I was never much interested in cars. Maybe it's because I didn't have anyone who could show me how to open the hood, much less understand what goes on under it. I didn't even get my driver's license until I was seventeen, a year older than most of my peers. I've always depended on the honesty of good mechanics, and if I've been burned a time or two, that's part of the price of having no desire to get my hands greasy.
One of the best bosses I ever had ran a shoe store, but his dream job was to be a mechanic. He wanted to be an exclusive, self-employed, by-appointment-only mechanic, so it didn't quite work out for him.
We spent hours talking about it during the down time at the store where we worked. He talked, that is, and I listened. I listened as much as I possibly could, and the rest of the time I pretended to listen. Maybe he knew when my zombie mode kicked in, and maybe not. Neither of us ever acknowledged that he was talking to empty air most of the time.
It's either a talent I have or a massive deception I employ, but I'm pretty good at carrying on conversations with people whose interests are different from mine. Actually, I'm probably better at that than I am at normal conversations. If someone is so deeply involved in something that it's all they want to talk about, usually all the other person has to do is listen. And listening is my specialty. I can keep up with anyone if they keep talking, and they never have to know if I'm following or not. They really don't want to know.