Bill Marshall sat in his driveway with the engine running. It was a familiar routine lately. There was always a detour on the way home. Usually a bar, sometimes a walk. Tonight it was a walk and while he was proud of himself for not drinking (yet) today, he wished he had a snoot full to deal with the pending shit show awaiting him.
He really was in a bad place.
Sales were down. His motivation was shit. His health was in decline. His marriage was a mess. The only thing that gave him any joy was his children but in order to see them, he needed to go inside. Again, sober. How did it get to this, he wondered? When did he become the guy willing to miss the best time of the day with the kids because he couldn’t stand to see his wife? His pattern of late was to get there in time for bedtime. He would help put them to bed and spend a few quality minutes with each of them. Then, in order, he would feel guilty, pour a drink or three, and collapse in his chair/bed. He had been kicked out of the bed years before. He would get an inadequate amount of sleep, get up and out the door before everyone was up, and hit the repeat button.
Tonight it was especially difficult to get out of the car. His encounter with that kid was fucking with his head in a big way. It was as if he had met his younger self. Everything about it screamed impossible but how else could he explain the details that kid knew about him. And it was not lost on him how true everything he said was. He used to be a happy kid. Able to amuse himself, loved nature and being outside. He used to be active and fit. Of course you were, dummy, you were a child then, he argued with himself. Age aside, his lack of fitness was due to fast food, alcohol, a sedentary lifestyle, and kidney disease. Still, he knew he could do better. But the healthy and active observations were the least of it. The kid had painted a damn accurate picture of how much his natural cheeriness and enthusiasm had dwindled with age. He had completely lost the love of life he once had.
One element of the conversation ran through his head on a loop.
“Did you ever sit just like this? Playing with Matchbox cars in the dirt until your mother called you? Riding bikes with your friends? You hated to go home, right? Just like now. But that’s not why you don’t want to go home now, is it Bill?”
The kid was right, I don’t want to go home anymore. How the hell did that happen?
He looked at his watch. He had to go in or he would miss bedtime. Tonight, more than ever, he needed to be a part of it. He turned his ignition off and walked up his driveway, past the broken flower bed and the unpainted window sills in front of the house. Yup, in addition to everything else, he couldn’t even afford to make repairs to his house.
He opened the door. Lady, his spastic Springer Spaniel jumped all over him. At least someone is happy to see me, he thought. He stayed with her until she calmed down and then went into the kitchen. She was sitting at the kitchen table, a stack of bills before her.
“Why were you sitting in your car for so long”, she asked.
“I was talking on the phone.”
“Bullshit you were, I saw you out the window. No phone on your ear,” she said. “What were you really doing?”
“Thinking.”
“Well think about this, we’re fucking broke. What are you going to do about it?”
Here we go, he thought. Here we go. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of liquid courage.
Tag: career
The odd encounter
There was something really strange about this kid. He was tempted to end this and take off. His phone had rung two more times since he got to his car and he knew that every ignored call was throwing logs on the shit bonfire that awaited him at home. Despite this, he remained glued to his spot.
“Let’s just say that I’m here, but I don’t belong here” the boy deftly replied.
“Then where do you belong?” Bill replied, despite feeling that he was better off not asking.
“A different time”, the boy exclaimed as he lowered his fixed gaze for the first time, turned his head, and stared directly at Bill. He felt as if he was staring directly through him. Bill pressed further.
“OK, what time do you mean?”The boy didn’t respond for a few moments. Finally, he turned and stared intently at Bill.
“I asked you if you ever looked up at the sky a few minutes ago. I asked because I wonder if you looked up even once. Did you even notice what a beautiful evening it is?.” He continued, “I asked you if you ever wondered what it was like to look down from a high tree. You had no answer. Why is that?”
“Because I don’t know who you are, where you’re from and how you know my damn name!” Bill was getting angry. He almost felt bad about raising his voice to the young, albeit creepy kid.
