Barefoot Betty's Auto Repair Shop

How did the shop get its name?

Once upon a time, Savannah Williams and Nathan Conrad met each other in college, and as what sometimes happens with meetings like this, they fell in love and eventually got married. Savannah, a beautiful black woman, and Nathan, a handsome white man, each found that they had a lot in common, including shared likes and dislikes, etc. The one thing that appeared to be as different as night and day were their prospective careers.

While couples with different careers are not very unusual, this one was an interesting combination. Savannah was a Mechanical Engineering major, who eventually would be hired by one of the prominent companies in town, while Nathan, a Business Management major, used his degree to help him start his up and coming career as an automobile mechanic. A mechanical engineer and an automobile mechanic, are both 'mechanical' in nature, but as a general rule, not the same in status. Mechanical engineering is a career that is at least middle class in nature, i.e., makes plenty of money. Auto mechanics are generally considered more of a 'blue collar' field, making enough to earn a living, but not a very extravagant one.

In the beginning, Savannah's friends, family, and co-workers who were a little status conscious, mentioned to her their concern of this matter and suggested perhaps she should instead seek and marry someone else who was in a similar field who was at least her economic 'equal'. That of course, was before the auto shop that Nathan started expanded, then multiplied into two, then three, then four auto shops, each one in a neighboring city, with yet another new location being placed at the other end of town. Savannah further silenced her critics by telling them that she and Nathan have many intelligent conversations, he being far from being some mere 'redneck' who monkeys with cars, and the car she'd been driving for ten years, purred like a kitten, thanks to her spouses' expert care.

As time went by, the Conrad's had two children, a boy and a girl. As was typical with some parents, both had a subtle desire to have the children follow after them in their respective careers. Nathan wanted his son to become his heir in the automobile mechanics' business, helping to continue and expand a small dynasty. Savannah wanted her daughter to follow and eventually exceed her in the field of mechanical engineering.

And that is what happened, but not the way they expected. The son, Billy, was close to completing his mechanical engineering degree at a college upstate, with plans to work at his mother's company. The daughter, Betty, pursued her business degree with plans to start her own garage as a skilled mechanic. It is she that this story is about.

Betty Conrad was a pretty woman with skin the color of light caramel covering a sturdy, 5'7 frame. She had big, almond-shaped eyes that took up a good portion of her oval shaped face that also carried with it full lips and a narrow nose. Her long, black hair she wore in a pony tail so it wouldn't interfere with her gift.

For what Stradivarius was with violins, Van Gogh was with paintings, and Shakespeare was with plays, Betty was with cars. Betty was a mechanic, and not just a mere tinkerer with a brief knowledge of a few repairs, but an artist who used mechanized masses of metal and plastic as a canvas upon which she works her magic. To others, she was considered a healer, because to her customers, it seems like whenever she laid her hands on an ailing car, it was quickly 'healed.'

Betty's interest with cars started at an early age, when she was a mere barefoot girl constantly peeking over her father's shoulder, asking a dozen questions, "Daddy, what does this do?" and "Daddy, why does this part do that?" and so on. Her father was surprised when one day, one of his mechanic friends came over to 'talk shop,' and found his daughter talking with him about the inner workings of the latest engine that Ford was carrying in their Mustangs. Rather surprising conversation from a twelve-year-old girl! Soon, she assisted her dad in car repair, then started working on cars herself. While other girls were reading romance novels and watching the latest fashion trends, Betty was reading material like Car and Driver, repair manuals, and watching the latest trends in automotive design. At school, the boys would talk to her about cars, a subject that is normally considered a 'men only' conversation. This didn't always go over well with the girls who considered cars 'unladylike.'

She was a bigger hit in high school when it was time for the senior prom. Dismissing tradition, she told her date that she was going to pick him up on the way to the prom. Grudgingly, he agreed. However, his disappointment turned to absolute joy when Betty came by in a vintage 1963 candy-apple red, Ford Thunderbird, back when the car was originally a two-seater. Betty didn't just buy it (well, she bought the frame, what was left of it), she rebuilt it. While other girls her age was spending money on clothes, she spent money buying parts for the car, then like a sculptor working on a statue, she painstakingly put the car together, piece by piece, until it looked like it came out of the showroom, and purred like a kitten. The boys practically forgot their dates to drool over the refurbished car. This would later become the first car in a small fleet of classic cars she rebuilt almost from scratch, such as a 1965 Ford Mustang, a 1966 Chevy Corvette, and a 1956 Ford pickup. She had sold a few of them, which added a hefty sum to her bank account.

