As I was wrestling a 100 lb. . . . pig (I hesitate to use the term piglet because even though the beast is only six months old he weighs 100 lbs. and it’s all stacked inside a powerhouse body the size of an obese cocker spaniel) I more fully understood the term “squealing like a stuck pig.” “Hammie” is usually very friendly, and will flop over and bare his belly in two seconds flat for a good rub – but after being attacked by a pit bull and hauled to the vet where he was hogtied (literally!) and stitched up, he wasn’t about to endure our veterinary ministerings with any sort of grace (which included shoving a needle loaded with antibiotics the consistency of peanut butter into his thick neck). His companion, a smaller female named ‘Pork Chop’ that weighs in at – ohhh, maybe 10 lbs. lighter -- was sure we were killing her buddy, and feinted and dodged in to take hunks out of our shoes or flesh, whichever she could find. Contrary to what many people think about pigs, they are neither dumb, nor slow. They can be lightening quick, and you can only fool a pig once. Not to mention that when you put a gazillion pounds into a squat body the size of a bread box, they have enough mass to bowl you over where you stand, and enough smarts to want to do it. Last night, in the longest 30 minutes of my life, between three adults, two pigs, epithets on both sides, and approximately three bent needles, two torn shirts and assorted bruises, the job was done. The pigs eyed us warily as we staggered out in our disheveled clothes, discussing whether we should just have a pig BBQ and be done with it. We have to do it again tomorrow night. But the thing that scared me most, was that I’d rather be pig wrestling, than dealing with some customers at the service department in our local motor sports store. Two weeks ago while in a state of utter insanity, I decided to go back to work at ‘The Knuck.’ our local motorsports store. I’ve been there in an unofficial capacity off and on for years helping with the clerical work. Five days ago I started in the service department under the tutelage of a good friend of mine, Mark the Service Manager (hereinafter referred to as ‘Mark’, which is not his real name and if it WAS, he would never admit it to you if you asked him. I don’t know anyone named Mark. And Mark sure doesn’t know anybody named Kim). When I showed up to work Monday morning, Mark smiled wickedly. This is not like Mark. I’ve known Mark for years, and he doesn’t smile wickedly. He’s an affable, friendly guy who can tell a story that makes your sides split. Even if the story isn’t funny to start with. Let me tell you something I’ve learned in five short days (I’m at least as smart as a pig). You know how you’re supposed to be nice to the waiter at the restaurant so he doesn’t spit in your potatoes au gratin? Well, you better be nice to the service guy at your local dealership. He can either get you back on your machine to head out to the trails/racetrack/lake/farm/hospital in a reasonable amount of time, or he can seemingly cause national manufacturers to have the parts you need back ordered until next spring. I haven’t learned the secrets of it all yet, but I intend to. The power is intoxicating. And of course my addition to the team adds a real thrill of uncertainty to the whole mix. Who KNOWS what parts I’ll order for your KX125?! Perhaps a Gold Wing windshield to keep the bugs off your face as you’re carving the berm? Perhaps some saddle bags to go on your jet skis? How about some 1994 Suzuki graphics to go on your 2006 Kawasaki? No, I never said I’d do it on purpose. Personally, I think the guys there need to think outside the box a bit anyway, so I think they will all find my mistakes fun and amusing. (Right up until Guido shows up and wants his hopped up, modified, ported and polished black carbon fiber body motorcycle back, and it has a pink after-market rear fender where the skull and crossbones used to be. That’ll be my clue to go to lunch and leave Mark to smile affably and tell a funny story.) The real problem though involves a small percentage of J.Q. Public. They don’t understand the complexities inherent in the system and therefore expect miracles equivalent to Moses parting the Red Sea. When they don’t get them, they get nasty, and amazingly enough all their parts immediately go on back order. We find this to be ironic and will cheerfully call said individuals with the bad news. Like I said, we like this to happen to complete morons. People with whom we’ve had the following conversations (if you find yourself in this category, please understand that I hate you.) And you come from all walks of life, but the problem is inherently the same. You were a pampered, spoiled rotten child. The Head Banger: Customer: “DUDE (an all inclusive term defying gender and IQ points)! I like wrecked my (insert customized moto-x bike here) yesterday (Thursday) doing an AWESOME jump over my neighbor’s truck (2005 Ford F-350 with chip and custom paint job) because I lost power dude cuz I really need a top end cuz it’s making this really weird noise and like Dude I gotta have it for the moto on Saturday (morning) or I’m out of the points