Unfazed, the boy continued. “I asked you about the trees because from the height of the tall tree you look small. We all do. Minor. Insignificant. Yet all you are focusing on right now is how big your problems are.” He paused. “See, the world is bigger than the size of the screen of your phone or laptop. If you looked around you would see that. But you need the phone and the computer to make money. To buy stuff, stuff that will further take your attention away from every beautiful day. It’s just stuff, yet it’s consuming you, ruining you.”
Bill was beside himself. This kid didn’t talk like any kid he ever met, and what the hell is he talking about?
“How do you know this?!”
The boy sat down in the grass Indian style. “Did you ever sit just like this? Playing with Matchbox cars in the dirt until your mother called you? Riding bikes with your friends. You hated to go home, right? Just like now.You were having fun then. But that’s not why you don’t want to go home now, is it Bill?”
The matter-of-fact look on the kid’s friggin’ face was killing Bill. He was looking right through him again. Yet he had no reply.
The boy continued. He was on his back now. “Did you ever lie on your back like this for hours looking at the sky? Wondering about the clouds? The stars at night. The possibility of a Heaven? About God. Do you think about God, Bill?”
“Not as much as I should.” Bill was powerless to question the utterly bizarre nature of this conversation.
The boy was standing now. “You used to be a happy kid, right? Lots of friends. You knew where they were without Facebook. You would look for the yard with all the bikes in the yard. Your mom knew where you were because you called from a phone in that house, a phone mounted to a wall, right? The streetlight was your curfew, or maybe you were close enough to hear your mother call you.” He paused and looked at his feet.
“It’s not too late, Bill”, He continued. “There’s still time to be that happy kid again. Look up, look around. Chase butterflies, smell the flowers. Find happiness like you used to. Remember the view of the bird, to him you are small. Look down on your problems as the bird looks down at you. Small, insignificant. It will work out.” With that, the boy turned and began to walk away.
Bill Marshall, who had been at a complete loss for words for what seemed like forever, finally blurted out what he had wanted to ask all along.
“Kid, how do you know me? I mean, this is impossible! How can you possibly know all of these things about my childhood? Is this mere speculation or a theory of yours? Do you think or do you know all of this!”
The boy, turning as he walked, said, “I know it. Think about where we’ve met before”. He then winked at Bill and continued walking. For the first time, Bill noticed that the boy had an old-fashioned Slingshot in his back pocket.
He used to have one just like it!
He looked down at the ground, he then gazed to the night sky. It really was a beautiful evening.
He got in his car and turned the engine on. He bathed in the AC and observed that he felt a little better. Despite the episode of the Twilight Zone he just starred in. The conversation played out over and over in his head. The kid was weird but in a non-threatening way. And he looked vaguely familiar. Shaking his head in disbelief, or to make sure he was indeed awake and conscious, he put the car in gear.
It suddenly occurred to him that he had some old-school pictures to go home and look at.
A beautiful night for a walk
He stood at the edge of the walking path. It was peak hour to walk the lake and he needed to get out of the way of the bustling foot traffic. He was winded, the pace he had set for himself was too much. Exhausted, he put his hands on his aching sides and tried to catch his breath. His legs were starting to cramp. He looked around and realized he was almost halfway around. Losing motivation, but aware that it’s the same distance back as it is to continue, he started to walk again. His mind was still racing but he furiously tried to control it. The events of his day were racing through his mind and exercise was the only way he knew to work it off, sort things out. As days go, today was pretty shitty on all fronts.
He thought of his late father and his trademark line, “everything will work out, it always does”. He never actually believed it to be true but he loved how his father believed so strongly in it. This shit, he thought to himself, this shit is not going to work itself out.
I wish you were here to talk to right now, Dad. I could use some of that cheerful optimism of yours that I once scoffed at, he mused as he trudged forward. His Dad always seemed to have it together. Sure, he sometimes acted badly in his marriage. He had money problems but he alwaysgot through it. He hated his job, but he always did it with pride and dedication. He never acted like I am right now. I’m a hot mess. I can’t stand my wife, I’m on the brink of foreclosure and my boss is a fucking psycho that I love one minute and hate the next. How would Dad handle all of this?
