I spent two years, six months, and three days working as a service writer—a role I’d always been curious about. During my time at Larry H. Miller Dodge in Provo, I spent a lot of time with the service writers, learning from them and observing how they worked. As a car salesman, I often dreamed of making the switch to service, but the opportunity never came my way. Truth be told, I never asked for it, either.
2022 was a wild year for me. In February, I left my job at the dealership in Springville, a decision I had been considering for a while. The long commute, coupled with three years of stagnant pay, finally pushed me to make the change. When I left, I had no clear plan for what would come next—I just knew I was ready for something different. It was a bold move, especially with a newly acquired mortgage and no job lined up.
By March, I found a new home at England Logistics. Working for a third-party logistics company wasn’t something I’d ever considered, but the interviews went well, and the answers to my questions were enough to convince me to accept the offer. Training was a mix of good and stressful. A fellow car industry veteran was in my class, and a few days in, his nerves got the better of him, and he dropped out. His departure made me second-guess my decision to leave the automotive world, but I was determined to stick to my goal: a Monday-to-Friday job—something I’d never had while selling cars and walking the sales floor.
I had always carried this thought in the back of my mind: I should go see Gary. Gary owned the auto repair shop behind the dealership where I worked. We shared a parking lot, and after we relocated to Springville, he acquired the entire property. Along with that thought came the expectation: He’ll offer you a job. While I had become confident on the sales floor and was growing more comfortable selling freight, my personal confidence wasn’t fully developed. I resisted the idea, convincing myself the timing wasn’t right.
At England Logistics, I began to embrace a concept that was new to me: work-life balance. I started walking around the building on my breaks, which eventually led to walking after work. Before long, I was walking miles just for fun—a habit I’d never considered before. I was finally focusing on my physical health. Not that I was unhealthy, but it was clear I was carrying extra weight.
In July of 2022, fate intervened. My heterosexual life mate experienced a breakdown while traveling back from Idaho. He rented a U-Haul and trailer to tow his car back to Salt Lake, dropped it off with Gary, and had to fly out to Texas just a few days later. He was still out of state when the repairs were completed, so naturally, I was the one to pick it up. Gary and his wife were ecstatic to see me and immediately asked where I had been since the dealership had moved. As we caught up, just as I had always imagined, the job offer was extended to me.
By this point, I had begun to wonder if England Logistics was, in fact, my forever home. But it wasn’t a thought I had deeply entertained. I hadn’t started job hunting, hadn’t updated my resume. It was just a curiosity, lingering in the back of my mind. So, I spoke to one of the senior employees and, in confidence, asked him whether leaving England required giving notice or just a quick goodbye. As I had assumed, being in sales, a two-week notice wasn’t mandatory. You can usually tell how good of a car salesman you are when you give notice. If you’re doing okay but not great, they’ll let you work out those two weeks. But if you’re performing well, be prepared to leave immediately because they don’t want you taking customers with you on the way out.
Armed with that knowledge, a decision was made. The next day, I arrived early with my trusty brown canvas backpack, cleaned out my desk, and waited for my direct supervisor to arrive. When he did, we had a good conversation. I explained that I’d been offered my dream job. He was sad but understanding and made sure to tell me to hold onto his contact information in case things changed. He assured me that I would be welcomed back.
I spent the next thirty minutes saying my goodbyes and taking one last lap around the building with a few coworkers. It was an exciting new journey I was about to embark on. That evening, I spent the rest of the day at home, relaxing and wondering what my first day working for Gary would be like.
The next two years, six months, and three days are somewhat of a blur, but there are a few key points I’d like to share. Historically, jobs in auto sales are not for the sensitive types. If you don’t have a thick skin and the ability to tolerate some bullshit, you don’t last long. Most professional salespeople have a few unhealthy coping mechanisms tucked away. Alcohol is often a top contender. While drug use is not uncommon, it carries the risk of failing a random drug test. Dealership employees are often no strangers to being let go from one store, only to be employed across town a few days later.
Gary picked up on my anxiety before I even fully acknowledged it. He told me, “I can tell you’ve been mistreated by some prior employers.” He was right. Life hadn’t always been kind to me, and I’d often taken the cheap shots and just kept showing up to work. Over time, I developed healthier coping mechanisms and was able to get my anxiety under control.
