An Interview on Body Parts

By D.H. Myers

In his new book; An Interview on Body Parts, D.H.Myers, delving into the automotive industry, uncovers many of the myriad underlying factors contributing to the decline of the American worker. Accompanied by a wealth of photographic evidence, he examines the poor training and incompetence of workers, the uncaring ineptitude of their leaders, the apathy and complacency rampant throughout, not only the automotive industry, but also in most other American manufacturing.

With hard facts, presented on a fictional platform, this fast paced novel examines the automotive industry from the inside out, from the arrogance and indifference of high level executives, to corporate greed and corruption, to the widespread fraud practiced at every level and in every corner of the industry. And the loss of tens of billions of dollars each year by American auto makers, who are unwilling to improve their policies and procedures, which is ultimately passed on to the consumer in the form of artificially higher prices for the products they purchase every day. After all, they have to make it up some way, don’t they?

This controversial book also gives a vivid and definitive account of the role of labor unions in the downfall of both Chrysler and G.M., and their influence on the inflationary economic cycles of the 20th century, and to this day. This powerful and compelling work examines the behind-the-scenes forces shaping the union strategies of today. The endless vicious circles we all get caught up and trapped in. The political influence wielded by union leaders and the corruption being practiced at the highest levels of our own government. And how the U.A.W. managed to be the only real winner when the American taxpayers bailed out the auto industry. This enlightening and thought-provoking book illustrates the impact on all Americans of something very few of us even think twice about; the influence of NAFTA, the outsourcing of American jobs, the countless reasons why we can’t compete in the global market place, and the shameful abuse of the American consumer by corporate America everywhere.

And, after all is said and done, this book is a riveting indictment of all the individuals, from the workers on the line to the chairmen of the boards, involved in this whole sordid situation, and the incredibly expensive costs of human error. Written with instinctive intelligence and solidly grounded theory, with a little humor and philosophy thrown in for good measure, this book is an entertaining and unforgettable, must read, for those of us who may find it offensive to be abused by corporate America and the leaders we elect to protect us from them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.H. Myers
• Release date: Sep 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301015481

D.H. Myers

D.H. Myers was born in Tacoma, Washington in the early '50's, a navy brat of Scotch/Irish/English/Polish Ancestry. His parents split up when he was five, his mother doing her best to raise him and his two sisters, working two jobs to try and keep clothes on their backs and food on the table. She tried to set a proper example, to instill in her kids the ethics of working hard for whatever they wanted, and always doing their best, no matter what the job. Along with being encouraged to become an avid reader, these are the values that eventually had their desired effect, and helped him to achieve his goal to publish "An Interview on Body Parts". Still, even though those lessons were not lost on D.H., at around the age of 10 he started down a dangerous road. He came of age in the turbulent 60's, a troubled youth, roaming the streets of Southern California, smoking, drinking, lying, stealing, skipping school, staying away from home, and hanging out in pool halls and bowling alleys. As you might expect, this sort of behavior at such a young age had his poor mother tied in knots. After trying everything else she finally gave up, had a judge arrest him, and send him to reform school for a year and a half. His time there had a very positive effect on D.H. As he puts it; "I came out of there an honest, upright, and straight shooting young man." He enlisted in the US Army in 1971 and was what he describes as "The most expensive soldier that ever enlisted" because of the constant training he received for the first four years he was in. From "Operations and Intelligence" school, to earning his Jump Wings and Ranger Tab, D.H was constantly training. Throughout most of his teenage years and adult life he was plagued by the various demons of substance abuse. Tobacco, marijuana, cocaine, and all the different hallucinogens of the 60's and 70's. But the one that he always went back to was alcohol. After a lifetime of alcohol abuse, which nearly cost him his life, his wife, his family, and his home, 2007 was the year that D.H. finally shook that last monkey off his back. He dried out, re-habbed, and has been straight and sober ever since. It was after this re-birth that he started working in the Automotive Industry. He was put in charge of a failing parts warehouse and immediately went to work, identifying all the myriad reasons for why it was in such terrible shape. He saw waste, inefficiency, poor organization, lazy employees, and inept inventory management. He "... purged the accumulated mess, re-organized the inventory to be more user-friendly, instituted a system of dealing with all the major problems, and gradually tweaked all the smaller ones...". "An Interview on Body Parts" is a dissecting look at rampant fraud, waste, inefficiency, indifference, and apathy in the auto industry, as seen through the eyes of D.H. Myers.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1 - INTRODUCTION

My way too early flight that Thursday morning should have, after landing and picking up my rental, put me at his place of business around 10:00 AM….. So much for ‘best laid plans’. My flight must now hold the world record for delays. Boarding delay. Delay on the tarmac. Delayed takeoff. Delayed landing. Delayed finding a gate. You name it, we were delayed, delayed, delayed. Luckily, I thought at the time, I didn’t have to collect a bag or I’m sure that would have also been delayed. I sent Dan a couple of texts along the way, informing him of my trials and tribulations, but never received any replies. I could only hope he was an understanding kind of fellow.

