Unc The Slacker Cranks One Out
18 July 2002
Those of you who have had the good fortune/made the terrible mistake of ever trying to pry a car out of Unc's House of Fine Rides in exchange for green rectangular dollars know that projects hereabouts frequently age like a fine wine. Nothing visible happens for a long time, save that the deposit check gets cashed real fast, and you get to hear really colorful stories, usually over the phone on your nickel, about why you don't have your car. Yet. Ever?
How It Really Works – A typical customer call: "Hi, Unc! How are you?" (translation: "Where the hell is the car I ordered, you lowlife scum?!")
"(unintelligible mumble while Unc tries to remember who it is on the phone and precisely which unfinished project he has to start lying about)"
"What've you been up to?" (translation: "... besides hosing me like a house fire and pissing away my money?")
"Stuff. You know... this and that. Working on your car." (followed by a coughing jag to buy more time to recall which dust-covered hulk it is that has to be quasi-described in enough detail to prevent death threats)
"So how's the car coming?" (You know, the one you already blew the deposit money on? The one that my great-grandchildren will have to take delivery of? Unless the sun cools first?)
"Yea. Just fine. I was working on it today. (if it's the one shaped just like a TV remote control or a coffee cup, that is).
Then I mentally spin The Unc Wheel of Guilt; half the wheel has stuff like "Spend three hours making hood scoop fit hood properly - lose money," "Spend 2twohours adjusting ride height so car actually works - lose money," and "Spend an hour and a half with spacers, tires and the body maximizing track without body or interior problems - lose money." The other half has things like "You told him it would take a while, right?," "Hey, he's getting Mercedes quality at Taiwanese labor rates," and "If you told him how many hours you really spent on the swine already, he'd die laughing." For some bizarre reason, the wheel always comes up on "Shut up, take it in the shorts, and get the piece outa here so he won't call any more."
I bring this matter up simply because not that long ago, Mr. Smoooth visited Casa Unc on some mission or other. In the course of discussions on various unfinished projects of angry slot car drag racers across the country, Smooth drops The Big One.
"So how's my Hardbody Nostalgia Pro Stock coming?"
"What friggin' Hardbody Nostalgia Pro Stock?"
"The one you were gonna' build for me before our next race."
"The next race, like the one that's (consults wall calendar) 16 days from today?"
"Yea."
"For the benefit of those in the audience who may not have heard: what friggin' Hardbody Nostalgia Pro Stock?"
Smoooth Makes His Move – Whereupon Mr. Smoooth commences some absolutely solid guilt riffs, knocks off a few variations on his usual "you slacker" theme, pops a few sniveling rim shots about "hooking a brother man up," and segues straight to the Fine Whine: "Man, the only reason I'm going is to run Hardbody Nostalgia Pro Stock. If I don't have one, I probably won't go."
Now: he knows this is crap. He knows I know this is crap. Heck, my cats know this is crap. Nevertheless, it strikes the appropriate resonant chord on my Guilt-O-Meter. The thought of possibly not having Smoooth there to run the Race means someone else will have to do it. Which is work or madness or both. Trapped like a rat, albeit a really lazy one (hey, those idiots might figure I should run the Race. Uh, thanks, no), there commences the Concession/Selection Festival, wherein we both fake it like he was right and not lying through his teeth while trying to figure out which Ford sled to victimize. Oh, I tried a few "You realize your cutting in line ahead of other people here" feints, but Smoooth has no shame, at least as far as getting slot drag cars, anyhow.
My goal was simple: easy assembly, and I didn't much give a damn beyond that. Then comes the next whine: "I want it in a color."
"For all intents and purposes, white is a color. While technically, white is the absence of..."
"I don't want white. I don't want black. I want a friggin' color. Something bright"
"White is bright."
Mr. Smoooth was having none of it. To quote the Beach Boys: "Listen to 'em whine, whine, whine." He even mentioned the dirty words "air brush." Sheesh. Talk about unbecoming. So I copped a plea and agreed. Goodbye primer, hello Tamiya spray lacquer. Neat colors (for those who care about such things, a much better range than, say, Duplicolor auto touch-up lacquers), thin and light, all things considered, fast-drying, and not that expensive. Until Black Gold/House of Color stuff is available in my neck of the woods, my choice for... colors.
So he got his car, the Comet pictured below, and he got his color. And how, pray, does he repay me for this Herculean effort? How indeed. TQ, new Track Record (by a measly .003 over his close, personal car-building friend, one might add). With some old wheezing Unc motor from another one of his Fine Fords. There is no joy in Mudville, not to mention justice. On the upside: when people call these days, I blame all the delays on Smooth, and suggest they call him at home at some convenient hour like 3:00 AM to discuss it. I always remind them to mention "color" frequently, too.
A Weak Explanation of Why It Take So Long – Those of you who can, or have at least seen or heard of people who can crank out chassis, motors, and/or complete cars in a matter of hours have obviously never met me. A lengthy discussion about my membership in the Anal Retentive Hall of Fame can be found elsewhere in these pages, but I figure a small example might be useful. You'll note that the Comet, above, and the Camaro, below, have a small spoiler. What you don't note, unless you've actually seen one of the cars I've built with one, is that the cantilevered styrene spoiler is not glued to the car. Rather, it's both adjustable and removable. No, it doesn't fall off, yes, it holds any desired angle without deflection, and yes, it's a real pain in the wazoo to make. I put them on every hardshell car I build that permits a spoiler. Some are relatively simple flat-plane devices and some are compound-curve nightmares. They take between 1½ to 3 hour to make and fit, depending. Why bother? Because simply gluing a thin styrene part on edge to a body that will be subjected to a fairly stressful life is just dumb, that's why. Not to mention the need for the occasional angle adjustment, safe shipment, and the ever-popular "WTFITSTB" factor (see Geo Storm GSi story elsewhere for an explanation). And because, all things considered, it's the best way I've figured out to do it.
It frequently turns out that the best (or at least better) way to do something may not necessarily be the quickest way to do it. Surprise. Add up a lot of those and you get a lot more time than people think is actually needed. That, and a lot of time just looking at stuff, answering the question of how best to accomplish a given goal within the guidelines of Rules and the reality of competition necessities like strength and weight. It take me a while, but then, I've never mislead anyone that it didn't. Not an excuse, just an explanation. You see, I figure that when someone lays out a fairly sizeable amount of money for a car based on hearsay and/or reputation, they better bloody well be impressed with what they get even before it turns a wheel or I've pretty much lost them. I want them to open the box, unpack the car, and mumble "Holy crap! Look at that friggin' dealie!" I want them to say that about a lot of dealies, actually. It's what the British commonly refer to as "good value for money," and it means that if the car doesn't turn out to be a dog, performance-wise, they might, just might, trust me enough to build more stuff.
Whereupon, of course, we can start the drill all over again. Not the easiest way to keep myself afloat in slot drag racing, I'll grant you, but it's what people like me do for what passes for "fun." Mostly, I figure it's like doing those gajillion-piece puzzles some people are fond of, only you get to misuse electricity on a fairly frequent basis and the pieces hit the floor a lot faster when you mess up.