It Began in the Car Dealer's Shop by NJBootGuy

 One of the perks of being in the auto industry is going to the dealerships and watching some of the hot young mechanics working on cars. One day, I was in the service department and had some free time. I saw one of the techs, maybe about 20 years old or so, working on a ’78 Camaro Z28, so I walked over to see what he was doing. I struck up a conversation with him, and found out that he’d just gotten hold of this car and was trying to get it running again. Looking under the hood, I saw that the car had a 350 V8 with a four-barrel. Looking at HIM, I saw he was wearing some tight-fitting, faded jeans, a white t-shirt and engineer boots. What struck me as interesting was that he wore the boots OUTSIDE his jeans, and they reached to just below his knee. A DEFINITE plus in my book! After tinkering around and adjusting some carb settings, he walked around and got in.

"You like older cars like this?", he asked.

"Oh sure," I replied, "I like them almost better than the new ones. You can do more fun things with the older cars." I kept the tone casual, because I didn’t want to let him know that I had a thing for pumping the accelerator, flooding a car and then watching all the thick black smoke come out the exhaust when the engine finally fired and you just stood on the gas!

"Yeah, you sure can," was his reply. "You got some time? Care to go for a ride? I gotta get this thing on the road and make sure everything’s right."

"Sure, let’s go. I’ve got some time to kill," I said.

We went out and found a little-traveled road on the outskirts of the small town where he lived and worked. Along the drive, we both noticed a distinct miss in the engine. He pulled the car to a stop, opened the hood and got out. He jockeyed the wires around and readjusted the carb. He worked the linkage on the carb to see if enough gas was getting in. Then he walked around to the driver’s side and got in, preparing to fire the car. Of course, the gas he’d squirted into the carb did a great job of flooding the car out, and it refused to fire. I had walked around to see what he would do.

"These older cars can get loaded up pretty quick," he said. "The previous owner told me that if this car ever got partially flooded, the only way it would ever seem to start is to get it REALLY flooded and see what happens." He had a grin on his face when he said this, and I started to get the feeling that THAT was the exact reason he’d bought the car to begin with!

He started pumping his heavy right boot up and down on the accelerator in long, even strokes. He’d stand on it at the bottom, crushing the accelerator and his bootsole into the floorboard. Then he’d let it all the way up, but would never bring his boot off the pedal. He did this for about a minute, maybe getting a good forty strokes in. I was hard as a rock, and tried not to let it show! However, I did notice a sizable bulge starting to grow in HIS pants, too! At last, he triggered the key, slammed his boot to the floor and cranked it. The engine cranked forever, but didn’t show any signs of catching. While he continued to crank the car mercilessly, he started pumping the gas furiously with hard, rapid strokes. He probably floored the pedal another forty times in about 15 seconds. I just knew I had to have a wet spot showing, and was glad I’d worn my black slacks this day! Ramming the pedal to the floor again, he continued to crank. He ground the cleated sole of his boot against the pedal, making sure he was all the way on it. Still, the car refused to give any indication that it wanted to start.

"Man, that guy was SERIOUS about what he said about this thing!", the young buck said. "Maybe it’s not getting enough air." With that, he walked to the trunk and took out a custom chrome air cleaner and replaced the factory one with it. After making sure everything was hooked up right, he got back in and started getting back on the pedal. "More air is gonna need more gas!", he said. He pumped the pedal again, and while doing so, absently reached down and rearranged his now very large basket. No doubt this guy got into what he was doing the same way I did!

Triggering the key again, he slammed his boot down to the floor and cranked. Finally, the engine started to sputter. Putting even more force behind his boot, extending his leg and locking his knee, he said, "Come on, you mother, you know you can do it!" Finally the engine caught, and he lifted his foot to about half throttle so it wouldn’t stall. I looked behind the car, as he did, and saw the thick black exhaust just pouring out the dual pipes. When the engine stabilized somewhat, he backed off the gas to about a quarter throttle, and then slammed the pedal down. The tachometer needle soared to 4500 rpm (the redline wasn’t until 6000), but the engine was so loaded up, it climbed very slowly from there on. He kept his boot planted on the gas, watching intently as the rich exhaust continued to pour out the pipe. Finally, after about two solid minutes, the engine hit the redline, and he backed off. The engine idled very poorly, and I walked back to the back of the car. Even at idle, the exhaust was visibly black, and I could still hear the distinct ignition miss in the exhaust.

"It’s still pretty loaded up," I called up to him. "The exhaust is black and the miss is still there!"

"Probably a fouled plug," he said, "watch yourself!"

I knelt down and put a hand in front of the right exhaust pipe. He revved the engine again, and the smoke rolled. The smell was intoxicating, sharp and rich. I could feel that the exhaust was running smooth though. Putting my hand in front of the left pipe, I could feel a regular miss as he revved the engine again and again, trying to clear all the loaded up fuel. He was ramming his boot clean to the floor on each stroke, getting the tachometer clear into the red zone before backing off. Finally, he let the engine idle and shut it down. I walked back up front, showed him my now blackened hands. He grinned and said, "What the heck were you doing?!"

"I wanted to see if I could determine what side of the engine the miss was on. It’s on…"

"The left," he finished for me.

My jaw dropped. "You KNEW??", I asked, incredulously.

"Yeah," he admitted, "I’ve seen you around the shop when you’ve been in before and you always seem to take time out and hang around the guys who are kicking the hell out of the cars they’re working on. I figured you were into the same thing I was, so today was kind of a trick on my part to find out for sure. But don’t worry, no one else knows, and I won’t tell if you won’t!"

"No problem there," I said. "But what happens now?"

"Now," he said, we go back to the shop like nothing happened." He handed me a rag to clean my hands with. "But somehow," he continued, "I think we’ll be seeing more of each other, and not just for work!"

Looking down, I saw his bulge hadn’t gone down in the least, and was VERY large. I knew that with his boots, that car and that bulge, he was absolutely correct!