Bill Marshall was well-known among friends, family, and business associates for his resilience and cheerful demeanor. It was a great source of pride to him that this applied to more than just his public, outside persona. He was also committed to maintaining a positive frame of mind even when alone and talking to himself, which today he was doing quite a bit of. What people didn’t realize is that it required nearly all of his energy to maintain that reputation. There are limits to what any man can take, as he was fond of thinking. despite the fact that he rarely allowed himself such slack. He held himself to an impossible standard. Today, when the walls felt like they were closing in, he decided to give himself a rare break. Snap out of it! he reprimanded himself, you’re not going to fix anything in this state of mind. With the equivalent of a snap of a finger, he let his day wash off of him and he just walked. To keep his mind empty and focused he walked while looking down at the ground and concentrated on playing “don’t step on a crack”, a game from his childhood. This amused him for a while and it wasn’t long before noticing that he was approaching the final stretch where his car sat waiting for him. It was the only car in the lot.
When Bill reached the clearing to the parking lot, he saw a lone figure in the parking lot very close to his parked car. Great, I’m probably getting robbed or vandalized. He began to walk faster, marveling that his day is somehow getting worse.
He felt the phone in his back pocket vibrating. He was tempted not to even look to see who was calling. It was most likely his wife doing the nightly “where are you” call. God, he fucking hated that call. Often, he contemplated answering and saying “as far away from you as possible!” and hanging up but he knew that wouldn’t end well. Then again, it could be one of his kids calling and he grabbed for the phone. Too late, he had missed the call, but it was indeed the wife. Here comes the text, he thought. 2 seconds later it came through.
Where are U?
Bill chuckled to himself despite his annoyance. He called that one. He didn’t respond. He had a walk to finish and possibly a kid to beat up.
The “hook”
Well, my daughter has officially embarked on her career in the car business. While I have no expectations that this will be a long-term thing, I am very happy that she was willing to make a change. On top of that major step, she is really diving right into this. I’m very encouraged about that, enough so that the choice of change isn’t as important to me as the commitment behind it. People who suffer from depression have difficulty finding motivation, never mind the drive to see it through.
By all accounts she kicked ass during her training. What I get from her is that the dealership is one of those high-pressure, high turnover places that fires people randomly and often. She doesn’t seem to be concerned about that. I’m impressed by that. She learned everything she was told to and impressed the trainer in the process. He has told her that he will be watching her, a luxury she didn’t observe him giving anyone else. On the last day of training, she was sent off with high expectations. And she has the attitude to meet them. And that is the source of my happiness, she’s busting out of her comfort zone and is willing to do what it takes.
She sold her first car on her first day on the floor. In her words, she “didn’t do anything”. I know those deals. Finalized by the sales manager over the phone and given to a lucky rep who either needs a sale or is a favorite of the managers. In her case it was probably to break the first barrier of selling that first deal. Either way, she got it and made the most of it. It’s called “a hook”, in which some lucky soul gets hooked up. She did something right, the customer sent her a nice card and some expensive gifts as a thank you today. I’m so happy for her.
I used to get a lot of hooks when I sold cars. I was always top dog so you would think that I wouldn’t have been favored but sometimes a hook is more than a guaranteed sale. First of all, those deals can always fall apart, nothing is ever guaranteed. There are sales associates who don’t give the customer the best treatment because they feel entitled (or lazy) by being given a slam dunk. I always gave it my best. My hooks were in the interest of taking a possible and making it a certainty. The managers counted on me to finish the deal.
Another capacity I filled was handling difficult customers. Whenever the Internet dept. had a difficult customer coming in it would invariably go to me. I could handle the worst of them. I was the anti-salesman. No gimmicks and no smoke and mirrors. I handled objections as hurdles to get over and always kept the customer focused and on track. It always amazed me how some salespeople couldn’t master that one thing; follow the process and don’t get off track.
My daughter vaguely remembers visiting me at the dealership when she was younger. She remembers my managers telling her what a good salesman her dad was. She saw my happy customers. Now she has an even deeper understanding of what it was that I did, and she wants to learn everything she can.
I look forward to showing her all of it. This is going to be a good thing for both of us. She gets to learn something new and make some money. I get to spend time with one of my absolute favorite people in the world and help her be the best. Win win.
The mentor
In my last post I mentioned that my daughter took a bold step and has taken a job in the much-maligned field of Automotive Sales. While it may not be great for everyone, it can be a good job both financially and in job satisfaction. And as previously stated, if nothing else it will teach her about what she doesn’t want to do and that is always a good start.
She is not guaranteed to succeed. She will have to be able to maintain punctuality, positive attitude and a strong work ethic to survive in such an industry. Those are entirely up to her. She also must be able to learn; the product, the competition, the rules of the particular franchise, and very high on the list, people. In particular, a knowledge of how to manage the process through understanding the customer. In that area, she has an advantage: Me. I sold automobiles for a long time and everywhere I worked, you would find my name at the top of the Leader Board. I would love to show her what I know.
When I was a younger man, I worked as a Sales Manager for an Auto Auction. I had a untenable situation with an employee that drove me to leave. I had other offers on the table but I also had a non-compete agreement that stated I could not work at another auction for 3 months post-employment. I made a deal with another, larger company and told them that I would start in 3 months. I decided that I would try selling cars for a while. I always wanted to see how good I would be at it. I reached out to one of my Lexus dealers and started the following Monday.
I was an immediate success. My first month I sold 22 cars and finished 3rd in the dealership. I outsold 9 seasoned associates. My commissions were 3700.00. I was asked if I had a secret. I laughed. There wasn’t a secret. The less I sold the easier it was to sell. I knew from previous sales positions that what the customer is buying is you, the product is just that. There is no need to be slick, smooth, aggressive and talkative. There is a need for genuine, knowledgeable, helpful and to be a good listener. It’s the very opposite of what people think. Now I understand that these things don’t come easily to everyone. But they’re obtainable through hard work. You can’t learn to be slick, but you can be yourself.
Unless of course you are an asshole.
But I digress.
I entered the business knowing a lot about cars. I worked in the auction industry, and I was also raised by an absolute car nut. That worked well for me. But the customer of today is knowledgeable and there is a lot of competition. I learned everything I could about every vehicle that compared in price point and vehicle type and features. I could speak with actual knowledge about any vehicle my customer may have looked at already. That combined with connecting with the customer (getting them comfortable), understanding their buying motivation (necessity, future purchase, impulse), and just plain getting them to like me I knew that with all being equal (the cars) they will buy from the person they like.
It’s no secret. And I can teach my daughter all of these things. She’s a lot like me so she may already have it inside her.
I have always wanted to write about my career. This is a good place to start.
Glimmers of hope
My daughter is doing a little better. Although I think her mother would disagree with me on that. The big picture is that she has been struggling emotionally. Mostly with body issues and self-image. While I have not seen an official Diagnosis, we believe she has Anorexia. Which terrifies the living shit out of me. Her mother is terribly worried about her, as am I of course. But her mother chooses to lash out and dwell on her behavior as it affects her, while I choose to offer a kind ear, an open heart, and advice when solicited. We’ve had many discussions and we are clearly not on the same page about our youngest. I believe my ex-wife is quick to fatalism and slow to open herself up to the possibility that maybe she needs to suck it up a bit and tolerate the “acting out” and not make it about herself. That’s just her. A black and white type person who sees all of the bad.
Me, the Pollyanna ex-husband, I see glimpses of her improving and I choose to focus on that. While once dreadfully thin and refusing to eat, she is now eating. Not necessarily enough and it takes weed to give her an appetite, but for now she’s eating. As for her depression, she had the motivation to make changes in her life recently and with my experience in depression, any effort to improve one’s life is an improvement and a very good sign. With my support and that of her girlfriend (I guarantee that I just violated some law of pronouns, but Sar will forgive me because she knows that I like her a lot and mean well) she is doing well enough for me to see glimmers of hope. I have to see hope and authenticate it because my daughter means the Universe to me, and I will do absolutely anything for her to get better. One glimmer of hope, she got a new job.
Change is good.
