemplate and they are based on reality.  You take for granted when you put your foot on the brake pedal of your vehicle, and press down upon it, that your vehicle will come to a stop.  Do you want a Person who is more interested in what's in the trash can, the latest notification on their phone, the current "shiny" distraction... working on your vehicle's brakes?  What would you be thinking if a Person was so distracted that they forgot to tighten (torqued properly if they could remember where they left their fourth torque wrench) oil pan's drain plug during a routine service and you're stuck waiting for a $40,000 engine replacement the shop will have to claim as a loss?  What if a Person was in the middle of putting wheels onto a trailer, only hand tightened the wheel nuts and... "Oooooh, is that a Powerstroke with a stack?  What's this bucket for?  Is that green light flashing for some... Can I go get some food?"

The brutal reality of the repair business is that there's no place for "mechanics" with ADHD.  One fuck up, or two, (dependent on cost of said fuck up) and those people are gone.  There is no fucking rainbow.  It's business and people don't start businesses to lose money.  I'm not holding those dealing with ADHD responsible because it's the hand they were dealt and, as I've experienced up to this point, are well aware of their situation.  Everyone gets a chance but, at some point, we have to accept the reality of the situation.  "This driver has to have the load delivered by X time and we need to get it done!"  I spend so much time keeping People on task, checking their work and then fixing their fuck-ups that I can't see the point of having those People around in the first place.  

Who did your last brake job?

Erling

28 May, 2020

Hello. It’s been awhile since I’ve checked in. I’ll get straight to the point of this article. A man named Erling.

After I had parked my truck at work, and was walking to the shop, I looked into the scrap metal dumpster. I look into that dumpster frequently to see if there might be something I can use in my basement machine shop. As I looked in yesterday I saw a little “parts” cabinet. The kind with a bunch of small plastic drawers for storing screws, nails and other such hardware. I opened a drawer and saw random junk. Upholstery tack, curtain brackets and such. Then I opened the large bottom drawer and saw a piece of paper, on which the words “ration card”, caught my eye. I then saw a photograph of a young woman and another of a young girl. It caught my interest because photographs don’t end up in drawers unless they have special meaning to someone. I was curious.

I picked that cabinet out of the dumpster and stuck it into the bed of my truck with the intention of looking through everything after work. I did just that and what a treasure I had found. I love old tools. Old tools were made so much better when people who knew how to make tools were in charge and not shareholders. When those old tools have the original owner’s initials or name on them they becom more precious to me. I’m a mechanic and I have spent a lot of my hard-earned money purchasing tools so I understand those old guys. I get sentimental when I look at an old pair of Starrett calipers with the initials “WJH” stamped into them. I wonder who that guy was, what his trade was, where he purchased the tool etc. The saying goes “purchase good tools and they’ll outlast you.” How true. Purchase quality tools, take care of them and they’ll last for generations.

I got home from work and took that little cabinet down to my shop. I found, in addition to the photographs, a fuel ration card from WWII, many paycheck stubs from 1945-1961, a chauffeur’s license, vehicle registrations, deposit slips, an assortment of keys, receipts from credit purchases and a lot of junk hardware. I learned the guy’s name, what he did for a living and where he lived in my town. His name was Erling and he was an appliance repairman. Learning his trade created, in my head at least, a bit of camaraderie.

I imagine he purchased this cabinet to keep in his service truck and then put it into his garage, or basement, when he retired. Maybe it was always at his home. I don’t know. I only know that a bit of a man’s story got tossed into a dumpster because someone thought it was trash. I think that tossing this little cabinet away is disrespectful to Erling and all he had done in his life. I feel like I owe it to the guy, from one blue collar tradesmen to another, to clean up that cabinet and preserve the things he thought were important to save. I will do just that.

I searched the internet using his full name and learned some things about Erling. He lived to be 80 years old, was married to the same woman for about 50 years, they had one child (a daughter) and he died twenty days after his wife had died. The two photographs in the little cabinet were of Erling’s daughter. One photo was her at about 3 or 4 years old and the other (guessing here) as a high school senior. Erling’s daughter is also deceased. My internet search also produced two photos of Erling and his wife (they look like church directory or, perhaps, wedding anniversary photos to me) and in both photographs they display genuine smiles. They were happy and it showed.

I don’t know the circumstances that led to Erling’s cabinet being in a scrap metal dumpster. Maybe someone who purchased his home after his death found it in a dusty corner. Maybe a distant family member was sorting through boxes of “stuff” that had been passed down and tossed it out as “junk.” Whatever the situation, Erling’s little cabinet is now safe in my basement. The documents are in varying degrees of decay. I don’t know if they can be saved, I’m a mechanic and not an archivist, but they will be photographed for posterity. I will clean the plastic drawers, straighten the bent cabinet and, if necessary, repaint it. Whatever documents I can preserve, along with the photographs of Erling’s daughter, will be placed in the bottom drawer where I found them. Maybe I’ll print this article and include it in the drawer so that when I’m gone this cabinet might mean something to the next person to find it.

I hope that when I’m gone my family will, at the very least, look through all of my things before throwing away anything. There may just be some little nuggets of my life tucked away in some innocuous little cabinet.

I'm Not A "Maker"

28 January, 2020

This first paragraph is being written after I have completed the rest of this article.  This is a typical ramble from me.  A simple subject that seems to jump around in a confused manner.  I've tried to keep this article short and to not wander down the many paths that I could have wandered down.  If I had done so this thing would turn into a book.  Maybe I should have gone down those rabbit holes.  Hell, nobody reads this stuff as it is.  Whatever.  

In a conversation with a new coworker our hobbies, outside of work, were discussed.  Long story short he said "Oh, so you're a maker!"  My eye twitched, steam just started coming out of my ears but, thankfully, my brain was moving faster than my mouth.  "Maker?  Not really but it's similar." 

Is the "maker" moniker really so bad?  No, but I think of "maker" as a title for someone who hasn't earned their stripes.  The kind of person who, a year ago, didn't know how to sharpen the iron of a jack plane (or even knew what a jack plane was) but has a nine month old YouTube channel with 500,000 subscribers and is looked on as an "expert" in something.  I can see that they're complete noobs, which isn't a bad thing, but what about those viewers who don't know anything at all?  Are the blind leading the blind? 

I wouldn't, or couldn't, expect these freshly-minted "makers" to be preaching the book of Schwarz right from the start, but I do expect them to do some research before making videos and before begging for money "to keep the shop going" from the newbies.  It could be a simple statement along the lines of "Here's how dovetail joints were made in the old days and here is how I'm going to do it."  Letting the newbies know that there are many ways to complete a task is enough.  Maybe they'll do their own research or maybe they won't.  But they should have that option.  

I see makers as being more "all around" people.  Us old folk might scoff at "the damned CNC button pushers" but fail to see that the "maker" we're shaming built that CNC router and the computer that runs it.  If us older people could learn to shut up and listen we might just have a nice conversation with a young person.  A polite conversation leads to people asking questions and learning new things.  I'm getting better with this skill. 

Speaking of woodworking specifically, I started learning about it at a very young age (there are previous posts that cover this topic) and learned most of my skills the old fashioned way.  Reading and experience.  I didn't have the luxury of YouTube but when YouTube was available I was able to put a nice polish to the skills I already had.  In some cases I learned that I had been doing certain things the hard way.  Always learning. 

Funny story.  Years ago (six?) I watched a video from Jimmy DiResta.  I saw that he had a lot of subscribers but I had no clue who he was.  I watched more of his videos and saw a lot of familiar things which prompted me to send him a message (when you could still send PMs on YouTube).  I mentioned that he and I seemed to have similar skills and asked him if he learned them from shop class at school.  He replied stating that, yes, he learned a lot of what he knew from shop class and also his Dad.  I learned later who Jimmy DiResta was.  Imagine bumping into some guy you recognized "from that one movie", chatted about it and then found out it was Al Pacino.  Back to the topic at hand.

