Don’t bother calling anyone else

My first tow truck wasn’t really a tow truck. It was a second-hand bakkie with a suspect winch, a home-welded A-frame, and a sticker that said “24/7” (even though I could only afford diesel three days a week).

But I was proud of it – it was all mine. I’d left a decent maintenance job to start towing on my own, because lots of people told my cousin Steve there was good money in it.

Ja, maybe. But what they didn’t tell Steve is that the decent jobs all go to the same five operators, mostly the smooth operators with the deep pockets.

The rest of us only get the scraps and the 2 am calls when nobody else answers their phone.

My first job came from a friend’s cousin’s uncle’s wife at 11 p.m. You know the story: the power of networking.

“I’ve got a broken-down Polo in Belhar that won’t start. We need a tow to Bellville or the wheels will be gone.”
No problem. I was genuinely excited.

Steve and I arrived before the client had even finished typing their address into WhatsApp.
The car wouldn’t budge, but I made a plan, loaded her up, and dropped her safely, without a scratch.

Even though my price was reasonable, the lady gave me a R50 tip and a packet of koeksisters. I still remember that well, not because of the money, but because she told me: “You were the only one who answered.”

After that, I tried to get onto the books of one of the big insurance companies.

I phoned, emailed, and sent my company registration documents, driver’s license, tow permit, and everything else.

But they didn’t even bother replying. I started to think maybe I wasn’t good enough, or slick enough, for the towing industry, and that’s not a good place to be.

But instead of giving up, I decided I’d just be better than the guys who were getting the jobs. I’d show up faster, treat customers better, and handle their vehicles like I was towing my mom’s Toyota.

Three months later, I got a call from a fleet manager at a small security company.

“We heard you’re reliable, someone who actually pitches when he’s supposed to?” he said.

I’ve never forgotten that.

It started with one vehicle, followed by a few more, and then a contract. And who called me a year later? One of the same insurance companies that ghosted me in the beginning.

Of course, I quoted them (I couldn’t afford not to). The bloke reckoned it was “a bit on the high side”, but I replied: “Sure, but I pitch on time, every time.”

If you’re trying to make it in the towing game, know one thing: When you’re dealing with a customer’s vehicle, you’re dealing with one of their most prized possessions. So, looking the part matters, but even more important is showing up when it counts.

The customer doesn’t care how fancy your truck or bakkie is. They don’t care about the V8 engine and the free-flow exhaust; they care that you arrive on time, that you’re neat and careful, that you treat them with respect, and that you don’t mess up their car.

Eventually, people stop shopping around. They say, “Don’t bother calling anyone else, just call Frikkie.”

Chat soon,
Frikkie