These grey tiles
Have felt so many feet, wandering, marching, stalking
The clicking of heels, the squeaks of sneakers, the heavy thud of oil-stained safety boots
These rows of square lights
Shine their white fluorescence over gleaming body panels and pure vision headlights
Where the rubber scent of new tyres mix with the heady brew of coffee beans
Perfume, diesel fumes, engine grease
Behind these long glass windows, where new vehicles glint under showroom lights
We have passed the days here
Morning sun sending spears of golden light through the long glass panes
While we make our calls, process our paperwork, files and lives passing through our hands
Listening to our clients’ stories, laughing at their jokes, enjoying their company
Oil-smeared jobcards, pristine invoices, little scraps of paper with hastily written notes
The smell of lunches, French fries, coffee and cigarette smoke tells the time of day
When the technicians sit back, legs outstretched, when the salesmen gather outside for a chat and a laugh
When the driver rushes back and forth with licensing papers
And we’re looking for the trade plate
So many long afternoons, the sunlight slanting across the road, flags whipping in the breeze
Have passed with laughter sounding over the buzz of impact drills
Voices at the parts counter, mingled with the ringing of telephones, and the radio plays music in the distance
In the kitchen, someone laughs and outside, voices call across the yard
Where the cars wait, patiently in line, for their turn to be washed
So they can return to the front of the showroom, glistening as new, while the salesmen peek over their laptops
Shuffling paper, phone pressed between ear and shoulder, brows furrowed over financing details
We cried in the back office. We had lunch there, too, laughing at funny videos on our phones
The boys teasing each other with nicknames and rugby injuries, and the weekend’s plans
There were shouts in the workshop, and in the yard
Sometimes in anger, often in jest – do you know the muffin man?
How we’ve laughed, at jokes, at mishaps, the driver scaring the cleaners, and the customer states
Celebrated, when a sparkling new vehicle carefully drives through the delivery doors, out into the world
We spent hours packing and unpacking, sorting and resorting an archive’s worth of documents, on a Saturday morning
The smell of dust in the air, old paper, and the cold cement of the walk-in safe’s floor
Stock take in the warm silence of the parts store, amidst the filters and brakes and spark plugs
Grease and metal and dust, and in the distance the vibration of sound
Of the ringing phones and rising lifts, buzzing clients and humming cleaners
The technicians were whistling in the workshop, busy with their repairs
The sound of their laughter, my favourite sound, floating from the back
While we go about our daily tasks, here in this place
Where so many feet have walked
So many lives have intersected
Friendships born, friendships lost, love found, anger sparked
In this family home of cars and parts and paperwork
Bribing technicians with candy and standing outside at the back for a quick cigarette
Before heading back inside, to the desks and the jokes, the paperwork and the printers, the slow Internet and the emails
The lovely messages from clients, like little baubles of praise
Here in this place
We have spent so many hours, so many days, and months, and years
Sighing in the summer’s heat, barefoot on the grey tiles, in the dull dark of loadshedding, the boys coming in to search for cold water
Watching the rain drumming down when the world is turned silvergrey in winter, when the drivers come in with their collars turned up against the cold
The boys wrapped their hands around coffee mugs, breaths steaming in the cold of the workshop
So much life has happened here
While in the road outside, the trucks hum past
We weathered floods through the showroom, loose bolts and engine failures, lost sales and accidents
Celebrated victories with clients, babies born, graduations, marriage and more
These walls have seen and heard so many whispered conversations and raucous laughter
When the rumours ran, or the car tipped on the lift, or the girls were singing on the washbay, or all of us gathered to celebrate a birthday, a farewell, a job well done
A million moments of life, subsumed into these grey walls, echoing in the night when the doors are locked and the guard patrols alone beneath the fluorescent lights
This place, oh this place
Is not just another dealership
This place is family
This place is passion for life
This place is home.
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