."Skutler" Motorsports,
peddling speed, style, and lateral Gs
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Pit stop - a brief rest or break during a race or journey.
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It was while on extended hiatus in Southern California I realized that, just because one has a particular skill, in my case digging graves, running from animals, and peddling air, it doesn’t necessarily mean one has to make a living using it. Circumstances permitting, it's OK to search for one's calling. Sometimes you have to try a few different things before you figure everything out. ...That’s how it all started; another episode.
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It was also a result of being in Los Angeles, historic hot bed of all things fast and loud, that I decided to enter the aftermarket automotive performance business. I’d been inspired one afternoon while thumbing through one of my car magazines.
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It was a gamble because I'd passed up a rare opportunity in automotive publishing to do it; although, it wasn't a difficult choice because I'd peddled media before and considered it a slow death. As far as goals, I figured I couldn't go wrong working at something I already had a passion for. Long ago, my mother had informed me that my very first spoken word as a child was "car" so I figured I'd try the aftermarket automotive performance business.
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Moving forward, there'd be no more stuffy suits for me. I wanted to be directly involved with the fire breathing, five miles per gallon getting, hot rods and the folks who couldn't live without them. So, I made a few calls; then, six months after leaving Atlanta, I went back.
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After two days on the road Atlanta appeared on the horizon; although, unlike my arrival several years prior, I was already familiar with the city.
The first place I went was "Skutler" Motorsports, a local company looking to promote and grow its new aftermarket automotive performance division. I had a sit down with one of the owners and promised him the moon; judging from his empty shop lobby he would have settled for some customers.
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Oxtail, Georgia
Fifteen minutes from everywhere
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The City of Oxtail
Founded in 1855 by five dyslexic gold miners who couldn't read a map.
They'd set out from Saint Joseph, Missouri for San Francisco but, somehow, wound up in North Georgia; never left.
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Our meeting was held at the company's Oxtail location. Oxtail is the modern rendition of a sleepy, Southern, town with bail bondsmen, strip malls, and churches dotting it's treelined thoroughfares; the main drag features one of every fast food chain known to mankind. Oxtail is so small that if you blink while driving through you'll find yourself leaving town. .
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| Disco cement mixer An odd dichotomy of big truck meets chrome was happening in the Oxtail showroom |
After the meeting, as I exited the building, I noticed a late model Mercedes coupe parked in front of the shop; it was highly customized and had a Skutler Motorsports decal running across the top of the windshield.
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The car was a stunning example of tasteful customization; it was apparent, whoever owned it had put lots of thought into it and spared no expense. I noted the Mercedes athletic stance could have only been achieved by extensive suspension modifications and the twenty inch P Zero tires on which it sat had an average life of six months under the best of conditions and the cost of each tire exceeded that of the average local mortgage payment. The attention to detail by the car's owner was quite apparent; the aftermarket European wheels had been matched to the paint scheme and the Mercedes emblems had been shaved for a streamlining effect. The eye-catching sedan sparkled brightly in the midday sun.
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I noted the dreary Skutler showroom had lacked the attention to detail that had been bestowed upon the Mercedes. I'd later discover the Mercedes belonged to the owner of the shop.
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The car was a stunning example of tasteful customization; it was apparent, whoever owned it had put lots of thought into it and spared no expense. I noted the Mercedes athletic stance could have only been achieved by extensive suspension modifications and the twenty inch P Zero tires on which it sat had an average life of six months under the best of conditions and the cost of each tire exceeded that of the average local mortgage payment. The attention to detail by the car's owner was quite apparent; the aftermarket European wheels had been matched to the paint scheme and the Mercedes emblems had been shaved for a streamlining effect. The eye-catching sedan sparkled brightly in the midday sun.
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I noted the dreary Skutler showroom had lacked the attention to detail that had been bestowed upon the Mercedes. I'd later discover the Mercedes belonged to the owner of the shop.