When you're a popular mechanic, you don't always have to find your customers so much as your customers find you, and this was becoming strongly apparent to Betty one Saturday morning. She had plans to sleep in that day, but her mother woke her up. When Betty asked why, her mother just pulled open the drapes to the front window, and low and behold, there were five cars parked down the street from the house with their drivers (most of them male) standing by in hopes that Betty could work her magic on repairing their automobile's mechanical woes. After she finished with all five cars (plus a few more that sneaked in), her father sat her down and explained a basic business truth to her.

"Betty, if these people come to you to get their cars fixed on a regular basis, then you need to establish a regular time in which you can do so. Otherwise, your customers will come in at any and all times of the day, and you'll never get any rest," Nathan Conrad said to her daughter.

"Yeah, that makes sense, especially since this is what I plan to do for a living," Betty replied, stating a revelation that surprised no one.

Just about everyone who knew Betty knew she loved working on cars about as much as she hated shoes. It was not unusual to see Betty working on cars with her soles almost as black as her hands. Her brother once joked that she'll need to use two bars of soap after she finished working on a car; one for her hands and one for her feet. After running around her dad's garage shoeless for years, her feet had become practically impervious to the hardness of concrete. She often had to be reminded to put shoes on before she left the house to go anywhere. In response to the concern of family and friends, she does have a pair of steel-toed work boots that she put on whenever she does heavy engine work.

When graduation from high school approached, Betty received an unusual graduation present. Whereas most graduates would normally receive money or even a car for a present for their progress, Betty's family chipped in and built her a garage with two bays. Along with the garage, there were some equipment, and a suggested schedule that Betty may try as a woman who now owned her own business. The tears rolled quickly off Betty's cheek.

"Oh, this is the best present I could ever have!" Betty said as she hugged her parents and brother.

Betty's father recommended that she should attend college at the university nearby to gain a business degree like he did so she could be fully versed of the ins and outs of running a business. And so she did. She enjoyed the college life, learning new things, gaining more customers, and to her surprise, becoming popular as one of the 'barefoot chicks' who attended the school. Though she hasn't yet met any of the others, she looked forward to meeting the other women who adopted a shoeless lifestyle.

One day while she was attending her classes, Betty was thinking about how busy her life has became. Besides running her garage part time, and attending school full time, she also was the unofficial 'church mechanic' for her church's buses and the pastor's cars. All of that she enjoyed, but she needed to find a hobby!

As if in answer to her unvoiced question, she saw a flier that appeared to fit the bill. The flier read:

"At Mistress Kim's Tae Kwon Do Studio, You Can:

$ Lose Weight

$ Build Muscle

$ Self-defense

$ Build Confidence

$ Gain Discipline

$ Have Fun!

"Interested? Then either visit Mistress Kim's studio or give her a call today!"

The flier then gave directions to the studio's address and the phone number.

Interested, Betty mentally went through the reasons listed and checked which ones would apply to her. She doesn't need to lose weight because she's too busy to get fat, building muscle was not a big deal because her muscles are pretty much developed (you can't work for years with heavy equipment and heavy tools without gaining some muscle). Confidence and discipline she thought she had plenty of because if you don't have confidence in the work you do, your customers won't either. Also, owning one's own business requires discipline. That spells the difference between success and closing the doors for good.

Self-defense didn't apply either because Betty has always been able to handle herself, having to deal with guys with sticky hands and unreasonably jealous women. In fact, she recently had to whack a date across the head because he had other ideas besides watching the double-feature at the drive-in movie theater. When he came to, parked in front of his house, Betty told him just because she worked on his car doesn't give him the right to look under her 'hood.' Betty later whacked him across the head again when she found out his date with her was part of a bet. She then decided to follow her parent's advice and date only churchgoing men.

About the only two things that caught Betty's interest was to have fun (you can't have too much fun!), and since it's a karate class that means she doesn't have to wear shoes! She quickly dotted down the phone number and made a point to call mistress Kim when she finished her classes that day. She later contacted the instructor and made an appointment to meet her the next day.

When she arrived at the studio, she met an Asian-American woman not much older than her, who stood about 5'5, with her hair dyed a dirty blonde color. To Betty's surprise, she spoke clear, normal English (Betty later realized she has been watching too many of those Kung Fu movies where everybody talked like they were going to kick someone's head off).

"So you must be mistress Kim," Betty said.

Kim giggled. "Please, call me Kim for now. 'Mistress Kim was my sister's idea. She made up the fliers. I assume you've seen one of them."

"Is Kim your first or last name?"

"Kim is my first name. My last name is Chang, but I didn't want to make things sound more stereotypical than they were."

"Stereotypical?"

