Who's in Control?

Late on a Saturday afternoon, Dad drove into town to get a flat tire fixed, and I got to go with him. Arriving at the gas station, I took the tire from the trunk and laid it flat on the shop apron. The station owner hurried over and said that he was about to close up, but he could fix it. His coveralls carried the name “Bob.” After looking at the tire more closely, Bob said, “Oh, this is a radial. I don’t think I can get it done before closing time.” Radials were new at the time. Bob turned and took a few steps to check the clock on the shop wall, and then, turning back, said, “No, I’m sorry, there’s just not enough time.” With that, he started toward the tire.

Dad took the cigar from his mouth, held his hand palm down in front of him and quietly said, “Leave it.” Bob stopped, looking bewildered. I was confused too. We both looked at Dad. After a moment of silence, Dad said quietly, “Rich, put the tire in the car.”

Before I could take a step, Bob pounced on the tire crying, “No, no, I can fix it!” He started working hurriedly. I looked at Dad, half expecting a wink or at least a smile. Nothing; he was expressionless.

When Bob was finished with the repair, he then got what he had wanted; he got to put the tire in the car.

Dad was a sales manager. Part of his job was motivating people. I figure he motivated Bob. Motivated or manipulated, that can be a fine line. Each party got what he wanted, so let’s say, “motivated.” I say “motivated” because he was my dad. My dad wouldn’t manipulate anyone.