After nearly five hours of delays I finally pulled in at the dealership a little before three o’clock. The receptionist at the front desk gave me a kind of a circular pointing motion Round the front and down the side, hon. You’ll see the sign. I drove my rental Round the front and down the side and parked in front of the Parts Department sign. The fellow at the customer service counter inside crooked his thumb to the left He runs the warehouse. All the way down to the end of the building. Take a left and go up the ramp. You can’t miss it. Big sign over the door. I turned to go. You can’t drive your car back there, though he smirked. Insurance regulations, you know. And you’ll have to move it over there where it says Customer Parking. He pointed across the lot.

Bear in mind, now, that I am experiencing the day from hell. Nothing’s going my way. Obstacles at every step. Another aggravation at each turn. Frustrations piling up. Throw in the oppressive heat and humidity of Central Florida in August and you tell me how you’d be feeling right about then. I looked in the direction the guy at the counter had pointed.  I saw the corner of the building what seemed like at least a mile away. Through a parking lot full of vehicles of all shapes and sizes. Heat waves shimmering off the blacktop.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. My temper almost got the best of me. I was ready to give up, call it a day, and see if I could still make my original flight home. After standing there for a little while, staring at the side of that long, white painted building, I finally got hold of myself. I shook my head, parked the car across the lot, grabbed my shoulder bag, and started walking. I trudged along, head down, sweating buckets, muttering something to myself about duty and dedication and the importance of what I was doing. Or some such drivel. I took a last look over my shoulder and found the counter guy standing outside by the door, lighting a cigarette and watching me, with that same crooked smirk on his face. He nodded, and waved me on. I thought about back tracking long enough to go smack that smirk right off his face.

About 5 minutes later (I kid you not, the building was at least a football field and a half long) I reached the corner and dragged my middle aged, overweight, out of shape carcass up the ramp. At the top I grabbed onto the railing and tried to catch my breath. After my blood pressure and respiration returned to somewhat normal I turned around and leaned on the railing, while I took a look around.  In front of me was a door with a window in it and a sign that said OFFICE. To my right was an open bay door with another, even bigger, sign over it, where foot high letters painted on the wall above the door declared that this was the WAREHOUSE.

So, okay, I was in the right place. Time to find my author. I poked my head in the office. It was nice and cool in there but sadly devoid of humans. I was tempted to have a seat inside and cool off, (long enough for my clothes to dry anyway) before I continued my quest, but duty went nagging at me once again when I heard voices inside the warehouse. I stopped panting, straightened my back, adjusted the bag on my shoulder, and strode confidently around the corner and into the warehouse proper.

Their conversation stopped when the two of them noticed me and after a moment the taller fellow on the left greeted me with Hello, sir. How can we help you?

Like most people, my behavior at that very second was based on first impressions. I extended my hand to the speaker and introduced myself. Hi I exclaimed Dan Taylor? I’m Dave Myers, from Corporate. We spoke on the phone yesterday. Sorry I’m so late. I’m having the day from HELL! Hope you got my texts. We can probably still get this done before 5:00 if we hurry. Where should I set up my recorder? My mouth was running wild! Why was I talking so fast? My blood must still be racing from my hike up the hill! I stopped. I gulped. I took a deep breath.

He smiled and shook my hand. Sorry, sir, I’m Jimmy. He nodded to his left. This is Dan. Silly me. Jimmy was about six feet one or two, slender, clean shaven, mid fifties, kind of distinguished looking, with a full head of swept back, neatly groomed gray hair. He wore a recently pressed, button down shirt with the company logo on the left breast, tucked into a pair of pleated khaki slacks with a brown belt and shoes to match. Silly, silly me.

The ball of sweat with the condescending grin standing next to Jimmy was, at first impression …..unimpressive. Medium height. Medium weight, with a medium sized paunch. Medium aged with short, balding gray hair. A full gray beard (mostly white), thick around the mouth but thin on the cheeks. Poorly trimmed, like he’d forgotten it was even there. It was in the upper 90’s with 100% humidity and sweat was dripping down his forehead and off the end of his nose. He was dressed appropriately for the job in a knit shirt that was soaked and stuck to him like a second skin (not very flattering). He had knobby knees and his too thin, too hairy legs stuck out of a pair of well used cargo shorts, but ended in a pair of excellent quality tennis shoes (he sure didn’t scrimp on those), with ankle length white socks. No fashion sense but pretty comfortable looking and no doubt very practical for coping with the heat and humidity of summer in Florida. This was my author? He had the posture of a slouch and a way of holding his head that reminded me of the tortoise in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Like I said….unimpressive….. Silly, silly me.