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City of Oxtail
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The pride of North Georgia
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Motto: "We pull together"
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| . Williamson Brother's Barbecue - Marietta, Georgia |
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I was one hour early my first day; Mark W., the "Yankee General" pulled in shortly afterwards. Since arriving, I'd been in my car reading Think and grow rich for the umpteenth
time. For me, arriving at the workplace at the crack of dawn is par; nobody ever beats
me to the office. Alas, my legendary reliability has a downside; due to the routine aspects of
being an early riser I'm prone to overlook the occasional schedule variation. On more than one occasion, I've found myself sitting alone in a company parking lot wondering
where everybody else was only to later discover it was a national holiday.
My first day I observed as my co-workers went about their daily routines. Bob B., and Ron M., the senior most veterans, tread a well-worn path; they have a grace about them as they pivot from one piddling task to another. Mark, the capricious young General strutting about with a cigarette dangling from his lips, is a transfer; he's been brought in in an effort to change the downward trajectory of the business.
With the air compressors up and running the garage staff gather around the coffee machine in the break area for a smoke. With coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other they banter happily; one or two of them appear hung-over. Out of nowhere the Yankee General appears; then, he fires off a verbal barb and the garage staff chug their coffee and head to their stations. .
It's a quiet morning and the overall demeanor in the shop is one of waiting. A customer enters the lobby and is gone within a minute. "May as well tidy up." Skutler's lobby is more museum than showroom because much of what's in it is either old or discontinued. Since I'm the one making a big fuss about how everything needs rearranging the task falls to me; that's what I do, I rearrange and organize things. Sorting everything isn't so bad because everything I come across tells a story. For starters, I pull a dusty KFC box out from behind some catalogs. Inside the box are petrified chicken bones; which, tells me, long ago the shop suddenly became busy and somebody forgot to finish their lunch.
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Mark was a straight shooter if there ever was one and could smell a coin in your shoe if you had one; it seemed he was made for his role. Somehow, he reminded me of General George Custer. We all know what happened to Custer at Little Bighorn.
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In the aftermarket automotive performance business there's quite a bit of technical specification data to keep up with and it changes often. Customers often pushed the limits of safety and common sense with their automotive whims, and we did everything within reason to assist them in doing so.
Learning a new industry was a very humbling experience. I recall spending an entire afternoon in a closet sorting out lug nuts. I'd gone from pitching quarter million dollar radio ad campaigns to sorting lug nuts.
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.My own project
Supercharged, custom ignition, racing exhaust, and a modified suspension, all done myself.
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.Many long hours
went into locating and customizing the rare 4-AGZE engine. At that time, there were only a dozen or so cars of this type in the world that had done the conversion from naturally aspirated to supercharged.
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A pit stop during a club event in North Georgia
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.Changing the clutch on my other hot rod
Just as I remembered as a kid, legs protruding from under a car.
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The double agent...
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I remember one particular morning when there were no customers in the fully staffed shop; as the Yankee General would say, our business was "hemorrhaging money.” Whenever the phone rang five guys raced to field the call. I’d seen enough; I decided to go out, and as good ol Mr J (Hampton Institute’s Admissions officer) declared, go get the money. To me, it made more sense to be out talking to businesses that needed our products than to wait around in an empty showroom.
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I started out by visiting all of the local car dealerships. Once there, I strolled the car lots and showrooms, intermittently, pressing the flesh and taking notes; every tidbit of information was recorded. I also talked to the sales staff and put together dossiers on their bosses and their various business practices.
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I started out by visiting all of the local car dealerships. Once there, I strolled the car lots and showrooms, intermittently, pressing the flesh and taking notes; every tidbit of information was recorded. I also talked to the sales staff and put together dossiers on their bosses and their various business practices.
My goal was to find different ways to assist car dealers with their mission of wedging customers into overpriced cars. Upon identifying a particular need I could assist them with, I'd point it out and put a price on it. Subsequently, I’d present my "numbers" to the Sales Weasel who'd start chewing on them; if the Weasel swallowed we'd have a deal. Afterwards, he'd give his John Hancock on the cars he wanted my company to take care of. I always had drivers (idle Skutler staff) on standby ready to whisk the selected cars to our shop at a moment's notice; once the dealer's cars had been whisked Skutler's till would start to fill.
