I just finished 'sitting' for my ASE recertification tests the other night, if that's the proper term. I suppose, it is because that's what I did for the better part of three hours. I sat and filled in the little ovals as clearly and precisely as I could in tests A1 through A8. I filled in the ovals, and I scratched my head and cursed and raged and decided that if I ever caught Technician A or Technician B in a dark alley I'd teach them both a little something about consensus!
All things considered, it wasn't such a bad experience. I learned a lot that Tuesday night ... a lot about the industry, a lot about the tests, a lot about life and even a little about myself. For instance, I learned that when it comes to a prize for strategic planning, the Nobel Committee will have to look elsewhere. I will not be the one chosen for that distinction. Planning ahead does not seem to be 'my thing,' at least not with regard to these tests.
You see after I sent in my registration, I realized the test date was the night before I was leaving for Chicago to participate on a panel at the Global Automotive Aftermarket Symposium, one of the most important automotive aftermarket events of the year. That, in itself, wouldn't have been so terrible if not for the fact the plane was scheduled to leave at "O:Dark:Thirty" in the morning, allowing me little or no time to get ready for the trip let alone account for little things ... like packing. To compound this insanity, it takes an hour to get to the airport from my home, and current security requirements demand you arrive at the airport an hour and a half before flight-time. In other words, the time between finishing the tests, driving home from the test center and leaving again for the airport could have just as easily been calculated in minutes as it could in hours.
I learned something else: I learned that this body no longer fits into a high school desk. You know, the one-piece 'speedsters' with four and a half pounds of pink, epoxy-hard gum-bumps stuck to the underside of the writing surface and the seat. In fact, I'm not sure anyone fits in those seats anymore, at least not comfortably.
I learned that a big part of the custodian's responsibilities has to be chemically treating the desk seats. They couldn't be that slippery without some space-age chemical friction-reducing agent. However they are treated, someone ought to patent the process because the seats on those desks are as close to a frictionless surface as anyone will ever encounter.
I learned that either my eyes are finally starting to go or whoever printed the books is sadistic as hell. They are probably on the take for whatever savings were realized by reducing the print size in order to get more text on each page, thereby reducing the page count. And, I learned that, after working all day, the print gets smaller in direct proportion to the amount of time you are sitting in those slippery and uncomfortable high school desk chairs.
I learned that all things being equal, the fates will conspire against you to ensure that the day of the test you will be unusually busy and your day will end with two tow trucks and three drive-ins appearing in your driveway just as you are ready to close the gate and head for the test center. They will also strategically place a major traffic accident on your route to the test venue, ensuring you will almost certainly be late - tying your stomach in a knot and forcing you straight to the test site without the benefit of anything to eat since breakfast, 12 hours earlier. In other words, both your physical and spiritual self will disintegrate simultaneously, just as you need to be centered most!
I learned that a No. 2 pencil might be soft enough to fill in the ovals, but not without losing its point two or three or five times in the process.
I learned that no matter how much time you think you are going to have or make or take to study, if you're busy enough, you just won't do it. And, I finally realized that the closer I came to the test date, the more frustrated, angry, anxious and upset I became until I had finally exhausted myself to the point I finally said, "The @#$% with it! I'll just take the damned tests and see what happens. Then, I'll take them again in the fall when I know exactly what to expect." And, that's exactly what I did. I sat back and relaxed as an eerie kind of a calm washed over me, a calm so profound it actually allowed me to see and feel the stress of all those around me.
I watched legs bounce and toes tap. I listened to the nervous coughing and the pencils tapping against the desktops, and I wondered who would be the first to suffer a heart attack ... who would be the first to succumb to the stress. Then I wondered why had I done this to myself and realized I wasn't really very sure about my answer.
It's not like I'm into self-abuse, although you already know what I do for a living so that answer doesn't carry a lot of credibility with it. It's not like there is an absence of stress or aggravation in my life either. So ... why? It's not like it was the first time I took the tests when I was a kid and had something to prove.
When I was younger and first entering the industry, I didn't have the benefit of formal training, as did many of my contemporaries. However, I did have the benefit of four generations of experience, a quick mind and the ultimate Zen Master Mechanic for a father and mentor. What I didn't have was credibility: Some way to demonstrate to someone else, anyone else, that I actually knew what I was doing before being asked to do it. I took the tests for the patches - tangible evidence of my ability and experience. But, honestly, way back when the tests were first offered, I took them for my own ego. I took them so that I could prove to myself that I knew what I was doing.
So, why take them now, almost 30 years later? What do I have to prove today, and whom do I have to prove it to? Why should I sit for eight recertification tests that may or may not reflect what I've learned or haven't learned about fixing cars and trucks over a lifetime of service to the industry? Especially, when the majority of my time is spent in the office working on our business, not out on the shop floor working on cars and trucks?
Tony Molla, Motor Age's former editorial director and a very good friend of mine who now works at ASE gave me the answers to all these questions and more when he challenged me to recertify. He reminded me that nothing much has changed in the past 30 years and that credibility in our industry is still a critical issue. He also reminded me that I have certain responsibilities as a leader in this industry that come before I can think about what I want or don't want and what I think or want to believe. And, the more we talked about it, the more he chided me and prodded me about taking the tests, the more I realized he was right and my excuses and explanations for not recertifying were, in the end, just that.
We perform in an industry in which image is everything, and the image - no matter how quickly it is changing - is not changing quickly enough: not for me, not for us, not for the industry we serve and certainly not for the motorist.
We perform in an industry in which actions do speak more clearly and loudly than words and certification (and recertification) is just about the only tangible evidence the motorist has to ensure that whoever is working on their vehicle has met and surpassed some minimum standard of experience and ability.
We perform in an industry in which we have no choice but to take whatever we have available, including ASE testing and certification, and leverage it as much as possible to change our image in the eyes of those we serve.
Did I want to take the tests? No ... not really. But, I did. I did because I had to: for myself, for those I serve and for those who serve me. I can't demand that my technicians certify if I'm unable or unwilling to recertify myself. It doesn't make sense. I can't talk about how important certification is unless I am willing to quite literally put myself to the test.
Do I think they are indicative of a person's ability to repair cars or trucks? Absolutely not. All of us know or have known people who were certified in just about everything but couldn't perform - including doctors, lawyers and engineers - just as we have known excellent mechanics and technicians who couldn't pass a test to save their lives, but could fix anything and everything pointed their way. The bottom line is ASE is all we've got, and if we don't use it, we'll lose that too!
I learned a few other things in the process of recertifying I hadn't realized before. I learned that forcing yourself to go back over the basics was really a very healthy exercise. It forced me to review what I may have taken for granted or lost sight of, and that isn't really such a bad thing when you think about it. It also forced me to think like a technician again, and that meant thinking with a different hemisphere of my brain.
I learned three other things through this process. Taking the tests, especially when you know you have failed at least a few of them on the first go-round because you didn't take the time to study or because you haven't been working hands-on every day is a very humbling experience. Second, a little humility is healthy, even if it hurts a bit. And finally, I learned that I'm actually looking forward to the challenge of re-taking the tests in the fall that I blew ... after I've had a chance to actually prepare. I find that just a little disturbing. I'm not sure if it's normal to look forward to something you've avoided aggressively in the past. Is that normal or is it crazy? Sane or crazy, it's right: right for me, probably right for you and certainly right for the industry. Besides, crazy isn't so bad. After all, it's just a different kind of certifiable!