Things weren’t always smooth sailing, though. At one point, I did wonder if I might need to search for new employment. Gary had a sixth sense for these things and always knew how to calm my nerves. I learned, I made mistakes, and I grew as a person. He always treated me with respect and kindness. More than once, when I confided in him or his wife, Felita, about struggling with something, a random Venmo payment would appear. Other times, when I was working late to catch up on repair orders or update customers, they’d hand me some spending cash and remind me how much they valued me.
We were a different kind of auto repair shop. We had a book club. We talked openly about feelings and emotions. We valued personal accountability and integrity over the almighty dollar. In a world often defined by machismo, we had a shop full of strong men who were willing to show their softer sides without losing their strength. Not everyone made the cut. Sometimes, the personal demons of mechanics couldn’t be resolved with brotherly love and understanding. But everyone got a fair shake—no one was let go without just cause.
There’s always a common fear that an auto repair shop will try to rip you off. But we were committed to providing accurate diagnostics and proper repairs. In a world of shops that take the easy route to diagnostics, throwing common failure parts at a check engine light, we went the extra distance to verify failures. This did mean customers had to pay for diagnostics, but that was because a good diagnostic takes time. It prevented them from spending money on unnecessary repairs and parts that wouldn’t solve the issue.
In our pursuit of providing the best service to our customers, we stayed up-to-date on the latest diagnostic practices. The guys in the shop went to a few classes after work each year. Gary was surprised when I asked if I could attend as well. I was equally surprised when he said yes. The first class was like trying to drink water from a fire hose, but it gave me a healthy respect for diagnostics and made me a better service writer.
Gary and I shared many common beliefs, but one stood out above all else: once you start down the path of improvement, the journey never truly ends. We were constantly striving to better ourselves—as people, as technicians, and as a repair facility as a whole. Why settle for "good enough" when you can always aim for excellence?
Our processes, standard operating procedures, and techniques were in constant evolution. This fostered an environment where everything was open to discussion. We weren’t a group of people trying to one-up each other. We were a team, with a shared goal: succeeding together. And we did, for two years, six months, and three days. Then, on January 16th, I was laid off.
Gary and Felita called me into the office late Thursday afternoon. An uncomfortable energy filled the room. They explained that due to a decline in production, they had to let me go. As blindsided as I felt, I couldn’t honestly say I hadn’t seen it coming. I scheduled the appointments, and I had witnessed the decline in solidly booked days. My parts delivery drivers had mentioned how parking lots at other shops that used to be packed were now empty. I didn’t want to believe it, but I had to accept it. I felt numb as the conversation continued. It ended with hugs and the acceptance of my final paycheck.
When I came home, I poured myself a whiskey and ginger ale. My partner was surprised to see me home so early. I found the words to tell them I’d been laid off. They’d just finished work for the day, and I numbly made my way to the couch. I posted a picture of my drink, with a simple caption: my after-work workout had been canceled, and I was having a drink due to my change of employment. A few years ago, that drink would have been one of several. But tonight, it was just one, and it took me about four hours to finish. My resolve to work out was crushed that evening, but my ability to deal with things sober remained intact.
Friday was spent in bed. My usual routine of getting up at 6 a.m., showering, brewing coffee, and packing lunch suddenly had no purpose. I had nowhere to go, no desk to report to. My work belongings were still in my Jeep, tucked into a white cardboard box, covered by my bad weather coat that always draped the back of my office chair. I had been scheduled for forty hours, but in truth, I’d always shown up between 7:30 and 7:45 each morning. I didn’t leave at 5:30 when Google said we closed; I left when the work was done. Some rare nights, that meant leaving at 5:30. More often, it was 6, 7, or even 7:30. I was dedicated to coming in the next business day with as clean of a slate as possible.
But now the slate is clean, and nothing can change that. No phones to answer. No texts to reply to. No messages on the answering machine to respond to. Now it’s just the unknown. What comes next for me? Where will I go? Will I enjoy what I do next? Will my next employer value me the same way Gary and Felita did? All I have is a fresh resume and a wall of jobs to pick through. But here it is... Bingo.
My dream did not end how I thought it would. I sit here as Tom's Diner - 7" Version fills my headphones. It’s a song I’ve loved forever, and it just seems to flow in this moment. I don’t regret chasing my dreams. While I don’t enjoy how it ended, I am better for experiencing it. The growth I experienced while working for Gary and Felita is something I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere else. Of this, I am 100% certain. I miss my daily interactions with them, Little Gary, Jeremy, and Erich. I miss the insights and challenges we all faced together. The lessons I learned will stick with me for life. But as sad as I am that the story has come to a close, I am forever better for experiencing all of it.
Bishop :(:
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