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Aside from selling high performance tires our specialty was the customization and performance oriented modification of high end sports cars; the wholesale aspect of this was my own pet project. I'd set up displays and advise car dealers in how they could improve their sales by partnering with us and utilizing our services; to promote this aspect of business the Skutler staff would drive the latest in modified eye candy. We'd pull up to dealerships in customized sports cars and exotics which would, expectantly, cause jaws to drop and wallets to open; that’s how we fed the monster that was Skutler Motorsports.
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Over time, I discovered some of the dealerships I was dealing with had internal conflicts. I recall one situation where a Used Car Sales Weasel disdained going to his own accounting department for approval of expenditures. In turn, the nice ladies in the dealer's accounting department expressed a distaste for the Sales Weasel's liberal use of fragrance. Sensing opportunity, I stepped in and obliged.
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Organizational deficiencies are often difficult to recognize from within. Sometimes, a peek behind the curtain with fresh eyes is all it takes; navigating these waters is part of the game. The key is to make everything turnkey for folks in spite of themselves, even if it means wading in with sharks.
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Over the long haul, the dealership's internal strife often led to additional, unforeseen, business. Consequently, I made sure to handle all paper work on behalf of all parties. Ultimately, all I ever needed from a Sales Weasel was a wish and a signature. Whenever I left a car dealership I tried to leave with something.
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Aside from selling high performance tires our specialty was the customization and performance oriented modification of high end sports cars; the wholesale aspect of this was my own pet project. I'd set up displays and advise car dealers in how they could improve their sales by partnering with us and utilizing our services; to promote this aspect of business the Skutler staff would drive the latest in modified eye candy. We'd pull up to dealerships in customized sports cars and exotics which would, expectantly, cause jaws to drop and wallets to open; that’s how we fed the monster that was Skutler Motorsports.
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| The empty showroom "hemorrhaging money" |
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| Me working the CEC booth . . . |
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The folks at R-Speed were always good customers |
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.Over time, I discovered some of the dealerships I was dealing with had internal conflicts. I recall one situation where a Used Car Sales Weasel disdained going to his own accounting department for approval of expenditures. In turn, the nice ladies in the dealer's accounting department expressed a distaste for the Sales Weasel's liberal use of fragrance. Sensing opportunity, I stepped in and obliged.
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Organizational deficiencies are often difficult to recognize from within. Sometimes, a peek behind the curtain with fresh eyes is all it takes; navigating these waters is part of the game. The key is to make everything turnkey for folks in spite of themselves, even if it means wading in with sharks.
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Over the long haul, the dealership's internal strife often led to additional, unforeseen, business. Consequently, I made sure to handle all paper work on behalf of all parties. Ultimately, all I ever needed from a Sales Weasel was a wish and a signature. Whenever I left a car dealership I tried to leave with something.
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Sharks & horse traders...
In the world of business to business sales nothing compares to negotiating directly with a Sales Weasel (Car Sales Manager). I can testify that the myths of snake oil salesmanship and third world business practices are mostly true. You'd better hide your watch before shaking hands with these folks. Having dealt with multiple regimes of Sales Weasels I've come to realize that if a Sales Weasel's lips are moving they're probably lying.
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There isn't much to distinguish a New Car Sales Weasel from a Used Car Sales Weasel other than the tools that they have at their disposal; both earn their living by "shoe horning" their customers into cars in an effort to achieve maximum profit. My dilemma was, after having dealt with the general public so much, Sales Weasels tend to look at transactions as games without rules; and their goal is to "win" each and every time. Like Great White Sharks, they have purity in purpose.
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In the world of a Sales Weasel, trivialities such as signatures, contracts, paid labor, and costs incurred are dismissed as mere figments of the imagination. I've experienced the Sales Weasel's mysterious math, blackmail, and back tracking first hand, and each of the aforementioned tactics was deployed in a natural, smiling, manor which suggests, Sales Weasels are predisposed to this high form of art. There is no amount of formalized training that can adequately prepare one for this.
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Long before automobiles were invented they traded horses and, of course, those days, the horse trading game was probably the same. Perhaps, the saying back then was "if a horse trader's mustache is moving he's probably lying."
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There isn't much to distinguish a New Car Sales Weasel from a Used Car Sales Weasel other than the tools that they have at their disposal; both earn their living by "shoe horning" their customers into cars in an effort to achieve maximum profit. My dilemma was, after having dealt with the general public so much, Sales Weasels tend to look at transactions as games without rules; and their goal is to "win" each and every time. Like Great White Sharks, they have purity in purpose.
