johnmaconline

One day after having my 1987 Celica towed to his garage, Phil gave me a call.

“Car’s fixed. You can come get it.”

“Great! How much do I owe you?”

“$50”

“$50?! What was actually wrong with it?”

“I’ll show you when you get here.”

With that, Chris and I drove the 30 minutes to Phil’s to pick it up. 

“So what the hell was wrong with it?”

“All it needed was an adjustment of the electrical timing. On this car, you do that by adjusting the distributor cap. It’s pretty easy. Come out here, I’ll show you.”

We went to the garage, lifted the hood, and he showed me that rotating the distributor cap adjusts the timing. That was literally all it needed. 

“OK, so what was the dealer trying to do to me? Why was he insistent that the problem was that I needed genuine Toyota parts?”

“Ah, because you gotta understand how the system works.”

He pulled out some giant book with an official-looking Toyota insignia and flipped to somewhere in the middle.

“Look here. The timing belt replacement at a Toyota dealer actually requires two jobs: 1) the mechanical replacement of the timing belt and 2) the adjustment of the electrical timing. But that second part, the electrical timing adjustment, is part of the job labeled as tune-up.”

“Aha! The problem was that I declined the second job. This guy knew that genuine Toyota parts wouldn’t matter a lick (as I suspected, because nobody’s that dumb), but he was trying to tell me (with a wink) that the timing belt job isn’t complete unless and until they also perform the tune-up. The tune-up, although new plugs and wires were not required for my problem here, was code for: we’ll also adjust the electrical timing once we replace the belt so that it runs good.”

“Yes, exactly. Toyota, and all manufacturers, are a bit like chain restaurants in that they want the service departments at the various dealerships to provide the same customer experience no matter which one you take your car to. Plus, they get operations benefits by training all of their technicians and service managers on the same job system.”

“Why wouldn’t the timing belt job automatically include adjusting the electrical timing? That seems kind of slimy.”

“It probably is a little, but if you pay them for the job, they’ll do what they say — you’re car will come out with all new parts and the engine purring like a kitten.”

That was one of a few lessons that this 1987 red Celica taught me about how the service departments in car dealerships work. This one saved me a few bucks, but the next one saved me thousands.

Stay tuned. 

I pride myself on acting like a respectable adult in trying situations. 

I don’t whine at retail agents, make a stink at the wait staff, or yell across the counter when I don’t get my way. I’m not that person, except for two times in my life (of which I’m aware). One was in an airport in Doha, Qatar.

The other was right here at the service counter of the Toyota dealership in Pottstown, PA.

I simply could not understand why this guy would not follow basic logic. I couldn’t control myself. I stood there and whined, made a stink, and yelled at the person standing on the other side of the counter. Luckily for me, this was long before smartphones and social media. 

In hindsight, I give him a lot of credit for how he handled me (not his logic or his story; that was ridiculous). He stood there and patiently stuck to his story while I acted like a child. But he didn’t win me over. Clearly, I was going to have to spend more money, but for damn sure, I wasn’t going to give it to this guy. I ended with a flare, “Don’t touch my car! A tow truck will be showing up!” 

Embarrassed and not knowing what to do or where to tow the car, I called my dad. He calmed me down and told me where to have it towed.

“Don’t worry. Phil will figure this out.”

And as it turned out, Phil was also the one who could teach me the lesson about how the system works.

I got it started, turned that sucker right around, and limped back into the parking lot. I asked for the service manager, whom I had just handed $600 to about 10 minutes before. 

Still innocently and with genuine confusion, I said,

“Hey, I just tried to leave but there is definitely something still wrong. It spits and sputters and then stalls.”

“Yes, sir. We noticed that also. We think it’s because your distributor cap and wires are not genuine Toyota parts. I already recommended to you that we perform the tune-up, but you declined.”

It took a second for that to sink in because, you know, I am genuinely confused. I’m in my mid-20s, baby-faced, and not yet steeped in the cynicism required to navigate this world. 

But I knew one thing for damn sure — the problem with my car was NOT an aftermarket distributor cap and wires. I tried to reason with him.