I was pleasantly thrilled when she sent me a copy of her Indeed resume. She wanted my input. I liked it. For a person with a limited background (she’s 20 and all she has done so far is babysitting and retail) she described herself well. Soon after, she had an interview at a car dealership. The job description sounded like a “greeter” position but it turned out to be sales. I was pleased that she was not deterred by that. She saw the earning potential and knew that she had the personality for sales. Her mother thought it sounded awful, I don’t see the harm. Let her try it; worst case scenario she hates it and then knows what she doesn’t want to do with her life. Best case scenario she crushes it and learns to believe in herself. With a base salary plus commissions it is certainly worth a try. An additional bonus is that it is the type of dealership that the managers will do anything to help their associates so if she gets a customer interested they will make it happen for her. At least until she finds her way.
Sales is tough.
But she has an ace in the hole. Her Dad is a former legend in the business and I’m going to help train her.
She’s in orientation today, her first day and she likes it. Once she learns the company itself, the real training will begin.
I couldn’t be happier for her as she embarks on this new journey, and I hope that I can take it with her.
my worth
I never talk about it but it’s always on my mind. I miss working. A lot.
I was always a guy whose identity, and unfortunately sense of self-worth were tied into my job. Not only that I have a respectable job, but also fulfilling and gratifying. I took this notion way too far, I was never able to leave my work at the door when I left. When work was good, I was happy and it spilled over into my home life. When it wasn’t, it affected my entire ability to function. I had heard the term “work to live, not live to work” but it just didn’t apply to me. I was a workaholic in that it permeated every aspect of my life, often with major ramifications.
I rode the roller coaster for years. It seemed to have started when I met my wife to be. I was working at a restaurant. I was merely a laborer making a meager living but I suppose I was happy. Shifting between dishwasher and part-time line cook in training I was recovering from a major motorcycle accident, trying not to think about having recently dropped out of college and making just enough money to drink myself to the point that I was unable and unwilling to think about my problems. Occasionally I reflected on my life just enough to recall my favorite line from Animal House:
But I only reflected on it long enough to get a little chuckle and then I resumed my ways. It wasn’t until I began dating my future wife that I realized, or was told that I could and should do better. It wasn’t until I got Testicular Cancer that I took my vocational career more seriously and as I was recovering from the surgery I filled out some applications. I landed a job at Enterprise Rent A Car. It would require that I work 7 days a week, 2 at the restaurant to keep my health insurance but I did it. The job sucked but they promised that any employer will jump at the name of Enterprise on a resume.
They were right. I landed a job at a Salvage Auto Auction. Everyone in my training class was from Enterprise. This job led me to the wholesale auction industry and it was there that I would stay for twenty years. Sales, Sales Mgmt., customer relations, budgets, administration, team-building and logistics appeared on my resume. By the time I met a guy at a cocktail party looking for everything on my resume I was ready for a amazing position for a change because everything to that point had sucked. My previous jobs had been good enough to keep me balanced at home and I liked them just enoughto keep my self-esteem balanced. But I wanted and deserved better.
The new job would prove to be the one that actually made me feel like an all-around success. I was good at it. Better than my new boss ever suspected I could be. My owner referred to me in front of his high-powered and very successful buddies as “the best in the industry”. I was an appraiser, a master at being a liaison between the higher-ups and my customer base. I solved problems. I saved money. I was busy…
I found solutions and implemented systems and just often enough to satisfy the soul…I actually helped someone occasionally. My work life and home life were in perfect balance (except for the fact that my wife was never happy and my marriage was going to hell).
I began to spend more time at work. It was my happy place. I was surrounded by people that made me happy and away from the yelling and the constant demands from wifey that I make more money. Perhaps one of my favorite things in my office was my shrine to my upbringing, the top shelves of my enormous bookcase that held my tribute to the amazing family members that kept me going, with a special nod to my father and grandfather.
The Opus doll, well that’s a no-brainer. Bloom County was always a favorite. The Charlie Brown and Looney Tunes mug, well that’s my childhood in a nutshell. The baseball, my son gave me the game ball after he lined his first double over an 11 year old’s head in Little League. The model cars never failed to make me smile as I am a shameless car lover. The model trucks were a makeshift shrine to my father. The license plate was from 1929 and was once on my grandfather’s first car.