This whole post was brought about because I was curious about the demise of Popular Woodworking Magazine.  I bought my first issue in '99, right about the time Schwarz started at the magazine, and kept on reading.  That magazine steered me down a different path from the "New Yankee Workshop" path I had been on.  It led to books I had never heard of.  I learned about proper workbenches, what a jack plane is capable of, what a sharp tool can do and how to sharpen tools properly.  I chose to go down the path of "hand tool woodworker" and have enjoyed every minute of it.  But that's my choice and my own personal standard.  Your mileage may vary.

Sanding.  Lots and lots of sanding.  That's how you can differentiate between "maker" and "Woodworker".  Until I had jumped head-first into hand tool woodworking I didn't know how much I hated sanding.  I hadn't known better.  I thought I had to have pad sanders, random-orbit sanders, sanding blocks, the reams of sandpaper to go on those power tools and a dust collector (never had that part) to suck up all the dust.  I thought I had to work through the grits from coarse to fine.  It was clouds of dust that clogged my sinuses, penetrated my clothing and got all over everything in the garage despite the shop vac hookups on those power sanders.  Then I got some hand planes, made some card scrapers and learned that I hated sanding.  Curly shavings from hand planes don't clog your sinuses and provide a much better finish.  Hand planes also don't round over ever corner and edge the way sanders do.  I learned what a proper hand saw was, how to sharpen them and how to use them.  I also learned that a proper kit of hand tools can be had for the price of one "Ultra-Trac Festung Super Corner Joint-O-Matic" power tool.  Old hand tools were made when quality mattered.  They don't require expensive batteries.  Hand tools are also quiet.  I'm prone to scold a young person with something like "You took a 3/4" thick board down to 1/2" with a fucking belt sander?  Are you stupid?!?"  That's what I'm saying in my head but what comes out of my mouth is "Well, you got it done.  May I show you another way of doing that job?"

Take it all with a grain of salt.  Just because my way of doing things is "right" to me doesn't make it "right" for you.  Just be warned that the more you learn about woodworking, the more you'll be like me.  Walking through the local farmers' market, scoffing at the "primitive" or "rustic" "furniture" and how the "craftsman" couldn't be bothered to actually mortise the hinges and went the "maker" route and just slapped those hinges on the cabinet face.  If you're a young person and you bump into an old codger like me, who's griping about dark stain being put onto pine, how about you hold off with the "Ok, boomer..." comments.  How about asking the old coot why stain over pine is a bad idea and the mark of a noob?  You might learn something.  You might also teach that old bastid something.  If everyone can learn from one another without the restrictions of "right" or "wrong", "new" or "old", we'll all be better off. 

I Couldn't Save Him

24 November, 2019


It's been almost a year since my life changed, and not for the better.  A person who was loved by his family left this world and I was one of two people to see him at his end.  I knew from the start that I was going to have problems dealing with what had happened but dove in anyway.

A trucking company parks some tractors and trailers in our yard as a "swap lot".  Full trailers are brought in from another location, the drivers who park at our shop hook up and pull those trailers out.  The drivers who brought in the full trailers then take the empty trailer back to their location to be loaded again.  "Drop and hook" is the term used in the trucking industry.

I know the drivers who park at our shop but don't know the other drivers who bring in the loaded trailers.  It's quite routine and the whole process happens in less than an hour starting around 21:00.  There's a lot of traffic in and out of our yard which, mostly, goes by unnoticed.  5 February, 2019 changed that routine.

The usual trailer swaps had gone on and my coworker and I had just continued working on the jobs we had to get done.  At the end of the shift I went outside to get the service trucks started up in preparation for bringing them inside.  I noticed a tractor, lights on, hooked up to a trailer and had a listen.  Engine wasn't running but the lights were on.  Not normal, but not unusual either.  Sometimes tractors get parked and the driver forgets to shut off the lights.  "Christ, I had better go shut off those lights so we don't have to do a jump start later" I was thinking. 