I began to start all over again but he held up his hand to stop me, took a couple of steps over to a work bench, grabbed a towel, and dried his hand before extending it to me. A good sign, manners. I’m Dan. That deep, gravelly voice I’d heard over the phone didn’t really match his appearance. Good to meetcha. The perfect handshake; full hand, single pump, just the right pressure, and two seconds long. Sorry to hear about all your delays.

Yes, well, I’m finally here, so where can I get set up?

He shrugged Sorry, but I’m out of time today. He smiled. I promised my granddaughter I’d be at her gymnastics competition this evening, and that’s a promise I intend to keep. I’m not usually here past three o’clock, anyway. He looked at his cell phone. Which was about fifteen minutes ago.

I was dumbfounded. But….but….I uh ….came all the way from Atlanta I stammered. Just to interview you. I have to catch a flight back in five hours.

He shrugged again and gave me a rueful smile Look, Dave, this is very important. Definitely worth your time. But way too much info to give you in just a couple hours. I made plans for this evening almost two months ago. Plans I can’t change. Why not come back in the morning? You could do a Day In The Life kinda thing. We’ll be getting a good sized order in, so you’ll be able to see, first hand, what we’re up against.

I could feel my blood pressure going up. I protested angrily about the changes I made to my schedule, my day full of hellish delays, my marathon march across the parking lot, my arduous climb up the final ramp, only to be told I was going to have another, even longer, delay before I could get my job done and go home. I blustered. I told him I didn’t have time for this crap. I threatened that I would make my flight anyway and to hell with him and his letter. I wound down by pacing back and forth, shaking my head, muttering to myself, and cursing under my breath.

I looked up and realized he had taken a seat on the bench and was calmly watching, waiting for me to finish my tirade and behave like a coherent human being. I took a deep breath and got a hold of myself. What time? I asked. My mind was already working on all the details of how to make this happen. Hotel, change of flights, dinner and breakfast (I don’t like missing meals), schedule changes, etc.

Eight o’clock he said, rising from the bench. Dress comfortable. Bring a good digital camera if you have one. He gave me a mischevious grin. You can park right there. He pointed to three empty spaces at the bottom of the ramp. Spaces I had just trudged by not ten minutes ago. He shook my hand again. I’m glad you’re staying. You won’t regret it. He started down the ramp See ya in the morning, James he hollered back over his shoulder.

Yes sir! Have a great evening! Jimmy shouted, as he turned and started back into the warehouse.

I was stunned! I was being ignored, and dismissed! Wait!....Jimmy! I shouted at his back. He paused and turned back to me with a quizzical look on his face. How ‘bout you? What can YOU tell me? I blurted.

He waved at the open warehouse behind him. Well, sir he was very polite….all this work aint gonna do itself while I chew the fat with you. Besides, Dan wrote you that letter. And he’s a helluva lot more articulate than I am. Sorry. He shrugged. Guess I’ll see you in the morning. And with that he turned and quickly headed back into the warehouse.

I stood up there on that loading dock, indignant and confused, staring at Jimmy’s back and trying to decide how next to proceed. I finally gave my head a last disgusted shake and started down the ramp. It seemed like the trek back to my car took half as long and was all downhill. I was already checking my I-Phone for nearby hotels and restaurants. No problem there, plenty of both within a five mile radius. I started to check my messages but when I glanced up I almost ran into my rental. I threw open the door, fell into it, cranked it up, and fired up the A/C like it was a matter of life or death. I lolled there for a couple minutes with my left leg hanging out the driver’s side door letting that cool, blessed air wash over me and wondering how we humans ever survived before the age of refrigeration.

While I sat there I phoned Robert and explained the situation.No problem. He laughed.I’ll call you back. He laughed!! Let HIM come down here and trudge around in this heat!! In the mean time I went on line and booked a room at a nearby Hampton Inn (beds are nice and they have a nice breakfast bar, even waffles). That taken care of, I set off in pursuit of a pair of shorts and a comfortable pair of tennis shoes (which I found at a nearby Wal-Mart), along with a new camera (expensed, of course),  spare batteries for my recorder and a few toiletries for my unexpected overnight stay.

Robert called while I was shopping to let me know I had the same flight the next evening. Same flight, same time, boss. He chuckled.Want me to reserve a seat for the day after tomorrow, too? Just to be sure?

No, thanks. I muttered. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?

Not really, boss, it just makes more work for me. Which, by the way, I need to be getting back to. So, if you don’t need me for anything else I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

All right, tomorrow. I signed off while heading for checkout. I called my wife, let her know about the change in plans and talked with the kids while they were getting ready for dinner. The home front taken care of, the next step was check-in at the hotel, get my stuff to the room, and backtrack to a steakhouse I’d passed on the way from the airport.

