The Retirement Home
Not every Formula One factory is like that
When I arrived at the retirement home for my first shift, I was as nervous as I always was on a first day somewhere new. Wondering if the people would be friendly, and whether I’d have to prove myself all over again.
Should I have packed my sleeping bag just in case?
I pulled up at the gate and had to wake the security guard to let me in. On the way through, I drove past the smoking shelter. Packed. I assumed it was the changeover between shifts.
I’d later find out it’s packed all day.
I found the department I was starting in - the manager hadn’t arrived yet. Fortunately, I spotted a few familiar faces. The world of F1 factory work is small enough that this stopped being surprising years ago.
The manager arrived, and I liked him instantly. He sent me for a coffee, the first of many, and on my return we had a long chat. Then he sent me for breakfast. I came back, he took me on a factory tour. Then he sent me for lunch.
You can see where this is going.
Within the first week, I heard a phrase I’ve heard many times since. Someone nearby was working at a pace that, by retirement home standards, looked almost energetic. A colleague leaned over, entirely seriously.
”Slow down. Or they’ll expect all of us to do it that quick.”
I knew then where I was.
I’d heard the rumors. But this was something else. Life at the pinnacle of motorsport, like I’d never seen it before. After years of regularly flogging myself half to death, I was ready for it.
What was more surprising than the pace and the slack approach, was the people. It’s not that people in Formula One are unfriendly. But there is usually a culture of relentless workshop banter. You must join in, you must be on form, or you’re the target.
The retirement home was different. People had a laugh, but they were just genuinely, consistently, almost suspiciously pleasant. Relaxed. Friendly. All of the time. I hadn’t experienced anything quite like it in this industry.
So aside from nobody doing a great deal of work, and everyone being generally lovely, what else earned the place its reputation? The clue is in the name. People love it there and never want to leave. The pay is good, the hours are reasonable by Formula One standards, and the atmosphere is the best in the sport. It’s a dead man’s shoes kind of place.
I was conflicted. Still young enough, still ambitious enough, to feel like I was in the wrong place. Teams like this don’t win championships. The standards weren't quite what I’d been used to. I could feel my motivation fading with every coffee, my edge softening somewhere between the smoking shelter and the canteen.
I started looking elsewhere.
Then something happened that changed how I felt about the place completely.
I had a personal situation. A bad one. I needed time off at short notice and called the manager - the same one who’d sent me for breakfast on my first day - to explain.
He didn’t let me get very far.
”No need to explain anything, take as long as you need. Look after yourself. If you need anything you know where I am.”
After what I told you last time, you can imagine my reaction. I didn't quite know what to do with it. I’d never really known what having a genuinely supportive boss felt like. If I’m honest, I was slightly suspicious.
The longer I stayed, the clearer it became why nobody ever wanted to leave. It wasn’t just the hours, the pace, the coffee or the smoking shelter.
It was that.
Yes, some of what you hear about Formula One is true. The pressure is real. The hours exist. Some places will ask everything of you and consider it a fair trade.
But I’d stumbled on somewhere that made the case for a different way of doing it.
Not better, necessarily. Just different. And at a certain point in a career, worth more than I expected.
Next time — my first ever day in Formula One. Which looked nothing like this.
— David Whitmore