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Other than hold up a sign that said patrn where it should have said stop, which made me worry, I didn't do much. But aside from 7.4 seconds during each car's pit stop, neither did anyone else in the pit crew. The most exciting thing we did was when one of the mechanics pointed at the 14th floor of a hotel behind us, where two fans were expressing their love for racing, America and, far more apparently, each other. We gave them the devil sign, since having sex on a balcony in front of thousands of people during a car race is something the devil would totally do. The male half of the couple devil-signed us back. Somehow in all the devil signing, we missed the big move in the race when rival driver Patrick Long took first place. But we all felt as if we hadn't actually missed anything.
I was told our team lost, which was a total surprise, since I had no idea the race had ended. There was no excitement, no last-second maneuvering. And no finish line. Apparently, there's just a time when everyone has to stop driving. Whoever is ahead at that point wins. I don't know much about car racing, but even I can tell this system sucks.
I didn't feel I'd learned enough to impress Laszlo, but Sharp told me all I needed were a few key terms to use with my mechanic. If the car is pulling to one side, tell him the front alignment is loose. If one side of a tire is wearing more than the other, my camber is off. Plus, thanks to Sharp, I now know what makes cars cool: their ability to funnel so much speed into tiny, precise movements--and the fact that while all that is going on, couples are able to have sex in public. But mostly, if my son ever questions my car knowledge, I can just say I once worked on a pit crew at a car race. Meanwhile, I'm trying to steer him toward celebrity gossip, French wine and 1980s rock trivia.