I walked over to the rig, around to the driver's door and noticed it was slightly ajar and didn't see a driver.  I opened the door and saw the driver's foot in the door jamb, looked up and saw the driver in his seat, slumped over a little bit.  "Hey buddy."  No response.  "Hey buddy!!"  No response.  I climbed up and looked... "Oh shit..."  Even if you've never seen a person at that kind of moment, you just know.  I hauled ass into the shop and on my way to the nearest phone my coworker was in the midst of saying "What's going on..."  "Get out of the way!!" I hollered at him.  I picked up the phone and punched in 911.   I told the operator who I was, where I was at and that there was a truck driver who was unresponsive.  The operator arranged for my coworker to call them so we could be connected at the truck.  "Mitch!  Call 911 and follow me!!"  Mitch did just that and we were out at the truck, with the operator on speaker phone.

We, in a nutshell, were told to get the driver out of the truck and on the ground.  We were told to see if the driver was still warm and if there was a pulse.  Mitch, I feel for him because he had never been in this kind of situation, reached out, hesitated, then checked for a pulse.  Nothing.  The 911 operator then talked me through CPR.  Emergency teams were on the way.  I did as I was told and started doing chest compressions.  The gurgling coming from the driver has come back to haunt me many times.  I suspect it will continue to haunt me until my dying day.  I could hear sirens but "Why aren't they here yet?"

I kept doing the chest compressions as instructed and the paramedics seemed to pop up out of nowhere.  Pump, pump, pump "Do I stop now?" I asked.  Pump, pump, pump "keep going" they said as they hooked up respiratory stuff and got a backboard placed.  Pump, pump, pump "OK.  We have it." the paramedics said.  It was seamless.  I stopped compressing, they took over and then I fell onto my butt, turned around and started crying like a baby.  I don't know how long I had been crying but I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a voice saying "You gave him a chance..."  It was February and I had started to feel the cold.  Thinking back on those moments, I now know the driver was already dead.  The ambulance was in no hurry to leave the yard which tells me that driver didn't make it.  Massive heart attack from what I found out later on.

I made phone calls to the driver's dispatcher, helped the police find info in the truck and such, called my boss.  I was numb and Mitch was visibly shaken.  Mitch and I had a conversation after everyone had left.  Having been through a similar situation with my Dad, and having had to deal with break down later, I told Mitch to go home and tell his Mom, Grandma, Sister...  Just tell someone everything you had just gone through.  "If you bottle it up it will just come back later and it will be twice as bad." I told him.

Mitch has some habits that are annoying but I know I can rely on him when the shit hits the fan.  The day to day stuff is petty now that I know that he's a good person and will be there, even if the situation is dire, when he's called upon.  I have a lot of respect for Mitch now.

Not long after, I received a phone call (at the shop) from the driver's sister.  She hadn't received any straight answers regarding he brother's death.  She asked questions and I answered the questions I could.  She also asked if she could come to the shop some time.  I, of course, said "Yes.  Come after 15:00 and ask for Tim."  She came to the shop that spring.

"Tim, someone's at the front window asking for you." I heard.  I walked into the office and said "I'm Tim.  What can I help you with?"  She introduced herself as the sister of the driver who had died.  I walked outside with her so we could have some privacy.  I had talked to Mitch and said he could come along with us if he wanted and that if he chose not to he would not be looked down upon.  She asked to see the place where her brother had died and I took her around back to the yard.  I wasn't able to show her the exact spot because I hadn't been paying attention to that sort of thing on the night it happened.  I was able to only say "It's one of these parking spaces."

She asked if she could spread some Holy water (they are a Catholic family) and I told her she could do whatever she wanted.  If she wanted a memorial stuck into the ground I would see that it happened.  She asked if it was okay to hug me and I said it was.  We hugged, cried and then she gave me two laminated copies of the driver's obituary.  One for me, one for Mitch.  I told her everything that had happened that night, she thanked me for trying to save her brother and then left.  I told Mitch that if he wanted a copy of the obituary that it would be on my toolbox.  He didn't take it and I don't hold anything against him for not wanting to.  I, on the other hand, read the obituary and then knew something of the man I couldn't save.

I had planned on visiting his grave on a motorcycle trip but I didn't.  Maybe in 2020 I will.  I didn't know the guy from Adam, but I was there at the end of his life.  I did my best to save him but failed.  He was dead before I found him.  I wish that he had survived.  I wish that I had met him after the fact.  I wish that his family had only a scare and not a funeral.  Life doesn't work out like that.  Sometimes people die and families are left with holes in their hearts.  First responders have to deal with these situations on a daily basis and, sometimes, mechanics have to deal with that situation and can't fix it.