After taking care of the prodigious appetite I’d been working up all day I spent a quiet evening reviewing and revising my notes and my questions for the next day. I was about as tired as I could possibly be from all the ordeals of the day. And almost as tired of all the surprises I’d had to endure once I had actually reached the warehouse. I wanted to be prepared for anything and everything Dan Taylor had to give me. When all was ready I called my wife again and we talked about our respective days and some other married couple stuff not of interest to anyone but us. I retired early, slept like a rock, and bounced out of bed the next morning with an energy and enthusiasm that, quite frankly, surprised me. I shaved, showered, dressed in my new clothes, and flew down the steps two at a time to attack the breakfast bar. After my enthusiastic grazing I returned to my room, gathered my things, loaded my rental, checked out, and headed for the dealership with time to spare.

I bypassed the Parts Department this time and drove straight through the service lot to the parking spaces at the end of the warehouse. The building didn’t seem quite so long this morning (not on wheels, anyway) and I barely even noticed that uphill grade I had struggled up the day before. I grabbed my kit-bag and headed up the ramp that had been so imposing yesterday but today seemed only a few feet high (guess it shrank overnight). I heard some noise in the warehouse and started in that direction when Dan came strolling toward me with a small box on his right shoulder and a couple sheets of paper in his left hand. He set the box on a nearby shelf, stuck one of those sheets with it and turned to shake my hand.

Hi, there he said in that surprising drawl. How ya doin’ this morning?

Much better than yesterday, thank you I replied. How ‘bout you?

Great!, man, great!  Any day I wake UP is a great day!  You all fired up and ready to get started?

Uh…sure I hesitated. Where do you want me?

See that sign over there that says Claims Area? he pointed back into the warehouse. I rolled you over a work cart so you’d have room to spread out. You’re a little early and I’m still pulling a few parts for the first run. Jimmy’ll be here at eight to take care of the drivers, so we can get started then. Make yourself at home. I spotted the sign and the cart but by the time I turned back to tell him okay he had already disappeared into the warehouse.

I strolled the fifty or so feet down to the Claims Area. It was located on the left hand wall, behind the front office and a storage room with a door marked TOOLS. There was a 5’ work bench with open shelves below to the left, and three ten foot wide, side by side, spaces to the right, with a 3’ wide x 1’ high sign over the center section identifying this as the Claims Area. There was another area, about eight feet wide between the end of the bins and a block wall that began the build-out consisting of two bathrooms and a second office, which appeared to get very little use.

The three sections seemed to be designed for three different purposes. The first was wide open at the bottom with one horizontal shelf placed about six feet off the floor, and packed with boxes of every size and shape. Clear and opaque plastic wrappers surrounded most of the items thrown across the top shelf, and the lower area was full of strange forms large and small, bare primed metal pieces interspersed  throughout , etc., etc. There seemed to be very little rhyme or reason to it, everything just tossed on to one big pile. The center section was organized so that the area at the floor stored large cardboard boxes of various heights and widths, while a shelf that aligned with that of the first section was stacked high with smaller boxes and miscellaneous items.

The next section was divided horizontally with three shelves, configured to hold large plastic bumpers draped over them from front to rear. All of the items in those two center sections were neatly organized and bore a white 3x6 label with a nine digit number. The area to the far right was open to the ceiling and contained quite a few tall, thin boxes, other huge boxes standing on end, and miscellaneous tubes, bare metal shapes, etc. kinda organized, and disorganized at the same time.

I set my kit on the 3x3x3 foot high rolling work cart and paused to take a look around the rest of the warehouse. What I saw was a huge space, neat, clean, orderly, windowless but well lit, with 25’ high insulated metal ceilings and smooth concrete floors. Metal storage racks stood in precise, almost military, ranks that seemed to stretch, row upon row, as far as the eye could see. An optical illusion, I’m sure, but I will say I was impressed. It was so quiet I could hear Dan walking around about fifty or so feet away, hidden by a few rows of parts, softly whistling some tune I’d never heard before. I headed in that direction but I could hear the whistling moving quickly to my right and back toward the front of the building. I followed.

I wanted to try and observe him, unnoticed, while he worked, and attempt to get a better feel for the man who penned that incredible letter. He carefully slid a long, heavy, cardboard box off his shoulder, placed it neatly on a waist high shelf in what I later learned was the customer pick up area, and spun toward me, taking a step in my direction without even looking up from the wad of invoices in his hand. I’d never seen a human being make a 180 degree turn in the blink of an eye and, I’ll admit, I was caught completely by surprise, no doubt looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Without even looking up or slowing his stride he muttered scuse’ me, sidestepped around me, and marched away down that row faster than most people could run. So much for that idea, unless I wanted to jog around behind him, so I decided I’d take a look in the office.