"Yes. When people see me, even those who should know better, they think I came directly from Japan, China, Korea, etc., I barely know English, and I have a statue of Buddha in my garage or something. The truth is, I was born here, my grandparents came directly from Japan, so I know English very well. In fact, I minored in it while I majored in Accounting, which means I have a day job. And I'm not Buddhist or study the teachings of Confucius, I'm a Christian. As a matter of fact, you look familiar. Have I seen you at church somewhere?"

"You may have, I'm the official church mechanic," Betty said.

"Really? I thought so. Oh yeah, one more thing. I learned Tae Kwon Do from my Sansui or teacher in Indiana several years ago. I'm afraid my family didn't have it passed down to me like many people think. Now that I destroyed any possible allusions of who you might think I am, let me ask you, why are you interested in learning Tae Kwon Do?"

"Well, two reasons that appealed to me were that I could have fun, and I don't have to wear shoes," Betty said, a little bashfully.

"No shoes, huh? A woman after my own heart. Betty, learning this art can be fun, but it's also hard work. Though, I think a person like yourself is no stranger to hard work. Your first four lessons are free, but after that, you will be charged the standard fee."

"Four? I thought it was two. Are you having a special or something?"

"Ah, no. Since you are who I thought you were, I wanted to make a deal," Kim said.

"A deal?"

"Yeah. You see, my car has been making this noise when I step on the gas . . . "

In the few years that followed, while she was getting her degree, and running her garage part time, Betty was indeed having fun while she was taking Kim's classes. So much so, that she eventually earned a black belt for her efforts. Her favorite part of class was when she got to break boards and concrete with her feet.

"I knew these thick soles were good for something," she said.

When she graduated and received her Business degree, Betty realized it was time to do the thing she dreaded for the last four years, give her garage a name. People usually referred to it as 'Betty's place' or just plain 'Betty's,' but if she was going to make it more professional, and go as far as give the place an ad in the phone book and newspaper, and all that, she would just have to break down and name it something.

It turned out that things would fall in motion that would make that problem easy for her.

Even though Betty's intimate automobile knowledge and skill had made her popular in high school, college, and some parts of town, there were a few who had a burning resentment for her. Some resented her because she was a woman who knew and did things only a 'man' should know. Some women resented her because she threatened to take their men away (which was not true. Betty never gave those men the time of day, but the women still hated her for the attention they gave her). And other men resented her because she wouldn't date them. One evening, three men and two women got together, had a few beers, and decided to have a gripe session about Betty and how she thought she was better than everybody else (which again was not true, but what can you say about the thinking of losers?). Finally they decided to drive over to her garage and damage everything in it.

Betty was doing some late recreational reading that night (she was reading the latest issue of Auto Mechanix Magazine) when she thought she heard some sounds coming from the garage. Pulling on a pair of overalls (which she always worked in), she ventured out of the house, walking across the yard when she saw beams of light through the garages' window, like someone was using a flashlight to peek around the place. She took a few more steps when she stepped on something. She looked down and saw a broken beer bottle. Having feet as tough as leather, it didn't bother her, but it did annoy her that someone littered her family's yard like that.

A little infuriated, Betty walked quickly to the back of the garage. She quickly opened the door and turned on the light, momentarily blinding the five people who were inside. Though there wasn't any major damage, there were products scattered around the floor, and a small container of used motor oil was spilled across the floor, mixing with grease and a few other liquids. As she stepped forward, ignoring the goo on the floor, she looked at the intruders, registering some surprise when she recognized one of them.

"Fred?" she said.

"Hey, if it isn't the lady of the garage," Fred said. "Come to join the party?"

"If you don't want me to whack you across the head again, you better explain yourself right now."

"It's you, being Miss 'high and mighty' with her own garage," one of the men said.

"Yeah, you think you're so much better than us with your own 'business,'" one of the women said, flexing her index fingers for emphasis on the word 'business.'

"Actually, I don't think of you folks at all. It'll take me all night to clean this up, how could you do this?"

"We could do anything we want, slut," another man said.

"What did you call me?" Betty asked the man.

"You heard me, you're a dirty little slut," the man responded, slurring a little on the word 'slut.'

"You have two choices. You can either help me clean this mess up, and we'll forget it ever happened, or you can head out of here right now before I get my hands on you."

"We don't have to do anything," Fred said.

"Fred, you don't want me to whack you across the head again. You might want to get out of here before I lay my hands on you."

"Let's put her in her place," the first man said, walking over to grab one of Betty's arms.

