Job satisfaction is an odd thing. Some people can apparently enjoy the shittiest of jobs, and I mean that literally. I don't see how you can scrub the skid marks from a toilet bowl unless you have some sort of OCD issue that requires spotless porcelain, or perhaps its actually enjoyable. Not that I'm being specific overtly harsh towards cleaners, but when you clean something and come back the next day and its completely rotten again it must put a bit of a dampener on your day. Something tells me that it'd only be a matter of time before you go home and suck on a 9mm lollipop, unless of course, the people who do these jobs actually find it satisfying. Which is the thing, I've never in my brief encounters with cleaners ever heard them say how shit the job is. Perhaps its just denial.

However, everyone else seems to complain relentlessly. Oh your boss made you change some design spec document, oh that's terrible, and you missed out on pub lunch. And then they relocated your desk to the centre of the office so everyone can see you are on Gmail all day. How aweful. It is of course completely valid to get shitty about that, I just find it annoying to listen to. But what are friends for if not a shoulder to cry on.

The reason I bring this up is I had to get an exhaust fitted to the Pajero, which I assumed would be bread and butter for an exhaust shop. The shop in question is just over the road from my work place so they get my business only for the fact that they are the closest. I had previously had some things done there before, they made the sidepipe for the skyline for one. They later also replaced the exhaust on the Gemini after it exploded. When I picked it up in the afternoon I got a sob story about how hard it was to bend a pipe over a diff. You read that right. Yes, apparently Australia's Premier Exhaust Specialists couldn't work out how to bend a 2 1/4 inch mild steel pipe through a gap of at least 6 inches. They made a real mess of it too. The pipe goes straight underneath the gearbox and there is only a single flange at the end of the collector of the headers. Naturally, that made replacing the gearbox a few months back a barrel of laughs.

We fixed one or two remaining issues with the Pajero on Wednesday night (throttle cable and the alternator wiring pretty much) and took it for a test run. The noise was incredible. Like stupid loud. I don't know how it works, but EFI seems to make a car a lot louder. Thankfully, it also made it a lot faster. After a few blockies that were likely heard throughout Brisbane, I decided that getting a muffler on it should probably be a priority. So the next morning I drove it to work turning more heads at bus stops than ever before. I'm not sure why, but it seems to backfire on deceleration which sends a bit of a shock-wave through your feet as that was about where the exhaust ended. Naturally, when pedestrians were around the throttle became a toggle switch. Some how I managed to get to work without being arrested, and I pulled into the exhaust shop to the soundtrack of a Disaster Area album featuring special guest Krakatoa.

The manager came out, took a brief look at it, asked what year, etc. I told him I also needed a plug welded in for an O2 sensor and he told me I didn't need one. I told him it was EFI. The book in front of him told him it wasn't. This was going well, but he eventually took my word for it. He gave me a quote and said he could squeeze it in that afternoon. No problems.

So 4pm rolled around, I got a phone call telling me that they are about to start, and asking how many mufflers would I like. I wandered over, and sat down in the reception area to catch up on my FastFours while I waited. About half an hour passed then I saw the Pajero come screaming backwards out the workshop. The manager got out leaving it running on the street and he stormed back into the office to where I was. I could clearly hear the Pajero idling way, it was still loud.

"Is it finished?"
"No. I can't do it."
"Uhhh... why?"
"I don't care, its got a muffler on it and some pipe. Just get it out of my sight."
"..."

The manager disappeared into the workshop. For a good 15 seconds I stood there wondering what the fuck just happened. The blank look from the other guy in the reception area didn't help me.

I drove back over the road to work, with whatever there is of the exhaust rattling away underneath. I'm not sure what it was that made him snap. I mean, I could make a list of things that might have, but I don't know which one or combination of them it was. Was it the fact the under-body is largely covered in mud, sand and vegetation? Did the fire extinguisher sitting on the passenger seat make him nervous? The fact that the Pajero looks like it had an argument with Christian Bale? Was it the fact that pipes might need to be bent that frightened him off? Why?

Now, I don't really care if I get service with a smile or not, but I sure don't expect someone I'm supposed to be paying to fit an exhaust to go Sally Robbins half way through the job. If fitting an exhaust is that much of a struggle for you, I have two questions for you. Firstly, why did I get a quote in the first place? And secondly, what the hell are you doing running an exhaust shop?

its one thing to break a heart, but crushing a spirit is something else entirely

Coincidently, the cleaner we used to use at work drove a late model Mercedes and often discussed the share market with anyone who was still at work. They actually ended up firing them because they were concerned that someone with such an interest in the share market shouldn't have free access to a publicly listed company after hours. I'd suggest the Merc rang a few alarm bells.

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