The office was a 10’ x 20’ rectangle with doors on two walls, a 5’ window across the front, a window unit air conditioner cut into the bare block wall on one end and a graffiti covered refrigerator that looked like it had seen better days at the other. There was a small microwave sitting on top of two tall file cabinets pushed together in the far corner, to the right of the window. A 5’ desk with file cabinets below and shelves above was located on one wall while the opposite wall had a service counter jutting out just inside the front door with bar stools on both sides. A couple of in boxes and a clipboard were neatly placed on the countertop.

Kinda Plain Jane, institutional even, but everything seemed to be in it’s place and organized for specific functions, not for esthetics. Family pictures on the shelf above the desk were the only personal touches in the entire space. Made me glad I was in a different line of work. The desk top contained two file stands full of folders, a calculator, and a whole bunch of clutter. I assumed this to be Dan’s work station but I saw no keyboard or monitor, which made me kind of wonder how he was able to communicate with the rest of the dealership. I guessed he managed somehow.

Jimmy arrived about then, blowing through the side door and taking a step back in surprise when he saw me.Oh, yeah, forgot about you. Good morning, sir….catch your breath yet? He tossed a plastic grocery bag into the fridge (his lunch, I guessed)Where’s Dan?

Out there, somewhere I waved in the general direction of the warehouse. Pulling parts.

Okie, dokie he blew back out the door without another word, leaving me standing there, in the middle of that office, alone, and wondering if Dan was ready for me yet. The fax machine started spitting out an invoice as I followed Jimmy out the door.

Heading back toward the Claims Area, I passed a row of what looked like 6’ high metal cages on wheels arranged neatly inside a 12’ high chain link fence with two rolling gates. The fence and gates surrounded an area about 20’ x 50’ just inside the second bay door. Hey, Jimmy, I pointed at the enclosed area what’s with the fences?

Receiving area Dan chimed in, coming outta nowhere with that concrete eating stride, for unattended night deliveries. Can’t let those drivers loose in our warehouse while we’re not here, can we? He handed Jimmy a clipboard full of paperwork. Here’s the manifest. Couple special orders. You need to check those, but please don’t touch anything else on the carts till Dave and I get done with them.

Okie, dokie Jimmy said, looking over the lists everything pulled?

Yeah, but check the fax anyway Dan replied while he turned to me. You ready?He asked.

As I’ll ever be I started back toward the Claim Area.

Just a sec. he said, lightly grabbing my arm and leading me to the fenced-in area, first I want you to look at something in here. Once inside he pointed at two large rolling wood platforms with side rails and large heavy duty casters, both of which were piled high with large cardboard boxes, strange, plastic wrapped shapes of different sizes, primed metal pieces with tags or stickers on them, and other long, narrow boxes almost casually thrown on top of the piles.I want you to make note of the positions of some of these parts before Jimmy starts checking them. He pointed at one large box about 5’x 5’ and around a foot thick Note the position of the shipping and storage arrows. They pointed down with the company logo and the words THIS END UP both turned upside down.Take your time and check both of these carts for more he encouraged me. I did. There were more. Many more.

Don’t these drivers pay any attention to the labeling on the boxes? I asked.

Apparently not he replied. It wouldn’t surprise me if they couldn’t even read. English OR Spanish. You can see it’s printed in both he pointed out. It sure was. In pretty big letters, AND symbols.

Kinda hard to miss I agreed.

It’s just the first of many examples I’m going to show you, but keep it in mind. Take a few pictures if you have that camera in your pocket. I’ve got something to do real quick. I’ll meet you back at the claims area he said, already marching toward the rear of the building.

I had left the camera on the cart with the rest of my kit so I retrieved it, pocketed my recorder and returned to the delivery carts. I didn’t want to get caught without either piece of equipment again. No telling when he’d be pointing out something interesting and I wanted to be prepared. I took a few shots from every angle I could think of and noticed, while I was shooting, that the piles of boxes, etc. tended to be wildly disorganized with some large, heavy boxes casually tossed on top of what appeared to be far more fragile items wrapped thinly in clear or opaque plastic. I also noticed a few bare primed metal pieces in the mix with sharp metal points and edges sticking out here and there. I could hear Dan’s whistle returning from the deeps so I quickly returned to the Claims Area.

I took out my recorder and set it on the cart to let him know it was on. Good he smiled hope you edit well enough to make me sound at least semi-intelligent.

I’ll try my best I replied. I grabbed my notebook and flipped it open to my first question. What made you write your letter? I asked.

He only thought for a second or two. Frustration, mostly. He cocked an eyebrow at me and shrugged. A sense of resigned helplessness, of things out my control, influencing the way I do my job and, to some degree, the way I live my life. You’ll see why as we progress.

Frustration at what?

