Job Interview: Learning the Skills (1094 hits)
Category: Humor -> Dumb JobsRating: 1.44 on 14 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by <suburbanator350.at.hotmail.com> (View user info) at 2006-01-13 22:11:06 EST
When I had lived in Aspen a few years back, I had met a guy who owned several cars, most of them sports cars, including one of every year of Corvette ever made. When he showed me his garage, nay, parking structure, I creamed my jeans like a fourteen year old boy getting to see his first naked boob. A Lamborghini Diablo, Ferrari Testerossa and 308GT, Lotus Espirit turbo, Bugatti EB110, BMW M5, a rare Mercedes 1100, and even a Delorian. The sports cars were rounded out by a couple of Porches, a few early muscle cars and a fully restored Tucker. He also had an official Indy car from A.J. Foyt, a sweet looking Hummer H1 wagon and a beefy looking 65 Dodge Power Wagon.
I met Jacque when I had been driving him in a shuttle van from Denver International Airport to his home in Aspen. He lived in Australia but had a house in Aspen and one in L.A. As we driving from Denver, he sat in the front seat and carried on a conversation. He told me about how he liked to race cars and had won several trophies. He wasn't really bragging or trying to get anyone's attention, it was just a fact he brought up while we were talking. He was also a huge fan of cars in general, and liked to collect them too, but he said it was a bit more difficult to get some of them in Australia. He also had a few of the same cars, some in the US and some in Australia; he thought it was interesting to see the differences between car intended for the U.S. and foreign markets.
Although the van had been full when I left DIA, I had dropped all the guests, with the exception of Jacque, in Vail. The route I drove took me through Glenwood Canyon, the same Glenwood Canyon I had passed through only an hour before. As we entered the curvier parts, Jacque was quiet, but observant.
"Speed up," he told me.
"I can't; the speed limit is 50 miles per hour."
"It's OK, I know the troopers in this area, if they pull you over, I'll take care of it."
"Well, I..."
Then he slipped a C note on the dash.
"Ah, screw it, the roads are dry, the moon is full, there's very little traffic, why not?"
Normally, I don't give into cash bribes, but y'know, I've always wanted to see how one of these vans handled the corners. I pressed the gas down a bit and got the Ford E-350 fifteen-passenger maxi-van up to 65. (That may not sound that impressive, but if you know the road, 65 miles per hour in a van is pretty good) The Triton V-10 under the hood had some real pick up, and with the weight of the guests gone, there was more power for speed.
"C'mon, mate, give 'er a go!"
75 miles per hour.
"Now, rather than slow up or hitting the brake at the curves, take the corner wide, cross the lanes."
What the hell did I have to lose? I mean, other than my job.
85 miles per hour.
"Nice, take it like this all the way to Glenwood."
I only slowed up once when I saw headlights coming up behind me. There is no mistaking a full sized white van with big red reflective letters displaying the company name and phone number, so it wouldn't do any good to try to run. Turns out it was some schmuck in a cheesy 80's something Mustang with one tail pipe trying to be cool.
I kicked the van in the rear and took the corners like a pro, letting off the gas at the right places and then accelerating through them with ease.
Jacque had a smile on his face, "Good job, mate, keep the bill."
I slowed up once I got to Glenwood and hit the highway to Aspen.
Once we got to his house, Jacque showed me his house and parking structure. The guy was definitely into racing.
"So, what was up with the speeding through the canyon?" I asked.
Jacque replied, handing me a cold Coke, "I was noticing your driving on the way up, your very observant of your surroundings and I was impressed that you handled those hills with out touching the brake once. You knew how and when to down shift. You new when to pass, when to let other cars by. Have you ever had any professional training?"
"I learned to drive in the Marines. Mom taught me a little bit before I joined, but basically I learned to drive on a Humvee and five ton. I also took escape and evasion driving as well as defensive and offensive driving. And last winter I took a winter driving course. Plus I am a truck driver by trade."
"You ever do any racing? Or taken a racing course?"
"No, why?"
"I'm not gonna say you have a natural talent for driving, but you definitely know haow to handle a vehicle. I'll tell you what, on your next day off, you come here to my house, and we'll go over to the Aspen Sports Car Club. We'll take you around the track, see how you do."
Ooh, I just saw my second naked boob.
As it turned out, the next day was my day off. I always loved driving my big, lifted, nasty-looking 1980 Suburban into Aspen. Sure those folks had Suburbans, but the were the of the Soccer mom variety. My Sub stood out against the Subaru Outbacks (believe it or not, that's a very popular car in Aspen), the Land Rovers and the Mercedes Benz M-Class SUVs. Plus, you knew when my Sub was in town; straight pies on a true dual exhaust (meaning the pipes come straight from the exhaust manifolds, to the tail pipe, no cross overs, no catalytic converters), makes for a lot of loud. Especially when I'd drop the tranny into second gear and rap out the RPMs, blowing nothing but power through the dual glass packs. Bloody Aspenites, I'll show them to have money when I don't! Yeah, take that, what with the noise and all!
