PatchWork — It's not just the job that defines you

By PATRICK DRURY Thursday, March 16, 2006 2:19 PM EST

I don't think I've really said much here about my day job mostly just because I'd like to avoid throngs of screaming teenage girls bum-rushing my office all "Hard Days Night" style, demanding locks of my hair and shreds of my business frock. But since my "Things I've eaten that aren't food" column idea isn't gelling the way I wanted it to, I've decided to talk a little bit about where I work.

I work at an auto body shop owned by my father, which is strange because I don't really like cars or my father. Just kidding I love my father. And working with him has given me an opportunity to see him in a setting I might not have otherwise. Particularly, I've gotten to see how the community he works in sees him as an honest and reliable businessman. So that's been really kind of neat, but hard to reconcile with my memories of him forcing me under the house to fix the sump pump at the tender age of 5.

I started working for him when I was 25. I'd just gotten out of a two-year stint in the ministry in Florida and had moved back to Kentucky looking for a job. I worked at a car dealership for exactly one day and decided it wasn't for me. I was telling my dad this, and he mentioned that he needed someone to help out in the office with his new computer estimating system. He needed a worker, and I needed a job. Synchronicity.

When you tell people you work at a body shop, they automatically assume you physically work on the cars. Or they assume you mean one of those lotion places in the mall named, "The Body Shop." Funny how the words "body shop" can imply both ends of the masculinity spectrum. I don't actually work on the cars, and I certainly don't work in a lotion store, so I manage to fall squarely in the middle of said spectrum.

My main job at the body shop is estimating. I'm an estimator. Actually, according to the business cards my dad had made for me a couple of years ago, I'm the head estimator. It sounds prestigious, but when you consider I'm also the only estimator, you realize it's kind of a hollow title.

Head estimator is better than what I usually get called, though. I usually get called "the boy." As in, "Need an estimate? Go see the boy." It didn't bother me so much at 25, but now at 32, I'm beginning to wonder when I stop being "the boy" and start being "the man."

I suppose I got the name through a combination of being the owner's son and my boyish good looks. I had assumed the technicians out in the back had started it, until one day when I walked out into the shop just in time to hear my dad telling a customer to "go talk to the boy up front." I can't tell you how betrayed I felt. Sure, I was the head estimator on paper, but deep down, even to my dad, I would always be "the boy."

Writing estimates isn't really a fun job. It involves looking at a wrecked car and writing down what you see wrong with it. It also usually involves listening to the car's owner tell you the "hilarious" story of how the accident occurred. I nod my head and say "yeah" a lot to make it seem like I'm listening. This is called customer service.

Because estimating isn't really fun, you have to find ways to entertain yourself on the job. One time a customer came into the office and asked for an estimate. Except he didn't say "estimate" he said "quote." So I replied, "Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country." Then I laughed and laughed.

He didn't think it was quite so funny. Neither did my dad. Body men aren't known for their sense of humor.

Besides writing estimates, I also order parts for the cars we repair. This means I spend a lot of time reading vehicle identification numbers and part numbers to people over the phone. Apparently, I don't annunciate well because, almost without exception, every person I read a number to repeats it back to me. But when they repeat it, they throw in that little "as in" thing. You know, I'll say "D" and they'll repeat it back, "D as in David."

I decided I could speed the whole process up by doing the "as in" thing myself. If I confirm that the letter I said is actually a "C," then they wouldn't need to confirm it and we can all get off the phone a little faster. So, I'm on the phone with a guy and I'm reading a vehicle identification number and I say, "C as in cat." Despite my confirmation, he repeats it back to me. But instead of using cat, he says, "C as in Charlie." As if correcting me. As if telling me that cat didn't actually start with a C, but Charlie does. As we continued, I realized that every "as in" the guy used was actually a name. "C as in Charlie," "T as in Tom," etc. And if I ever tried to use anything other than a name, he would subtly but firmly correct me by changing it to a name when he repeated it back to me.

One day, as I was reading a vehicle number to this same guy, I realized there was an X in it. I got really excited because the only name I could think of that had an X in it was Xavier. For some reason, I really wanted to hear this guy say, "Xavier." When it came time for him to repeat it, he said, "X as in X-ray."

X-ray? That's not a name. It's a thing. He totally broke his own rule. And I'm sure it was because either he had no idea that there was a name that started with an X; or saying the name Xavier would make him feel weird and self-conscious. Keep in mind that in the automotive repair industry, little things like that have an effect on people.

Anyway, I was really annoyed that he had corrected me on words like "cat" but then copped out with "X-ray." So now, whenever I read a number for this guy, I say, "K as in K-ray, L as in L-ray, P as in P-ray." He pretends not to notice, but I can tell that every time I do it, it jabs a little knife into his soul.

Right after I came out of the ministry and started working for my dad, I used to wonder how long I'd be there. I wondered if I would develop a love for cars and end up wanting to take over the business. I wondered if I might one day feel the need to leave the auto body business and get back into ministry. I worried about things like that.

I worried mostly, I think, because our culture tends to define people by what they do for a living. Think about it when you meet someone for the first time, how long before you ask them what they do for a living? Not long, usually. It's probably within the first five minutes.

And there's nothing wrong with that. What a person does for eight hours out of their day probably tells you a lot about them. But what about those other 16 hours? How long do you have to talk to a person before you ask them what they're doing when they're not working? Do you ever ask them that?

I decided a few years ago that it's OK not to be defined by my job. That'll sound like a rationalization, probably. It'll sound like I'm saying that because I don't feel particularly inspired by my job, I've decided to buck the system and choose something else to define my life. And maybe it is a rationalization, I don't know.

What I do know, however, is that I enjoy people. I enjoy my friends. I enjoy hanging out with them. I enjoy my family. I enjoy writing. I enjoy volunteering at my church. And while I enjoy my job from time to time, it really just exists as a way to make sure my bills are paid. So why let that be who I am? Why not let the things I love define me instead?

So if we ever meet at a party, or a bar, or a federal indictment, feel free to ask me what I do for a living. I'll tell you about writing estimates, and ordering parts and about being "the boy."

But after that, be sure to follow it up with a question about what I do when I'm not working, because that's how you'll most likely get to know me better.

Also, get me to retell the story about reading the vehicle numbers to the guy on the phone. I do his voice with a French accent, and it's really funny.