He drummed his fingers on the cart and looked toward the ceiling, thinking. Okay he stood up straight and gestured with his hands. I’ll give you a short history of my five whole years in the auto parts business. He paused and waved around the warehouse. When I took over the management of this warehouse, it was a joke. Our own drivers, other dealer’s drivers, and any OTHER customers TREATED it like a joke. They hated having to come to this area of our parts department at all. Most of the previous managers and staff screwed around watching T.V., and engaging in protracted bull sessions with drivers, mechanics, valets, or anyone else that wanted to participate. They spent more time worrying about what they were gonna put on the grill out back for lunch than taking care of the business of this warehouse. Anybody that wasn’t joining in dreaded having to deal with the idiocy in practice here. Sometimes they’d just by-pass the office altogether and go pull their own parts, so they wouldn’t have to mess with the fools. Poorly manned and poorly managed. None of those parts over there on the carts was ever even opened up, or looked at. Merely checked off on the manifest as having been received, then stocked in the bins. The wrong bins, a lot of times. Sloppy procedures, sloppy recordkeeping, sloppy housekeeping, just plain sloppy. Dust and dirt everywhere. He shook his head sadly. It was a real mess.

He waved his arm at the whole warehouse. We have a little over 16,000 square feet of floor space in this area of the parts department. They have about half that much at the other end of the building for all of the smaller parts, shipping and receiving, wholesale sales, driver dispatch, and the front and back counter sales. When I first started this job, about 4,000 square feet of this warehouse was being devoted to the storage of unreturnable damaged or defective parts.

Unreturnable? I asked.

Yeah, see, you only have three weeks to report any damaged items and still be issued a claim number. Can’t return anything without a claim. Three weeks is all you get. After that, you’re outta luck. He must have seen the confusion on my face, so he paused and thought a second. "Okay, here’s a quick scenario for you. You get a part in, and you put it in the bin without checking it first. A month later it goes out to a body shop, but when they open the box they discover the part’s damaged and they can’t use it, so they send it back to us, but because we’ve had it more than three weeks we can’t report it and get a claim on it. So we have to stick it somewhere until we finally get a scrap order on it. Unreturnable.

"Let’s get back to my little history. There was about 4,000 square feet full of plastic bumpers in piles 10’ high or more, stacks of miscellaneous items, large and small, and enough sheet metal to clad a battleship. Some of those parts had been in the piles for over a year! All damaged or defective, cast aside to take up valuable floor space that could have been devoted to stocking undamaged, sellable new parts. With no chance to return any of it and at least get SOMETHING back on it. The responsibility for this mess belonged not only to our predecessors here in the warehouse, but also to the previous Parts Department Manager. Mostly due to his lack of leadership skills, and his poor supervision, and control of his subordinates. He pretty much allowed the problem to get away from him and snowball out of control. The people operating this place didn’t give a crap. This isn’t THEIR business, after all. They were here only to collect a check every week, filling their days, wasting time and screwing around like I already mentioned. But, enough about all of them. I digress. Let’s get back to our little history.

The new parts manager could see the money represented by all those huge piles of crap and decided, right then, that it was never going to happen again. One of the first things he did after taking over was a purge. He sent truckloads of plastic bumpers and miscellaneous items to the dump, sold all the sheet metal for scrap, which wasn’t paying much at the time, and otherwise disposed of about $70,000.00 worth of useless crap. He took a deep breath.

You’re gonna hear me use the words ‘collateral’ and ‘incidental’ quite a few times today, and here’s the reason. That $70,000.00 dollars I just mentioned is the price this dealership paid for those parts. Retail list price would have been over a hundred [thousand]. So that’s a loss of revenue for this dealership as a whole. He held up one finger so far we have an original cost of seventy, plus another thirty or so. We’re up to a hundred. A second finger went up. Add to that the cost of delivering that part the first time, making a second trip to pick it back up and send the customer a replacement (if we have one in stock), the wasted labor already paid to somebody here not doing their job in the first place, two more fingers and now the thumb the labor you are now paying to throw it on a pile and eventually dispose of it.

He started with his other hand. The damage done to your reputation. Another finger The incidental cost, in time and effort, of your sales, admin, and bookkeeping personnel and another. The dissatisfaction and inconvenience you’ve caused your customer, another went up, and HIS customer, and now his second thumb the damage you may have done to HIS reputation, and HIS possible future sales or job referrals. He dropped his hands, palms up I’ve run out of digits, but you get the idea. Collateral Damage and Incidental Costs. There’s no way to ever, realistically, keep accurate cost figures on all of them.  We started out with a hundred thousand, but after all is said and done, that could easily be doubled, or even much, much more.

Seriously? I asked. I couldn’t believe it.

Seriously He was turning away from me but he jerked back around and looked me straight in the eye.Think about it! he flatly stated. The more you DO think about it, the more costs you can come up with, ON YOUR OWN, aside from those I’ve already mentioned. Make a note of them, when you do, and we can discuss them later. He took another deep breath. I know all of that was quite a mouthful, but as you can see, I’ve looked at this problem from almost every conceivable angle, for a few years now anyway, and from where I am right now, I can never make a real difference without some serious help from Corporate. He paused and stared at me for effect. Have I answered all your questions to this point?