this year and I like, won’t be able to pay the dude back for his truck . . . dude. I don’t care what it costs (cuz I probably won’t pay you right away anyway)” Us: “You’re telling us that you want all these custom parts, including a complete top end (including custom piston for modified bike) tomorrow ... right? (Yawn).” Customer with lip caught in nose ring: “Is that a problem, cuz like you guys are supposed to be the professionals and don’t you like keep all these parts in stock dude?” Us: “All those parts are back ordered by the manufacturer till spring.” Customer: “Dude, you like didn’t even pick up the phone dude. That’s rad.” The Professional CEO Customer: “Good Morning Gentleman .. and uhhh. lady (what’s she doing here?) While I was out riding my (insert Vulcan, Fat Boy, V-Star, Shadow, Intruder ), I noticed a ‘strange noise’ coming from the engine, and then the whole thing just locked up on me. Sort of a strange (insert: knocking, pinging, grinding, vibration) sound and now it won’t start. I was wondering if I could leave it here for you gentleman to check, perhaps give it a tune and service while it’s here, order a replacement for this chrome ‘part’ I damaged by scraping my boot on it last Friday. If the estimate goes over $50.00 (by even .50), call me before you begin work on it so I can authorize (‘bitch and moan’ over) any charges.” Us: “Have you checked the oil level since you bought it?” Customer with raised eyebrows: “I thought you guys did that when you sold it to me a year ago.” Us with raised eyebrows: “Uh-HUH . . . Look, splitting the cases because you’ve probably completely destroyed your motor is gonna cost you more than $50, we can tell you that right up front.” Customer: “Excuse me? Isn’t this thing under warranty?” Us: “Not for stupidity it ain’t.” Customer: “Well, I intend to contact an attorney then if this thing isn’t fixed by next weekend.” Us: “Well, tell your attorney that the parts are back ordered until next spring, which is nothing we have control over. Have him talk to (insert major sport bike manufacturer here).” Customer: “Can I have your names please, and the address of the corporate office of the manufacturer?” And on it goes. I had a guy call me up for advice while working on his own machine because he didn’t want to pay to bring it in. He got mad at me because I wouldn’t take the time to pull our mechanic off his two-week back logged schedule to spend ½ hour talking him through it, nor would I e-mail him the fiche diagrams off our computers. Let me give you a small list of things sure to drive service people nuttier than a pig at a Hormel convention. People who want work done on their machine, but won't do any preliminary work and hand us the whole machine to change a flat tire, or a filthy machine to do a top end, then complain because we charge them labor to take the wheel off or wash their machine.
People who follow us into the service area without being invited. Back there is the mechanic's haven from society, his area of inspiration . . . his Mikuni girls posters. Don't drag you or your 5-year-old son back there. And ask permission before you pop in on the mechanics who are in the process of trying to figure out how an action figure ended up in the gas tank. Your kid will go home and gleefully repeat (verbatim) to your wife, or the Sunday School teacher, the new words he heard.
People who don't understand that 'back order' is neither negotiable with bribes, nor OUR FAULT. There is not some global conspiracy at Honda, Kawasaki, Suzuki,Yamaha, Harley, Sea Doo, Gas Gas or any of the other manufacturers to ruin your fun. Rumor has it their corporate meetings are about how to make money, not drive you away.
People who leave their soft drink cups, trash and especially gum on our counter or floor. WE can do that (and we will), YOU can't.
Most of all, people who do not understand how difficult it can be to put your machine back into running order. There are - to my understanding - fifty million makes and models of bikes, 4-wheelers, jet skis and other assorted 'toys' out there. And every single one of them has at least one or two parts that are completely different from every other part on earth and were manufactured on a small island in the South Pacific which is not accessible during their monsoon season. And that part is back-ordered until spring.
There are 365,704² ‘problems’ that can arise as a result of these 50 million makes/models, coupled with the varying psychological riding styles of the human population. You think I’m exaggerating? Go spend a day with your service guy someday. Take a caffeinated drink, blinders to avoid the Mikuni girl calendars, and as much junk food as you can stuff in your pockets cuz you’ll never have time for lunch. While your service manager may not be an official rocket scientist in some respects, he/she may be the closest thing to one some of you will ever meet. If you don’t think so, spend one day trying to understand carburetor issues as they relate to fuel/air/altitude/two stroke/4 stroke and chaos theory. Your eyes will cross and I can assure you of one thing ... You’d rather be out helping me with the pigs. Kim Orndorff | 