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In the world of a Sales Weasel, trivialities such as signatures, contracts, paid labor, and costs incurred are dismissed as mere figments of the imagination. I've experienced the Sales Weasel's mysterious math, blackmail, and back tracking first hand, and each of the aforementioned tactics was deployed in a natural, smiling, manor which suggests, Sales Weasels are predisposed to this high form of art. There is no amount of formalized training that can adequately prepare one for this.
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Long before automobiles were invented they traded horses and, of course, those days, the horse trading game was probably the same. Perhaps, the saying back then was "if a horse trader's mustache is moving he's probably lying."
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Making it rain...
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The elevated pace of business at Skutler's Oxtail location hummed along for a little over a year and had become the new norm. It got to where our car dealership business required more inventory than we typically kept on hand; which is a good situation to be in if you're selling for a living. To top it off, the dealership business added new revenue to Skutler's service business; it wasn't unusual for our shop to have an empty retail lobby (with no customers), and yet, have all twelve service bays, and accompanying staff, busy with paid car dealership work throughout the day.
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Things were going so well that one of the younger guys on the Skutler sales staff purchased a new Corvette convertible. Naturally, upon learning of this development, good ol Kickstand quipped: "I hope his Corvette came equipped with a shower and a galley because he's gonna need to live somewhere."
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Things were going so well that one of the younger guys on the Skutler sales staff purchased a new Corvette convertible. Naturally, upon learning of this development, good ol Kickstand quipped: "I hope his Corvette came equipped with a shower and a galley because he's gonna need to live somewhere."
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The rain stopper...
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Eventually, the lines between
loyalty, professionalism, and wanton greed were blurred. Agreements be damned,
the folks holding the purse strings simply wanted more. Something's got to give; one
can't promote the Utopian concept of a little something for everybody by oneself. Ultimately, the
gold standard of equitable profit for everyone was bulldozed aside. In a business situation with competing interests this is typically where the wheels come off the wagon. And the moral of this story? Greed can be the undoing of any business.
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Oxtail characters...
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At the Oxtail shop the characters were numerous. Mark W., the "30ish" Yankee General (he was from upstate New York), was usually second to arrive at the Oxtail shop in the mornings. He'd begin each day as if astride a horse in front of troops; he'd slowly ride his invisible steed around the shop barking orders; though for the most part pleasant, on occasion he'd exhibit symptoms of the Napoleon complex. Once, I stuffed him into a garbage can just to bring him down a couple notches.
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A proven solution
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Nothing brings a fellow down to earth faster than putting him head first into a large garbage container
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Nothing brings a fellow down to earth faster than putting him head first into a large garbage container
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| . For added effect the "insertion" should be done in front of the violator's peers |
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Mark was a straight shooter if there ever was one and could smell a coin in your shoe if you had one; it seemed he was made for his role. Somehow, he reminded me of General George Custer. We all know what happened to Custer at Little Bighorn.
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| General George Custer . |
The troops were loyal to this man, the "60ish" Bob B., who somehow reminded me of Civil War General Robert E. Lee. Bob’s roots run deep in nearby Hiram County (GA). Bob was the consummate Southern gentleman and added the much needed voice of reason to our staff. He was the Kentucky bourbon to the rest of the staff’s Budweiser & Jack Daniels. Bob made his rounds in a beat up old pick-up truck; somehow, I think he would have preferred a horse.
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General Robert E. Lee
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Ron M., aka “Kickstand,” was the unofficial Chairman of the shop and another man of distinction. A late "50ish" veteran of the trucking industry, Kickstand was an encyclopedic source of all things Southern and automotive. He was known for his humorous way with words and knack for getting straight to the bottom line at crucial moments. Kickstand is a name he'd acquired as a result of his "less than busy" posture of lounging against the counter.
Kickstand was also known for mysteriously vanishing whenever things got busy in the building. It's rumored he had a hidden subterranean lounge where he’d hole up to partake in a smoke and avoid customers. We often talked football, hot rods, and local eateries. He made no bones about his automotive heritage; his chariot of choice was the classic Monte Carlo SS.