I never knew that driver.  I never said so much as "hello" to him, but he is now part of me.  In his time of dying I was there and it will haunt me until I'm gone.  I'm just glad that I was able to provide some sort of closure for his family.   

What Do You Say?

4 October, 2019

I got the news yesterday that a second cousin, Christian, had died as a result of injuries sustained while fighting a forest fire.  I don't recall ever meeting the man, also an Iraq war combat veteran, but I have met his parents and sister.  They all live in the Pacific northwest so family visits don't really happen.  Still, it's family.  My family, despite being spread out, is pretty tight.  If some distant relative contacts someone from out of the blue the response is "Come on over, we'll put you up for a few days."  I think that's really cool.

Facebook, love it or hate it, has provided me with a way of keeping in touch with my more distant family.  I love it, but FB still has the stink of disconnection.  Before the internet as we know it, the phone and address lists kept by my parents and grandparents were epic sagas.  Just as I was leaving on a solo motorcycle trip to my Dad's home town this summer, Mom handed me a slip of paper with the last known phone number of one of her friends.  Just in case.  I've gone off on a tangent.

With the news of Christian's death, my immediate reaction was to go forth and support the family.  Christian's sister and father had posts on FB (which is how I found out about his death), but I didn't know how to respond.  I never know how to respond to that kind of news.

I've written about the death of my father, brother and one of my best friends (Audra) before so I won't rehash those stories.  The relevant points are this.  When Dad died I heard "I'm sorry for your loss", and minor variations, so much that I swore I would never say that.  "I'm sorry..." equates to an apology.  Why are you apologizing for my Father's death?  You didn't kill him.  "Thoughts and prayers..."  Well, after my Grandfather's death (a Methodist minister for four decades) and then my Father...  That was, almost, the final nail in the coffin of the belief in God for me.  Prayer meant nothing to me.  Toss in my Brother and then Audra...   There are a lot of mental scars that just can't absorb well-wishes anymore.

Maybe it was the trauma of losing my Father that short-circuited my brain into analyzing how people responded as a way of not thinking about what had actually happened.  The kind people who propped up myself, and my family, at that time (repeated when my Brother died) were great.  They were also struggling with "What do I say?"  Just the fact that people gave a damn, in any shape or form, did wonders.  At my Father's funeral the assistant manager, Dave, from the grocery store showed up.  He had flowers from the store and a card signed by all of my coworkers.  I still get a little teary-eyed thinking about that kind gesture.  My best friend (his future wife and his three siblings by default) and a good chunk of his family (all of them had adopted me as family) were also there.  All of it was a show of friendship and support.  I will never forget any of them.  What I learned was that actions mean more than words.  My whole world was chaos.  I didn't know up from down, left from right... It's like I was in the middle of the Atlantic and just trying to keep my head above water and then "There's Dave, there's Adam and his family..."  Just those people being there gave me something to focus on and it was like they had thrown me a rope and were pulling me to safety. 

When Best Friends' (meaning all of them) Father died, I was there.  I had no clue what do do, but I was there.  Best friend's wife died, I was there.  I was a pall bearer and let me tell you, carrying one of my best friends to her final resting place, that hurt.  A lot.  Best friends' Aunts died, I was there. Still had no idea what to say but at least I could "be there".  Not my family, but kinda my family...  My default position in any of those situations is to just hang out in the background and be ready should someone need something.  Ran out of TP in the bathroom?  "I'm on it!"  I could say.  Physical presence.  They helped me when I needed it so I wanted reciprocate.

But with Christian I can't do that.  I'm thousands of miles away from them.  I can't be there to hang out in the background.  I can't give them hugs.  I can't make supply runs to the store when the TP runs out.  I don't know what to do and I can't find any words that won't sound like something on a cheap wall hanging from Target.  My response thus far has been a "sad face" on FB.  I had to do something.  I can't even write a letter because I don't have an address to send it to. 

What do you say, what do you do, in a moment like this?