What happened next came so fast, even Betty didn't have time to register it until it already happened. With her right leg, Betty executed a side kick, smacking the first man in the chest. The man was knocked several feet into a support beam, out of breath and out of consciousness as the back of his head slammed into the hard wood. On the front of his white T-shirt, a black imprint of Betty's bare foot was made. Her leg not even touching the ground, Betty drew her leg back, coiled like one would cock the hammer on a pistol. The second man, after having seen what happened to his colleague, grabbed a wrench and moved quickly, but to Betty, it might as well have been slow motion. She fired a side kick into the man's chest, winding him and leaving a black footprint on his shirt. Then using her left leg, Betty spun around clockwise - the motion made easier by the gunk left on the floor - and delivered a roundhouse kick to the side of the man's face. It looked like the man froze in place for an instant; then dropping the wrench, collapsed on the floor, out cold.

Fred, a past recipient of Betty's fists, saw what happened to his two buddies in shock and wonder. Being no fool, he took the opportunity to run out of the garage before he found himself 'whacked across the head again.' In the silence of the night, Betty could hear the sound of his car burning rubber as he escaped.

The only ones left (who were conscious) were Betty and the two ladies, who suddenly became Betty's best friends.

"Please Betty, don't hurt us, the guys just dragged us along, we didn't want to wreck anything," the first woman said.

"Yeah, we'll promise to help you clean up," the second woman said.

Betty looked at them for a moment, then spoke.

"Yes, you will clean this mess up regardless, but you're still going to receive a beating." She regained her fighting stance. "You're welcome to use a weapon if you like, if you think it will give you more of a fighting chance."

The first woman glanced toward the open door, wondering how far and how fast she can run to make a successful escape, while the other woman, not feeling as fleet of foot as the other woman, started looking around for a wrench, a hammer, a gun, something that she could use to defend herself. She finally saw a nearby broom that she slowly grabbed, then held it against her chest like a precious heirloom. Finally figuring that surprise might be the best defense, she held the broomstick over her and charged toward Betty while hollering at the top of her lungs. The first woman, taking advantage of her friend's bravery (?) also hollered and ran out the door.

Five minutes and a short beating later (which involved a quick punch to the nose, a quick jog, and dragging a screaming and begging woman by the hair back toward the garage), Betty stood in the middle of the garage surveying the damage while her two 'assistants,' battered and bruised, were scrubbing away at the floor. No major damage was done, and as quickly as the two women were working (a little threat like using their heads for target practice for her kicks seemed to do the job), everything will be cleaned up in no time. In her looking around, Betty almost tripped over one of the bodies of the two bums who attacked her. She almost forgot about them while she was overseeing the cleanup. She looked at each of them, both wearing white T-shirts with the dirty black imprint of her bare foot where she kicked them. Suddenly, she had an idea.

She barked an order at the first woman (the one who's scalp was sore by being dragged by the hair back to the garage) to come over and prop up the first man to a sitting position. As the woman struggled with the task, Betty knew she could do it easily, but why bother, she didn't mess things up. After the man was propped up, Betty slowly and carefully took the man's shirt off. She laid it out on her desk in the garage's office, and told the woman to prop up the body of the second man, where she did the same with his shirt.

The woman's curiosity got the best of her and asked, "W-what are you doing?"

"Advertising," Betty said.

The answer didn't make sense to the woman, and was about to ask for an explanation when Betty gave her a serious look, and she ran back to join her friend in scrubbing the floor. After checking that her helpers weren't going anywhere soon, Betty walked back in the office and went through her Rolodex® to find the number of a customer she serviced a month ago in the replacement of a water pump. She found the number and made plans to call the man in the morning. He made an offer to help her with promotional advertising whenever the need arose, and Betty thought this would be the ideal time for that offer.

When the men came to, they felt a little exposed when they realized that their shirts were missing. They looked around and saw their lady friends were scrubbing the floors, then looked the other way and saw that Betty was standing there, watching them. She told them to get up and to restock and to straighten the stacks of tires and other things they knocked down. When one of them asked what happened to their shirts, Betty just slapped his face and told him to get to work. No other questions were asked that night. In the space of an hour, all the damage the group did (along with other tasks they didn't do, but hey, they needed to be done anyway, so why pass up free labor?), was finished. Betty had them wipe off their faces, then when they were done, led them out the garage, then slammed the door behind them, leaving them to ponder the question for themselves on how to get home.

A month later, the grand opening of Barefoot Betty's Auto Repair Shop was a success. Customers old and new came to the garage, most needing some minor repairs done to their cars, others just dropping by to say congratulations and good luck. Regardless of the reason, the customers received a big treat from the promotional free T-shirts that were given out. The T-shirts were white with red lettering that said, "I Get My Kicks at Barefoot Betty's Auto Repair Shop," printed at the top. Right below the message was a replica of Betty's bare foot imprint. On the back was the garage's address and phone number. Later, the shirts were such a hit, it was not unusual to have customers come by just to buy the T-shirt for themselves or their children. Except for her closest friends, whenever she was asked about how the idea for the T-shirt came along, she just told them it was a long story and left it at that.