Jacque had the Hummer loaded with a two-car trailer and we were ready to go shortly after I got there. I asked him about his Hummer. Like all Aspinites, he had a cool four-wheeler and the only dirt it had ever seen was the dirt on his drive way. He was impressed with how I had built my Suburban and we talked about off-roading. Since he was kind enough to invite me to race his cars, I invited him to join me and Stones and the rest of the monkeys we hang with out in Moab, Utah for our annual drunken off road fest.
Yeah, like a multi-millionaire Aussie is gonna hang out with us borderline rednecks (by the way, I'm not southern in any way, shape, or form, so I can't possibly be a redneck), but you never know, he seemed like a normal, no stick up his ass kinda guy.
We pulled up to the Aspen Sports Car Club and parked the Hummer in the pit crew area. Jacque introduced me to his pit crew, which consisted of two potheads who for some reason seemed to baked out of their minds, yet that special place in the back of the heads that controlled their motor skills for turning a wrench worked somehow. One of those things that makes you go HMMMMM.
I met the rest of the "gentlemen," and their cars. With the selection of machines sitting in front of me, I wasn't seeing naked boobs, this was that first touch of said naked boobs; Dodge Vipers, a Ferrari Enzo (a one million dollar car that you can't buy just because you have a million dollars), a McClairen F-1 (another one million dollar car, but this one you can buy just because you have a million dollars [interestingly enough, about two years earlier, I actually changed the tire on this very vehicle when I found the owner's wife stranded on the side of the road]), an authentic Shelby Cobra, Aston Martins, Mustang Saleens, a Ford GT40, and the usual assortment of Lambos, Corvettes, Mercedes', and a plethora of other exotic sports cars. The two cars that Jacque had brought with us were his 1999 Porsche 911 and his 1997 BMW 365i.
Handing me helmet after doing a thorough pre-race inspection, we climbed into the Beemer and he pulled up to the start line. Now these races are not formal races, like what you find at Indy or Taladega. These races, unless otherwise designated, are just an informal challenge between two or more racers. Officials are on hand to enforce rules, and to start and stop the race, but other than that, it's just a bunch of guys driving around the track.
The track itself is not an oval track, because lets face it, who wants to watch, let alone perform, a bunch of left turns? You'd look like a bunch of monkeys doing that, and a bunch of monkey being entertained by such a thing. Besides, with these types of cars, oval track racing would be an insult to their design. These cars are built for cornering, quick acceleration and fast deceleration.
The track is a three-mile road track with lots of banked turns, flat turns and nice long straight away to get the speed going. It's big enough to race up to eight cars comfortably at a time, but most of the time the cars are paced out at one and a half minute increments.
The official at the start line held the green flag down, stopwatch at the ready. Waiting for a dark blue Dodge Viper GT white stripes and a goofy looking (yet functional) aluminum spoiler to pass, the starter raised the flag then dropped it, and Jacque took off. I was immediately pressed into the wrap around bucket racing seat, the five-point harness holding me in place. I was quite surprised at the take off of the BMW. I knew it was a high performance car but the fastest thing I ever drove before was my old 1968 Pontiac GTO. (It had nitro hooked to it and, boy, I tell you what, if you don't know what to expect with nitro, DON'T TRY IT unless you have at least five miles of straight road to let it burn out of your system, when the speedometer hit 140 miles per hour, I was thankful I hadn't eaten breakfast that morning, coz it would have ended up in my shorts.)
The BMW cornered like you'd expect, I was being thrown slightly from one side of the seat to the other in the S-curve section. I was kissing the window on the hard left. Sharing the seat with Jacque on the hard right. Sitting in the backseat when he accelerated down the straight stretch. And repeating this ten times for the ten laps.
People often find it amusing that I've been a professional driver for over ten years, and have spent about eighty-five percent of that time behind the wheel, but I get carsick. The difference between driving and riding is that I am in control of what's going on. I know how the corner is going to be handled, or the bumps are going to be bumpy. I'm just not a very good passenger I guess, so, as I got out of the BWM after a tour around the track, I walked to a nearby garbage can, got my helmet off and promptly let loose with the biscuits and gravy I'd had earlier that morning. Yeah, pretty sure I'd have never had made it as a fighter pilot.
After a couple of bottles of water to get my colour back (and to get the taste of the biscuits and gravy out of my mouth, trust me, they taste as good the second time around), and a lot of "light-weight" jokes aimed my direction, I found myself sitting behind the wheel of the Beemer, watching the official, waiting for him to drop the green flag.
I've never been a big fan of BMWs, more because of the assholesque "holier-than-thou" attitude of their owners than the actually car itself, but the little 365i had it all where it counts. There was no drift in the corners, the engine responded well to how hard or light I stepped on the accelerator, and once I got it down, the tranny shifted like butter.
While Jacque ran mostly above 100 miles per hour, I only hit 100 on the straight aways, generally taking the corners a bit slower. I wanted to get a better feel for the car before I took it too much faster.
Jacque coached me through each turn; when to accelerate, when to brake, give it more gas, whoa ease up, and not so tight on the turns.