“Sir, I don’t understand how that could possibly be the problem. It ran perfectly until the moment the timing belt snapped. Could something else have been damaged when it snapped?”

“No, we know that’s not the problem. I can promise that if you instruct us to do the tune-up ($300), your car will be running perfectly.”

I’m an engineer. I spend most of my days figuring out problems, what caused them, and how to fix them. This guy is not making any sense. So I stood there and tried to use logic and reason, but he stood his ground.

And then I lost control. 

One evening, on the way home from work, my 1987 Celica left me sitting on the side of the road.

The engine just quit. I had no idea what happened, but since it was a standard transmission, I shifted to neutral and coasted to the shoulder. Coincidently, right in front of a Ford dealership.

So I walked in, pointed to my car stranded out front, and then withstood the onslaught of sales pitches for a new Ford while I asked to use a phone (pre-mobile phones). An hour later, my car and I, under tow, pulled into the Toyota dealer. 

A day or two later, I got what I thought was a strange phone call from the service manager. He called to tell me the timing belt had snapped and would need to be replaced for about $600. Fair enough. But then he also said,

“We noticed that the distributor cap and wires aren’t genuine Toyota parts. While we have it, we’d like to perform a tune-up, and with that we’ll replace the plugs, distributor cap and wires, etc with genuine Toyota parts.”

“How much will that cost?”

“$300”

“No thanks, just the timing belt, please.”

“Sir, we highly recommend that we perform this tune-up. We can’t guarantee that it will be running correctly unless we do this service.”

I was genuinely confused. Until the second the timing belt snapped, it was running perfectly.

“No, thanks.”

He persisted. So did I. Just the timing belt, please.

I got the call a few days later that it was ready. I paid the $600, hopped in, and pulled out onto the road. As soon as I hit the gas to accelerate, the engine bogged down, missed, backfired, and stalled. 

Now, wait a minute, here. What’s going on?

In the mid-90s, I drove a stick-shift  1987 red Toyota Celica. 

I bought it right after I got my first permanent job out of college, and I was psyched. This was by far the best car I had ever owned. It replaced a 1984 Chevy Chevette. I loved this car – stick shift, more power than any previous car I had owned (only 116 HP, but my Chevette had 65 HP), power windows, and sporty (for the time). 

Although I loved it, it had a myriad of annoying little problems over the several years that I owned it. For example, it perpetually winked at oncoming traffic because one pop-up headlight stayed stuck in the up position while the other stayed down. The headliner fabric drooped down on the driver’s head, requiring your raised right hand to hold it up in between using your right hand to change gears. The air conditioner was a crapshoot, as were the power windows. The most annoying, however, was the engine had trouble in the rain. I never figured that out. Sometimes it was fine, and sometimes it would spit and sputter.

But it also had a couple of major problems that taught me a lot about how systems in the world work. Although trying at the time, these were critical lessons that have served me well.  

What follows over the next couple of days are the lessons I learned from my 1987 Celica.

When Salvatore Maranzano organized the five Italian Mafia families in NYC in 1931, he succeeded largely because each family agreed to operate within their specified geographic location. 

As long as each family stayed within their own turf, they got along reasonably well. Each family doing their own business and making their own profits. But, of course, sometimes they crossed the lines. When they did, people got hurt. 

I saw the following headline: “Food companies are freaking out about Ozempic.” 

The gist — food (and healthcare) companies are concerned and preparing business mitigation plans because people may stop spending as much on snacking and healthcare services. Of course, the street runs on foreshadowing, rumors, and fear. This is the food and healthcare companies getting out in front of the news with their own PR — this is the actual mitigation. “We have a plan.”

But the pharma brands in on the GLP-1 wave couldn’t be happier. If you own stock in them, you’re probably happy, also. Novo Nordisk (Ozempic) stock has doubled over the last year. Like opioids before it, GLP-1 drugs (Ozempic, Wegovy, etc) are already overprescribed. 

When one entity starts to gain or thrive, it’s often at the expense of another. 

A food company’s number one purpose isn’t to make you healthy. It’s to make money for its owners/investors/stockholders. 

A healthcare or insurance company’s number one purpose isn’t to make you healthy. It’s to make money for its owners/investors/stockholders. 

