WHEN IN AUTOZONE

by Dr. Schuyler Peterson

A few months ago, when the warning light glowed on my dash, I decided to check the level of the transmission fluid in my new car. I had my toolbox, a roll of paper towels, a YouTube video pulled up on my phone, and just enough know-how to be dangerous.

The oil dipstick is the easy one. But the transmission dipstick? Locked. As in, there was a literal lock on it. No key. Just a plastic shackle and the smug audacity of foreign design. Apparently, the manufacturer doesn’t want the layman tinkering with that sacred reservoir of red fluid.

So, I went to AutoZone. I walked in with purpose. A man on a mission. I am not going to be beat by a dipstick!

Here’s where the real story begins.

Two employees were working. I went straight to the younger one – looked to be about twenty. I launched into my story, which – let’s be honest – is both informative and riveting. (Who doesn’t love a story about transmission fluid? You do! You’re still reading!) But this kid? He stared past me like I was invisible. Checked his phone twice and then looked out the window, hoping I would leave him alone.

So, I did what should have been done from the beginning – I turned to the older gentleman. White hair. Elbows on the counter. New Balance tennis shoes and eyes that said, “I’ve got time for you.”

He listened. He nodded knowingly about the locked dipstick. Told me about how transmissions are delicate little beasts – “sensitive,” he said, like a cranky toddler who missed his nap. He congratulated me on figuring out the lock (with a screwdriver, naturally), then calmly looked up exactly the kind of fluid I needed. No rush. No judgment. Just a man with seasoned patience.

He didn’t just sell me fluid. He restored my faith in humanity.

The lesson? I made a rookie mistake when I walked in and went to the young guy.

I assumed age didn’t matter. I assumed the untucked AutoZone shirt equaled knowledge. I forgot something critical: the man with the white hair is the one who’s going to care.

The young guy’s got tasks. Deadlines to meet and texts to send. He wants to get you in and out so he can go back to watching videos of raccoons trying to wash cotton candy in the river.

But the guy with the white hair? He’s got time. He’s got stories. He’s got miles on his tires. He knows what it's like to have to figure things out without a manual – whether it’s a car, a kid, or a crisis of faith.

In the movies, he’s Merlin. Yoda. Gandalf. The old priest from The Count of Monte Cristo. He’s the one who doesn't just give you the answer; he gives you the why.

Here comes confession time.

I’ve been the distracted young man in AutoZone. Someone came to me with a story, and I treated them like an interruption. I had something more important to do, like checking my email or pretending to be productive. I missed an opportunity to be a guide to someone who needed help because I was too focused on my own personal to-do list.

I know better now. That’s why I am encouraging you to be the one who puts your hand on someone’s shoulder to say, “Let me tell you what I’ve learned.”

Don’t wait to be asked. Don’t assume no one wants to hear your stories. Don’t believe the lie that says, “Nobody’s interested in what I’ve learned.”

Because someone in your life – whether you’re 60, 70, 80, or 90 – needs you to be a guide.

He needs your stories, not your perfection. She needs your presence, not your polished holiness. They need your patience, your humor, and the stories about your heartbreaks and perseverance.

They don’t need a lecture; they need a listener. They don’t need condemnation; they need connection.

So please, speak up. Step in. Share the wisdom you’ve earned the hard way. You don’t have to be a life coach – just a person who says, “Let me tell you what I’ve learned.”

If your hair isn’t white yet? Start practicing. Be the person who listens. The one who smiles and says, “You’re not a bother. I see you. I’ve got time for you.”

Next time you’re in AutoZone, don’t go to the kid. Look for the man with the white hair. Thank him. Then go be him for someone else.