"You ever watch NASCAR?" Jacque asked me
"Occasionally," I said, "why?"
"What does NASCAR stand for?"
"'National Association of Stock Car Racing' or something along those lines."
"Yeah, the only thing stock about those cars is the general shape. The Chevy Lumina running around the track, making all those left turns, is far different from the Chevy Lumina you see sitting on the show room floor, isn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Now this car, this BMW, this is a stock car. I bought this car a few years ago. The only modifications that make it from stock are beefed up, factory installed suspension, and improved computer chips for better performance. The five point racing harnesses, racing seats and eight-point roll cage are added only because of racing regulations.
"Those NASCAR and Winston car drivers wouldn't know how to handle a car like this. Otter, when you get into a car like this you know you're controlling something special. Take your Suburban for example, you built that thing; sure, any monkey can go out and build a rock buggy, or have somebody build a Jeep up for them. But you know your truck, plus, you can still use it as your daily driver. Same with my car, I built it; I know it inside and out. And I can drive it down the road. Let those NASCAR monkeys try driving their cars down the road. Those aren't stock cars."
I knew what he was talking about. Pride in your work and what not. He was sorta rambling now, and I was paying more attention to the road and my driving.
I crossed the finish line after twenty laps. No puking this time.
Next we hopped into the 911, again he took ten laps, and I twenty. "The difference between these two cars is that when it comes down to it, the BMW is still a sedan. It's designed for going to and from work, taking a small family to the store or to grandma's house for Sunday dinner. This Porsche, on the other hand, is built for racing, built for high speed on the autobahn. It's small but powerful, not really built for comfort. But feel it under your seat, in the palm of your hands, below the ball of your foot."
The Porsche was definitely different than the Beemer, with the engine on the rear, cornering was much different. Although the rear end never broke free, it came damn close, Jacque told me to use this to my advantage when cornering.
After the races were done and the cars were washed and loaded up, Jacque and I went into the club's pub. Over a couple of pints, Jacque offered to teach me to race. All he wanted was the cost of fuel and an after race beer. And for me to teach him how to off-road his Hummer properly.
Knowing racing schools can cost up into the tens of thousands of dollars, how could I resist? I took him up on his offer, and I'm glad I did.
User Reviews
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-01-18 15:27:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
absolutely phenominal series.
Submitted by sinna (user info) at 2006-01-18 06:14:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Otter (user info) at 2006-01-14 00:48:15 (#)
Ranking: 0
Your right about the breakfast and weather I had it or not.
With the sporadic way I'm writing this, I will admit that some of my continuity is lacking.
Plus my short term memory has gone to crap, so the details like that will slip by me...D'OH!
At least that was a real critisizim, thank you.
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Weren't you talking about the GTO you previously owned when you mentioned being glad you didn't eat breakfast (in the past)? Where as you were talking about the BMW when you referred to biscuits and gravy (in the 'present').
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2006-01-14 04:50:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
fuck yeah
Submitted by Otter (user info) at 2006-01-14 00:50:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
jgreening is right about the canyon.
I worked for a company driving shuttle vans and limos and drove that canyon just aout every day for four years.
Submitted by Otter (user info) at 2006-01-14 00:48:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Your right about the breakfast and weather I had it or not.
With the sporadic way I'm writing this, I will admit that some of my continuity is lacking.
Plus my short term memory has gone to crap, so the details like that will slip by me...D'OH!
At least that was a real critisizim, thank you.
Submitted by jagmcmanus (user info) at 2006-01-14 00:25:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by cdoggown (user info) at 2006-01-13 23:27:58 (#)
Ranking: -1
I call bullshit.
How can you e glad you didnt eat breakfast, and then immediately puke up the biscuits and gravy you had earlier that morning?
You dont even have consistancy in your own story.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
who gives a shit either way, its a good story.
Submitted by a_palindrome (user info) at 2006-01-13 23:38:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Lovin' it.
Submitted by cdoggown (user info) at 2006-01-13 23:27:58 EST (#)
Ranking: -1
I call bullshit.
How can you e glad you didnt eat breakfast, and then immediately puke up the biscuits and gravy you had earlier that morning?
You dont even have consistancy in your own story.
Submitted by Blinkish (user info) at 2006-01-13 23:03:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I missed this series! Beautiful as always
Submitted by jgreening (user info) at 2006-01-13 22:38:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Kick ass.
And being a Colorado lifer, I know all the places he's talking about, if not through being there (the track) then through reputation.
And Glenwood Canyon is a blast of a drive at 3AM. You're functionally blind outside of your beams if you have less than a halfmoon.
Submitted by GodLovesALittleLovin (user info) at 2006-01-13 22:26:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Granted, the part of the U.S. I live in, anything with more bite than a Corvette gets chased down around these parts.
Submitted by GodLovesALittleLovin (user info) at 2006-01-13 22:22:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I think it's because i'm a guy but seriously, this was bitchin.
Submitted by GodLovesALittleLovin (user info) at 2006-01-13 22:21:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by jagmcmanus (user info) at 2006-01-13 22:21:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
fucking awesome