I have wondered from time to time what people would ask the Parts Guy if they saw him standing at the counter at the store. Would it be awkward, seeing some big dude with a bag over his head standing there, with all sorts of heavy parts and chemicals nearby? Would he say anything or just stand there, like a third-rate version of The Stig? And why does he have a “Have A Nice Day” button on his shirt? Would they try to punk him out and ask him to get a water pump for a 1967 Karmann Ghia? It’s kind of interesting how this character took a life of it’s own, so on the Parts Guy’s Facebook page, I asked:

Modesty, thy name be UPCG.

It didn’t take long for the first question to be asked: “How the hell have you not killed someone?” How disturbing of a question is that? Suddenly I feel less like a comedian trying to hide my identity inside of a paper bag with an Internet meme taped on and instead feel like I’m Leatherface, but with the ability to find you a fuel pump for a Saab instead of a chainsaw. “Disgruntled” and “homicidal” are two completely different things, guys, regardless of what the Post Office tries to show! I’ve heard this from lots of people through BangShift, Facebook and the good parts people I’ve come to know…they are frustrated with pay, hours, the morons that get hired on to appease managers and directors (or to just keep numbers up) and the kind of customer treatment that I’ve explained countless times. Some days are gravy, some days it’s not worth the paycheck, but they want to do their best and help good customers.

Another guy simply wrote, “I wouldnt ask. Just shake the hand of someone who posts our pain.” That’s kind of a bittersweet statement, but it’s the truth. We all know that the days of working for a parts house and making a livable wage went down the toilet years ago. We know that effectively, we are ranked with the guy flipping burgers at Sonic and the girl bagging groceries at Kroger. We know our pay doesn’t reflect the services we provide. And it’s, put bluntly, a f**king shame that things are the way they are. But it’s also a great stepping stone for a kid who wants work that has cars involved, it’s a killer way to learn about vehicles and parts, it’s physical without killing you, and it’s office without boring you. Compared to being a floor-walker at Wal-Mart, it barely qualifies as retail. There’s pride to be had when someone you helped out contacts your regional manager, mentioning your actions by name and sincerely thanking you. Proof of point: there is a nearly deaf woman that frequented the store where I worked who drives a G-body Cutlass that has seen better days. Not only would I help to keep her Olds going, but I would take the time (and in some cases, pencil and paper) to make sure that we both understood each other. That woman, every time she sees me in town, smiles and waves, still grateful for the effort that $8.50/hour simply didn’t cover. That’s why I continue to keep writing the UPCG posts. So, from me to you, keep sending me stories from your end of the counter…and, as always: