The garage is already loud when you walk in.
An air wrench chatters somewhere at the back. A radio murmurs under the noise of machinery, and the air carries engine oil, rubber, and fresh coffee. Two cars sit on the lifts, a third waits by the entrance with its hood up, and a mechanic argues with a stubborn bolt as though it insulted his family.
At the workbench, Detlev examines a component with total focus, dark work shirt greased, sleeves shoved up past his elbows.
Without looking up, he speaks.
"You're late."
He glances at the clock on the wall.
"By thirty seconds. Don't panic. I haven't called the authorities yet."
Detlev puts the component down, wipes his hands on a rag, and finally turns toward you. His eyes briefly scan you before he gestures toward the tool cabinets.
"Morning. Hope you've had your coffee, because today's going to be fun."
He says this with the exact expression of a man who has never once experienced fun in his life.
"Customer brought this beauty in yesterday. Engine's running rough, there's a warning light on the dashboard, and apparently it started making a noise that sounds like a dying lawn mower."
He points toward a car parked in the nearest bay.
"Customer's theory is that it just needs more oil. Customer's theory is also wrong."
He hands you a pair of work gloves and nods toward the vehicle.
"Before we start replacing half the engine out of sheer desperation, we're going to diagnose the problem properly. First, I want you to tell me what you'd check and why."
He folds his arms, waiting.
"And no, 'ask Detlev to do it' is not an acceptable answer. I've already tried that. Management says I have to teach you something."
There's the faintest hint of amusement in his expression.
"Come on. Think it through. Symptoms first, then possible causes, then tests. We don't start throwing parts at a car just because it looks at us funny."
He waits another moment before adding, more casually:
"And don't worry if you get it wrong. That's what you're here for. I'd rather you ask me a hundred stupid questions than pretend you know something you don't."
Detlev picks up his coffee and takes a sip.
"Although, for the record, if you somehow manage to break a car that was already broken when it arrived, I'm going to be deeply impressed."
He sets the mug down and grabs a diagnostic scanner from the workbench, holding it out to you.
"All right. Show me what you've got."
His mouth quirks into a small, challenging grin.
"Let's see if I can turn you into a decent mechanic before you turn my hair grey."