While work was mostly good for me, I often found myself staring at one or more of those objects during the course of the day. They made me happy and provided a little slice of home when I couldn’t be there and a reminder of who I was and where I came from in moments of weakness.
When I lost my job due to illness, packing those items was the most difficult thing for me. I loved my shrine.
Those items now sit in cold storage along with my career and my self-worth. I no longer have my career to give me an identity. My value to society seems somehow less. I no longer make the same difference in people’s lives. Nobody, including my children, seem to need me anymore. Most of the advice I give my children seems unsolicited as they are older and finding their own way. Of course they come to me sometimes but I’m used to being a constant resource at work and home.
I need to find another way to evaluate what exactly on earth I am meant to do before I die of pure, abject boredom.
Making amends
When I worked at the finance company I was presented with some difficult but wonderful challenges. The company was going through some growing pains and I was immediately tasked with some big issues. Their need was in the “back end” of the business. That is a nice way of saying “repo”.
When I joined the company they were being inundated with cars coming back due to bad loans. My background in appraisals and remarketing proved to be a valuable asset. I had connections with auctions all over the country, offered alternative outlets such as salvage auctions and private sales, and I created a valuable network of tow companies.
One particular tow operator was a local guy named Mike. I essentially inherited him when I joined the company but his role was minimal and I expanded it. I always try to do business with a local guy, it’s just good business.
Mike is a really likable guy, the kind of person I enjoy doing business with. He was a independent with one truck but willing to work all day to earn a living. I gave him a lot of tows. He did a pretty good job for me for a few months and then I began noticing a side of him that didn’t work for me…he “Yes’d” me to death and wasn’t honest about his availability. He was growing his business through AAA tows and had begun to fall behind. He failed to tell me that he hadn’t gotten to previous assignments while gladly accepting new ones, which chaffed my ass greatly. I had to cut him back.
It wasn’t long before Mike came to see me in my office to apologize for his underwhelming performance. We talked at length. I told him how the demands of my job required a more reliable transporter and that I would keep him on but on a more limited basis. He reached across my desk with his big, greasy hand and shook mine, thanking me. He was hard not to like.
Mike continued to work for me for many years and was of great service on the AAA end of things helping me and my family with our five cars.
One Saturday I was getting ready to go out and my car wouldn’t start. I tried jumping it, it was dead. I called Mike and asked him if he could help. He was there in 15 minutes.
He pulled in with his rusty old Ford pickup, his dog and wife in the cab with him. I said hi to his wife, a very unpleasant and morbidly obese woman who I had never seen smile. She grunted in my direction.
Mike somehow got my car started. I asked him if he took credit cards. He didn’t. I was at a loss. I had no cash on me. He said don’t worry about it, remarking that I give him so much work that it more than worked out. I sheepishly thanked him.
His wife scowled at me.
I always felt bad about that day. Yes, I did give him a lot of work but I should have been able to pay him. I lost my job soon after. Mike and I lost touch.
Last week I saw on FB that he had a birthday. It caused me to reflect on my past dealings with him and how much I liked him. I decided that it was time to right a wrong. I took out my checkbook and made out a check for $100.00. I grabbed my stationary and wrote a short note.
Mike, I always felt bad about never paying you for the AAA service years ago. You’re a good man and you deserve better. Please accept this check as good will for a good deed.
Take care,
Bill
I mailed it that day. He FB inboxed me 3 days later thanking me. He said I shouldn’t have. I disagree.
My mother likes to tell me that I am determined to spend every penny I have. What she doesn’t get is that I am charitable within my means and I am not afraid to make amends.
Besides, the check to Mike isn’t about money.
It’s about respect.
My special purpose
On Thursday I entered the dialysis clinic with my bag containing a blanket, books, my laptop, headphones and half of the trepidation I had felt on my first visit. I was greeted by an entirely different Nursing Staff, which gave me the opportunity to drop my “oil change” joke 💀. It was fairly well received. I’m going to ask for a tire rotation next time to test the waters.
