Drills, drills all day, every single day. They’re totally necessary, and I’m kept going by the heat of my inner flame, but wow, SO many drills.
Madame Broom doesn’t let just anyone into her prestigious academy, you know. You have to possess incredible innate talent, and the ability to work so hard your arms and legs feel like they’re about to fall off. I don’t know if I have what it takes, but that’s why I’m in training. If I make it, then I have a career as a Hawthorn car mechanic for the rest of my life. I’ll earn the respect of all my mechanic peers.
Of course, you have to first get into the academy, and then get through the course, which only a tiny handful of people do. Hence why I’m doing as much training as possible. Madame Broom isn’t going to let anyone into her academy if they have a speck of rust on them, and fair enough. That’s what’s going to give me the edge over all the other people applying, so it may be enough to get me a callback, where I can really show Madame Broom what I can do. I can already replace a tire twice as fast as your average member of a pit crew, I can diagnose a car’s need of an oil change just by smelling the air, and the vehicle inspections…well, they’re a speciality of mine. My grandfather used to say I had ‘the sight’, whenever I made my way through his farm equipment and diagnosed what was wrong with them in short order.
But then, I’m expecting to show up at the audition and everyone can do the same thing. It’ll just be a heap of people with the sight, and Madame Broom will have to pick who has the best sight, and is thus worthy to join the ranks of the Prahran car servicing professionals who have completed her intense course. How am I supposed to know how good my unusual skills are, with a bunch of other unusually skilled people? I’m not.
-Pavlova