Yes I replied but I’ve got quite a few more.

He turned to the three claim bins and spread his arms wide.  This is how we maintain control over these guys, now. The first bin on your left is for damaged items that have been reported, but that don’t yet have a claim number assigned to them. It usually takes from a couple of days to a week for a claim to be generated. It also holds all the crap we can’t return. He stepped to his right and pointed at the next two bins. Once a claim number is issued for those we CAN return, they are moved over to these two bins to await their eventual return or, in some cases, denial.

Denial?

Yeah, denial. He shrugged and spread his arms. When they won’t take it back or pay you for it.

I don’t understand. I was puzzled Why wouldn’t they take it back if it was damaged when it came in?

They’ll use any excuse. I’ll show you the form we use to report these things later. It looks like a credit app. And if it’s not filled out to absolute perfection by us and keypunched in perfectly by the gal in our office, those individuals farther up the line, who are employed to handle this process, are paid to find any minute discrepancy in our paperwork that they can, as grounds for denial. He took a breath It could be a part number written incorrectly, a carton number, a routing number, a shipment number, a shipper number, or anything else they don’t much like. They’ll even say we haven’t given a good enough description of the damage or that the damage status, whether you could see the damage before you opened it up or not, was incorrectly entered.  Anything’ll do, as far as they’re concerned. It’s their job to be pain in the asses to save Corporate money.

Doesn’t seem fair to you guys I offered.

Quite right, not fair. He shrugged and turned back to the bins, moving to the one on the left. Now, most of the items in this bin are inside the grace period and will be issued claim numbers and moved to the right, however some of these don’t qualify for various reasons. Mostly returns from body shops or other dealers He grabbed a plastic bumper off the top of the pile and cut the tape on one end, peeling the wrapper back to reveal a beautiful, bright red, high gloss finish. Now, here’s a little something to consider about the part our END users play in this whole mess.

End users?

Yeah, body shops, service centers, other local dealers, you know, the business that will be the final destination for most of these parts. This bumper was ordered by a particular body shop, a good account. It was painted and ready to mount on the vehicle when the insurance company decided, at the last minute, that they didn’t want to pay for a new piece and that the original (damaged) bumper should be repaired. Exactly how I’m not sure. So this shop apologetically returned it.  Anyway, this being a good account who buys a lot and pays their bills on time, we took it back and wrote them a full credit because all parties involved agreed it was an honest mistake and he shrugged what ya gonna do? So, we the dealership, take the loss in good humor because, after all, we make enough profit in our margins to absorb the occasional honest mistake. And even a lot that aren’t so honest. Everyone knows the hassles you sometimes have in dealing with insurance companies and their strange policies. And, of course, the casual disregard and the lack of consideration they have for anyone ELSE’S loss or expense.

Why would the insurance company change their minds like that?

Don’t have a clue, man, they just did. He shook his head and pointed toward the rear of the building. We have another large return from yet another valuable customer tucked away in a corner at the other end of the building that involves almost all the parts needed to rebuild the entire front end of one particular vehicle. Hood, both fenders, bumper, grill, reinforcements, miscellaneous small stuff, etc. All beautifully painted, and waiting to be mounted on the vehicle, when the insurance company decided to TOTAL the car and all that time and effort went for naught. Now, the insurance company isn’t wholly responsible for this mess. The body shop itself is mostly to blame for jumping the gun, acting on only the word of the agent instead of waiting for the appropriate authorization ON PAPER! But because we are very forgiving of our customer’s misfortunes, even though this forgiveness is never reciprocated, once again we take it back, take the loss, and store the parts somewhere until we can either sell it to someone in desperate need of these particular items, who doesn’t care about them already having a coat of paint on them, and who can’t find them anywhere else, or we scrap them like we have so many others.

You can’t send them back?

Unfortunately, that body shop destroyed all the boxes and wrappers these things were in, AND Corporate won’t take anything back if it has been altered in any way (including a new coat of paint), or anything not in its original container. You can’t really blame THEM, can you? It’s not THEIR problem when this kind of situation arises, now is it? They sent us good parts and we sold them in good faith. As far as THEY’RE concerned THEIR responsibility for those parts ended the minute they hit our floor. So this became OUR problem and OUR loss. But!, we charge enough to cover this kind of loss by merely raising our margins. We have to, to stay in business. This is just another example of collateral or incidental damages, ultimately paid for by you and I, the end users and consumers.

What about having this dealer’s body shop re-prime them and put them in new boxes?