I already know the routine. I weighed in and sat down while 2 nurses, 2 potentially new sounding boards for my repertoire of Dad jokes, went through an impressive routine of programming the machine and unwrapping needles and fastening clamps and god knows what else. It really is something to watch, it must have taken a hell of a lot of training. When they were done and I was hooked up, they went on to other patients and I settled in for 3 boring hours.
I wasn’t in the mood for TV and not ready to read so I looked around the room. There are 12 stations in the room and every chair was full. I recognized most of the patients in the room from my first visit. The staff was all new to me. In particular I noticed a thin, older woman with a buzz cut making the rounds of the patients. I figured her to be the Nurse Manager. She was making her way towards me. After spending a few minutes with the gentleman next to me she came over and introduced herself as Kim, the clinic’s Social Worker. She knew who I was, had researched my case and apparently was looking forward to meeting me. Part of me wishes I could say the same. I respect social workers and what they do, but their goal is to get me talking about myself and my condition and how it has affected me and everything else that I don’t want to talk about. I deal well by not talking about “it”. Social workers chew away at my armor.
Kim sat down next to me and asked me a few questions about my overall reaction to the dialysis process, was I feeling better? Did I have any issues or complaints? Standard stuff. I immediately found her east to talk to. I had been anticipating an interview and instead found myself in a conversation. I certainly had time so I decided to drop my guard a bit and see where it goes.
The questions flowed easily from her and although it was standard fare; how long have I been sick; my marital status and my living situation. I answered all of them honestly and in some detail. She was taken back by my story, especially at the saga of my marriage collapsing. She kept asking, in different ways, if there was a chance at reconciliation and I continued to say no. She was surprised at my acceptance of the situation but dropped the subject. She then asked me if I was working, would I be able to or plan to in the future. I explained my situation with SSDI and that seemed to satisfy her. She then asked me what I used to do for work.
I found myself telling her all about my most recent position at the finance company and of all of the things I loved about it. I don’t know how long I spoke of it but when I was done and looked at her she looked captivated.
“If you could see the look in your eyes as you talk about that job” she said.
I had actually teared up as I had told her my tale.
“It meant a lot to me, Kim. You will never hear me utter a word of hubris, but when it came to that job I was damn good at it. I miss it.”
“I can tell.”
The conversation eventually wound down and she moved on to another patient. The emotional reaction to talking of my career lingered on. I explored it deeper and had an epiphany of sorts. Of all of the things I hate about my current situation is that I am no longer needed by people in my life. My family no longer seeks or expects support from me. I no longer go to work each day and try, in some small way. to make a difference in someone’s life. See, I had no throttle control before this happened. I was “all in” on life with family and career. I was active as possible as a parent and a husband, Teaching, mentoring and loving my kids while giving what remained of my ass to my job was what I lived for. I was a doer, a guy that made shit happen. A guy people came to. I was a great father, husband, friend and co-worker. I rode bikes and walked miles in the name of charity. I donated money I didn’t have and didn’t care.
Now I have none of it. Maybe the pace proved too much for my body.
I have beaten to death my family life on this blog and it is well documented that I love my family with all of my earthly strength. But I haven’t discussed work often and it was a big part of who I was. Men have often been accused of strongly tying their self-worth to their profession. I was guilty of this. I vowed never to be the guy who called in sick and no one noticed. My job, to quote Steve Martin in ” The Jerk”, I had found my special purpose.
The days when people came to me for advice; when calls were transferred to me because no one else knew enough or how to talk to an irate customer; having the owner boast that you are the “best in the business”; being given a seemingly impossible situation and finding a way to fix it. I have such fond memories of talking to people where the conversation started as a confrontation and ended with a “thank you.” It wasn’t that I was particularly skilled at everything, I just knew how to talk to people and I really, genuinely cared about them. I was proud to go home many days of the week with the knowledge that I actually may have helped someone through a tough day. I don’t have that anymore.
