An Open Letter to the Mechanic

You’ve done your job, sir. You’ve rescued that orphan car. You battled the Rust God and won. You’ve wielded Vulcan’s hammer to forge new parts from shapeless metal. You’ve vanquished the Beast and restored the Beauty. Your blood, sweat, tears, grease, and sacrifice are noble and heroic.

But I’m sorry, pal. You gotta stay home while your friend takes the car out and shows it off.

Here’s the thing. You’re a mechanic. You’re brilliant at what you do. But different jobs require different skills. Now that the car is done, you need to hand it over to your friend, the marketer.

The marketer goes to car shows and shakes hands. He talks to people. He tells stories about the car. He gets people excited and interested. Sometimes, he even thinks up promotional stunts to keep people engaged.

You think he’s a show off. You think he’s full of crap (or worse). You don’t trust him as far as you can throw a Studebaker V-8.

But what do you do when
you go to car shows? You sit in a lawn chair behind your car. You don’t talk to anyone you don’t know. Matter of fact, you’re hardly ever there with your car in the first place. Sorry, genius, but you’re a buzzkill at car shows.

Trust the marketer to do his job. He’s really good at informing, entertaining, and educating. In the words “car show,” you bring the “car”; he brings the “show.”

I know it’s hard to accept, but the marketer is as important as you are. And here’s a thought: if both of you start working together, I’ll bet you go a lot farther with that classic car than either one of you could alone. Teamwork gets better mileage.

So at the next car show, let the marketer take the wheel. You provide the fan belts and fan blades. Let him provide the fans. Together, you’ll be cool.
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