A pharmaceutical company’s number one purpose isn’t to make you healthy. It’s to make money for its owners/investors/stockholders. 

When you engage in a turf war, somebody’s gonna get hurt. 

What do you feel when you think of the road ahead?

Excitement? Trepidation? Pessimism? Optimism? Tired? Energetic?

The road is the road. You probably can’t change it. You may know what it looks like. You might have the map, so you know what you’re in for. Or you may not. That road may be uncharted, unpaved, or even unfinished. You may have to figure it out as you go or forge your own path.

This morning I watched the township crew working on my road outside my house. They prepared the shoulders, but I’m not sure for what. Beautiful and smooth new asphalt? Maybe the dreaded oil and chips. Maybe just some patchwork. Maybe nothing at all beyond cleaning up the shoulder.

I’ve walked, run, cycled, and driven this road thousands of times. I’ve put in the miles. I know what it looks like, feels like, and where it goes. Yet I can’t control everything about it. Tomorrow it may look and feel very different than today.

The unpredictability of this road is a reminder that even with familiarity, there’s room for surprise. It’s those surprises that add depth, transforming routine into adventure.

Whatever you feel when you think about the road ahead, remember that it’s not the road itself that defines you. It’s now you navigate it.

Life gets better when you’re smart about defaults.

Defaults are everywhere, from your tech gadgets to dining menus. In the tech world, defaults make sure things run smoothly. When you’re at a chain restaurant, the default options are often about inventory or profit margins. Contrast that with a gourmet restaurant, where the chef’s defaults are dishes they passionately recommend.

Automotive service shops have defaults, too, often labeled as “best value” or “customer favorite.” But “best” for whom? The same logic applies to furniture stores. The default is often the item on sale, but you can and should negotiate for what you actually want.

To find the defaults, look for words like “signature dish” and “best value,” bold font, arrows, and green checkboxes. They’re pointing you to what they want you to do.

Remember, defaults are generally set up to benefit the provider, not you, the user. Make it a point to understand who really benefits from these preset options and make choices that better align with your own needs.

When you start to see the landscape of defaults for what it is, you regain control, turning these hidden settings into tools for your benefit.

Yes, you still should get together in the same room.

You need human interaction. You need whiteboard sessions. You need to shoot the crap. You need to sit around a conference table and haggle over some stuff. You need to shake hands.

It’s about more than work; it’s about building a cohesive unit.

You need regular, if infrequent, get-togethers. Not every day or every week, but find the rhythm that works with the team and within your budget. That rhythm may change as the arc of the project changes.

With my current team, we would gather about every four to six weeks for a few days to a week. As we got to know each other better, we found that once a quarter or so works well for us now.

When you get together, don’t expect to work the same way or even do the same kind of work that you do when you’re sitting in your home office. That time together is all about being together. Use it to do the things that are a hard remotely. The watercooler conversation may be the most important piece. Let it be.

Maybe it’s once a month for you, or maybe once a year. Find the rhythm that works for you and your team. Once you do, you’ll be unstoppable.

Mastering your daily schedule isn’t only a work-from-home thing; since you’ve now integrated your home and work lives, you can use it to your advantage.

Master your remote work schedule before your day even starts. Create a night-before or morning routine. Prioritize your work with a clear head. If all else goes to hell, you want to make some level of progress on the #1 priority.

The power in doing this planning with a clear head is that it helps you control your reaction to the inevitable interruptions.

Make use of odd hours and take advantage of no commute. Utilize early mornings or late nights when the house is quiet. Leverage these hours to focus on high-impact work. Maybe 7 am meetings work better than 10 am meetings.

Organize your day around 1 – 3 hour chunks of time tht fit more naturally into the house schedule. Avoid scattering tasks. Group similar activities into specific blocks.

Schedule some dark modes where you go off the grid to focus. Turn off notifications and close extra tabs. Not every message has to be answered in real time. Those notifications are like crack. I love them, you love them. Nobody has the discipline to ignore them, especially when we’re in an easily distracted state to begin with. So just turn them off, and that solves the problem.

Now you’re making progress to mastering the remote work environment.