A Pyramid Scheme

A Pyramid Scheme - Part 3

A lot of the guys from the dealerships who came for the auctions were senior guys, those with the authority to make a call on whether a prize vehicle was worth another bid, forever juggling their margins in their heads. I guess that explains why they're preoccupied during the auctions, but also being senior guys – and the customers to boot – well, some of them had a bit of an attitude. They'd crowd round the vehicle entrance to the halls, sometimes blocking your way in, and even if the auctioneer called for the next lot to be sold, even though these guys were here to buy those lots, they just wouldn't get out the damned way.

Earlier in the week, Mike had told me “just bump 'em gently, they wake up fine then.” On Wednesday, I'd actually tried that and while the punter in question did indeed get out of my way, I got yelled at by the auctioneer.

“Will the driver be careful with the goods,” he'd said, over the microphone too, glaring right at me. I don't know if I did bad by bumping the punter, or if I genuinely did get the front wheel arch too close to the doorway coming in (I was in a barge of a Jaguar at the time), but I was duly chastened. I guess I could understand the company didn't want to have to pay out any liability for us whacking a car, even though no prices at auction could be guaranteed.

But then Friday morning I saw Mike in some little sporty Subaru Imprezza which he was moving from the delivery station to the main car park, and it seemed he decided to have himself a little fun, and was zooming the thing around far too quickly for the space when he reversed right into a Ford delivery van. Bang.

This could be bad, I thought. Might even get Mike the boot. But no, Mikestache got out of the smacked up Imprezza, took a look at the badly dented rear-end, sniffed, and called over one of the mechanics who was grinning like a circus clown nearby.

“Get these panels beat back out, willya, Terry?” said Mike.

“Sure thing, Mike.”

And that was it. No auctioneer came screaming out of the main building, his crunch-radar beeping on maximum, ready to massacre whomsoever had dared defile The Goods. No Ticker urgently rearranging their clipboard schedule for the day. It was all just covered up.

I don't think I was offended that I got yelled at and Mike got off scott-free. It was more that, after my dressing down, I had realised we were entrusted with goods that people were buying on the description and reputation of the company. And it seemed right I should be careful. That Mike could do some serious damage, and it would all be covered up, no entry in the car's log book, and duly sold on, one owner, like new....it seemed pretty off to me.

I was just about to outline this new philosophical realisation-slash-possible moral quandary to Sally and Boring Steve at the end of Friday as we were heading down from our last parking job of the day to clock-out with our Tickers, when Gary happened again. You know how when you see those nature documentaries with brown bears up on their hind legs just single-mindedly heading towards something, and they look almost unsteady and shambling because they're so big and their hides are loose? But you know those big lumbering things are just super-dangerous?

Yeah, that was like Gary, making right for us. Heck, could have been the Gary-version of speed-walking for all I know, but first thought in my head was of bears. It surprised the hell out of me as we came through the doorway from the car park back into the main building (we always clocked off with the Tickers by the canteen) and there he was. And he did not look good. Where he was tired and sweaty before, now he had these dark smears under his eyes...nope, not even that, my memory says dark lumps. Against how pale his face was, it looked like a face with no eyes was heading our way, a face with gaping, empty holes. It didn't help his mouth was hanging open as he came at us, and as he got closer, I could hear he was making some low, meaningless sound, an empty muttering.