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| Monte Carlo SS |
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| (Behind the counter) Bob B., myself, Ron "Kickstand" M. (1998) Fun times. I miss those guys. |
Matt A., the "piece of work" New York native, would arrive at the shop each morning with his own theme music pounding through the tinted windows of his perpetually shiny car. A bit young and on the narcissistic side, Matt often entered the lobby to give the ladies a little extra attention. He was good at his job if you could find him.
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Lane G. was the master wrench turner at the Oxtail shop. A guru of all things high performance, he worked alone on the more complicated projects. Every morning he'd rumble into the parking area in his heavily modified pick-up truck. Lane didn't talk much because he was always busy turning wrenches. At the end of each workday he'd leave in true Southern hero fashion; with a smokey, full throttle, burnout down Oxtail Road.
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A live Saturday performance...
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On Saturday's, Skutler's spacious lobby serves as a pulpit for conversationalists and gear heads alike. Though busy, Saturdays are by far the most entertaining day of the week. Car enthusiasts and regulars always arrive early and engage one each other in pleasantries over coffee; typically fastidious, rarely is there ever an automotive emergency with them.
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There's nothing like the velvet touch with which Bob B. takes care of a regular customer; his demeanor is that of a favorite bartender. As always, the young Yankee General is obsessing over the bottom line; he glides back and forth between the service area and the lobby like a large catfish searching for stray bits of revenue, and of course, if it's busy, good ol "Kickstand" is nowhere to be seen.
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There's nothing like the velvet touch with which Bob B. takes care of a regular customer; his demeanor is that of a favorite bartender. As always, the young Yankee General is obsessing over the bottom line; he glides back and forth between the service area and the lobby like a large catfish searching for stray bits of revenue, and of course, if it's busy, good ol "Kickstand" is nowhere to be seen.
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Divergent tastes...
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In the aftermarket automotive performance business there's quite a bit of technical specification data to keep up with and it changes often. Customers often pushed the limits of safety and common sense with their automotive whims, and we did everything within reason to assist them in doing so.
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In the automotive "bling" business it's not uncommon for a customer to bring in a $100,000 car, fresh out of the showroom, and personalize it to the tune of $20,000. People, young men in particular, make hasty impassioned decisions when it comes to augmenting their personal transportation. A college student wants to know if we can gut the catalytic converter on his custom turbo Honda Civic for him. A business executive wants to know what effect a TechArt exhaust system would have on his Porsche 911 turbo's acceleration; two identical dilemmas approached from opposite ends of the socioeconomic spectrum.
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A Skutler technician's devotion to craft is not unlike that of a coffee barista in that both are highly skilled and enjoy putting on a show. That's a lot of pressure installing tens of thousands of dollars' worth of special order bling on an exotic car without scratching anything, and the Skutler technicians did this all day, every day. Not just anyone can back a top fuel dragster off a trailer, maneuver it in the confines of a crowded parking lot, and ease it into bay one; feather the throttle a wee bit too much and it goes right through the shop wall.
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"Make sure Matt is running the show with the dragster in bay one... The owner said he was experiencing a wobble at two hundred and thirty (miles per hour)... Lane, pull the dragster around"...
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"Make sure Matt is running the show with the dragster in bay one... The owner said he was experiencing a wobble at two hundred and thirty (miles per hour)... Lane, pull the dragster around"...
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| .We saw a little bit of everything on Saturdays |
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| There were certain customers who insisted on paying in cash in the back room |
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https://youtube.com/shorts/f-J08Bgsg4Q?feature=share
For me, counting large amounts of cash is stressful; I count like a kid, very slow and deliberately, and I often have to start over again. To alleviate this commerce induced stress I lifted weights at a nearby college; I supplemented my weight training with running.
Local history...
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| Kennesaw Mountain - Marietta, GA was one of my favorite places to run. |
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| Union Major General William Tecumseh Sherman Led Union forces in crushing campaigns through the South, marching through Georgia and the Carolinas (1864–65) |
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| Artillery on Confederate held Cheatham Hill |
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| The view from Cheatham Hill - Marietta, GA |
...Life in the pits.