He gave his head a wry shake Too expensive. The labor alone on some of those pieces would be more than they’re worth. And the cost of empty, original factor*y boxes would be quite prohibitive, as well. Not to mention proper braces and packing materials. And, of course, the cost of OUR time and effort, here in the warehouse. Nope, definitely not worth the bother.

How often does this kind of thing happen?

Customer mistakes, handled honestly? Not that often. Most customer mistakes aren’t really mistakes at all but quite the opposite. Here’s another piece that perfectly illustrates what I’m talking about. He pulled another, smaller, plastic bumper off the pile, cut the tape and completely removed the wrapper. This is textured, meaning it gets mounted on the car as is, no painting or prep work. He held it up to the light see all the fine sanding marks over the entire surface? I did. "This was received by us, inspected, labeled and stocked. These sanding marks were not on it when it went out to the customer.

Someone at that shop pre-sanded it to get it ready for priming and when it got to the paint shop they said ‘hey, wait a minute, this ain’t right’ and, after some further discussion, they decided to return it to us, implying that this is how it was when they unwrapped it. That was a bald-faced lie. Neither Jimmy nor I would ever have put this up in the bin in this condition. But, instead of admitting that some new guy who didn’t know what he was doing, mistakenly grabbed it and started sanding, or perhaps one of the regulars returned from a six-pack lunch and flat screwed it up, the managers of that shop shrugged and said ‘they’ll take it back, what  else are they gonna do?

Are you saying they’re being dishonest?I asked.

Yes, to put it mildly. And to put it another, LESS mildly way, you could call it outright fraud! What really pisses me off most is the casual, off hand way they do it. Almost like they don’t care if we catch them at it or not. It doesn’t matter to them. They know we’re going to take it back and write ‘em a credit whether WE like it or not. He stared at the floor, thinking. But, we’ll get back to your last question later. He walked a couple of steps and placed the bumper aside.

Another great example for you he snatched a third bumper off the pile and folded back the wrapper to expose the front corner. This bumper is also textured. He pointed out some scratches that were pretty obvious no customer would ever accept this being mounted on their car. Scratches like these, on a textured surface, absolutely SCREAM HEY, look at me! He flipped it around to the other end. See this white label with the part number and date hand written in black magic marker? I nodded. This is OUR label, stuck on the end here to make it easier for us to locate and identify when it’s time to pull it for an invoice. This is about as good a ‘Quality Control Statement’ as you’ll ever find. Even though it doesn’t plainly state this in actual words, it is OUR assurance (Jimmy’s and mine) that this part has been thoroughly inspected, met our standards (and, mind you, OUR standards are very high), and was acceptable to be stocked in our warehouse. In this particular case, this is MY writing you see there and I can vehemently assure you that this part did NOT leave this warehouse in its present condition.

He flipped it over on to its front side and dragged it a few feet In order for this kind of damage to occur it had to be handled like this. Dragged across a dirty floor with nary a care for the fragility of a textured surface. Probably not even noticed until it was mounted on the vehicle, and you can tell it HAS been mounted by the wear marks on the installation brackets. Yet the customer swears it looked like this when they took it out of the wrapper. So, instead of fessing up and taking a $300.00 hit on the chin, he lies and sends it back. Well, it’s all bullshit! THEY know it’s bullshit. And WE know it’s bullshit, yet we still issue them a credit and bend over backwards to get a replacement to them as quick as humanly possible. So, the dealership loses another $300.00 because of the dishonesty of yet another body shop.

You make it sound so commonplace. Do you think all body shops do this?

Not all. But most. He dragged out a 6’ long cardboard box, about 18x 18 next This is a real quick one, here. He opened one long side This is a front end reinforcement that came back from a shop that buys very little from us. Everything was intact and in perfect condition when it left us but upon its return we could hear a clanking noise inside the box and we discovered that the mounting brackets were floating around loose in the box. The six attachment bolts holding those brackets on to the part were missing! Imagine that! When I discussed this with the salesman and we pulled up an exploded view of this item on the computer screen, there was no part number listed for those bolts. The notes stated that the bolts were quote ‘included’. Which was explanation enough for me.

What explanation? I asked, feeling like the straight man in a comedy duo.

The shop didn’t actually need the reinforcement. The original was probably in good shape when they took apart that front end, but they had somehow lost the original mounting bolts they would need to re-attach it. They more than likely required an exact length, thickness, and thread pattern to mount to that particular car. So they called us up to buy new bolts and the salesman couldn’t determine exactly what bolts to sell them. He looked at me and shrugged What better way to get the exact bolts you need than to order the exact part they’re quote ‘included’ on, cannibalize the bolts off it, and send the part back with the innocent explanation that you didn’t need it after all. Who gives a damn about the next guy that needs that part complete with ‘bolts included’?

You’re kidding me, right?

"I wish I was. Happens all the time, especially with headlamps and such, where they need the socket or a special bulb, but they don’t want to pay $200.00