Nearing the end of the day, when the customers stopped coming, and all repairs scheduled for that day were finished, Betty retreated to her office, sat down, and propped her dirty soles on her desk. Blowing a stray strand of hair from her forehead, she realized that she had another hallowing task ahead of her - hiring an assistant. If business proceeded the way that it had for that day, she's going to have more work than even she could handle. She made a mental note to call some of her mechanic friends for possible candidates. She also reminded herself that later that day she needed to make a visit to Fred's house. She might be tired, but not too tired to give him another whack across the head.

She sat there pondering whether to give him the standard right cross like last time or to try one of her front snap kicks across Fred's jaw when she saw another car pull up. She glanced at the clock. It was about fifteen minutes away from closing time. If this customer was expecting a major repair in that quickly a time, they're in for a big disappointment. She admitted to herself that she was fast, but not that fast. Betty sighed, and walked over to the prospective customer's car.

"Hello, welcome to the grand opening of Barefoot Betty's Auto Repair Shop," she said to the customer in the car, smiling. "If you're looking to get something fixed, I'm afraid I won't be able to take care of it today. It's almost time to close."

The woman smiled back and said, a little sheepishly, "Ah, actually my car is fine right now at the moment. I came by to see if you had any of those T-shirts left."

"Oh yeah, I still have plenty left," Betty replied, a little relieved. "You just want one, or one for yourself and a friend?"

"If you could, make that two, extra large for myself and my fiancee. I hope I'm not putting you to too much trouble at this time. I figured business would slow down at this point."

"No problem at all. Yeah, you would be surprised how many people expect you to do two hours work in fifteen minutes time. I'll be right back." Betty turned and walked back to the office to pick up the T-shirts and returned.

"So it's true," the customer said upon receiving the T-shirts. She glanced down at Betty's feet. "You are Barefoot Betty."

Betty grinned and tried to hide her feet, though that was impossible. "Yep. I never liked shoes all that much. Half the time I leave the house forgetting I don't have any on. I wear steel toed shoes whenever I do an engine overhaul or something like that for protection, but they come off as soon as I'm finished. It drives my father nuts."

The customer smiled. "Actually it was the name of the place that drew me here, that and the free T-shirts. You see, I live a rather shoeless lifestyle myself, and it's nice to run into someone who is of like mind, or I guess in this case, of like feet."

"Since we're talking, you might as well come out of that car. Nobody else is coming, and except for an appointment later this evening, I have all the time in the world," Betty said.

"Sure, why not? I don't have anything pressing right now."

The customer opened her door and stepped out. She was a blond woman, around six feet in height, with a slim, figure. Her build was very muscular, especially around the legs. She was wearing a white short sleeve tunic with blue flowers and blue denim leggings that fit snugly, showing off her powerful muscles. And she, like Betty, was not wearing shoes.

"Well it's obvious who I am," Betty said, making an introduction. "And you are?"

"Susan. Susan D-"

"Wait a minute, you're that kickboxer aren't you?" Betty interrupted. "I watch all your matches on TV! I thought you looked familiar."

"Yes, that's me," Susan said. "Come to think of it, you look a little familiar too. Would you happen to be our church's mechanic?"

"Guilty as charged. I'm the one that keeps the buses going."

"Small world. Do you attend the early service or the later one?"

"The early one. Of course, the way things are going, I think I may start attending the later one. I can use all the sleep I can get."

"Understandable." Susan gives Betty's body a quick examination with her eyes. "Do you work out?"

"A little," Betty said. "But I've worked with cars since I was a kid. You can't move engines, change tires, and all that stuff without building some muscle. Besides, I've taken up Tae Kwon Do a few years ago, and that helps tone things out."

Susan's eyes lit up. "Tae Kwon Do? I was thinking of taking a few lessons. How far are you? Who's your teacher?"

"I attained a black belt about six months ago. My teacher was Mistress Kim."

"Kim? I know her." Susan glanced at her watch. "Whoops, I forgot, I do have another errand to attend to, but I wanted to ask you a quick question."

"Go ahead."

"Where did you come up with the idea for the T-shirts?"

Betty smiled. She might as well tell somebody the story. "Well, it began one night when these five idiots broke into my garage . . . "

For any questions, comments, or suggestions, send them to shrewsberry@juno.com.