I have tried to be as useful as possible since the collapse. I volunteer at the food bank, I help some of the older people in town with basic chores. I don’t charge them, they don’t have the money. I am kind to my fellow man and I put out zero negative energy into the universe. I hope to become healthy enough to volunteer at a camp for the families of terminally ill children next summer. I am being the best person I can be.
But I don’t feel needed. I can’t believe how much I miss that feeling.
The day the walls came crashing down
Back in the good old days, when I was a working and contributing member of society, I was an auction guy. I didn’t start in that industry. I worked at a restaurant for a very long time, until I was 31 to be exact. When I was diagnosed with Cancer I made a change. A haircut, a closet full of new suits and a pay cut of $20,000 later I entered the “real world” in the exciting world of car rental.
As the unofficial world’s oldest trainee, I ran circles around the recent college graduates and moved up the ranks fast. I was a blur known as “who the fuck is that guy?” After 18 educational months, I was forced to take a stand (a story for another blog) and I quite ceremoniously (also a story for another blog) left the company. No skin off of my nose, I had secured a position with a concrete company. I would become a dispatcher of concrete trucks servicing the USA’s second biggest, only second to the Hoover Dam, civil project, the Central Artery Tunnel AKA the “Boston Big Dig”.
It was a bloated, bureaucratic, enormously expensive and corrupt project but it was great for my resume. I acquired fleet, management, union negotiation and project supervision credentials in a short time. The job was killer, 6-6 daily nailed to a desk answering phones, monitoring job sites, and listening to drivers whine like bitches (some, not all) but it was worth it. Seeing the project coming to an end 2 years later and fearing downsizing, I went on the internet and found an opening at a National Salvage Auction. An industry I knew nothing about. Using the internet, not a real familiar medium in 1999 for me, I was interviewed within a week and off to CA within 2 to learn how to be an Assistant General Manager of a Salvage Auction that I had never been to and had not met one employee. 8 weeks later I would return from job training, walk into an unfamiliar building and ask for a Manager that I would grow to hate. I lasted 2 years, despite the fact that she never wanted me there. Gordon Gecko was less of a control freak than this woman. At the end of my 2nd year, an old friend from my Enterprise days reached out to me. He was the new GM of a wholesale auction and he needed me. Wrecked cars to whole cars? I thought to myself, why not? I joined him.
I was immediately hooked. Being on the road, talking to dealers, being around cars new and old (I love cars, have since I was a kid) and then there was auction day. Auction day was about deadlines, a week worth of preparation going off at 10 whether you were ready or not, regardless of weather or any other excuse you could come up with. It was “Go Time”. Hundreds of dealers, lane after lane of bidders frantically waving as auctioneers spoke lightning fast selling cars at the rate of 1 every 30 seconds per lane. There I would be, maintaining my dealers, meeting new customers, shaking hands and making money. I would turn out to be very, very good at the auction business. For the first time in my life, I had found my special purpose. Apologies to Steve Martin.
I had never done sales in my life. As it turns out, being knowledgeable of your product, attentive to your customers, and passionate about what you do is enough. I worked hard for my customers, I earned their loyalty and I never had to be “Slick Willy” once. I simply did what I said I would for my people and I became a well-known guy in the business. With success comes some obstacles and the owner eventually decided that I was making too much money, despite the 38% increase in overall volume during my tenure. I warned him that I wasn’t taking a pay cut and should I leave my customers were coming with me. He called my bluff and he lost…bigly.
For several years after I left this company I expanded my experience in the car business. I dabbled in retail sales for a bit and one day in 2008 I had a serendipitous moment. My mother-in-law worked with a woman in Real Estate whose husband was GM of a sub-prime Automotive Loan company. He was looking for a guy with car biz experience. Once relayed, my mother-in-law, over a glass of Chablis immediately took down the husband’s phone number and called me. I went to meet him the next day. He was looking for someone with experience working with car dealers, sales management, remarketing and strong negotiations skills. In particular, knowledge of auto auctions. It was a perfect match. At first, he didn’t believe that I knew the people that I said I did, but as good fortune would have it several dealers would traipse through the office that day, poke their head in to say hi to the gentleman I was interviewing with, and subsequently say “Bill, what are you doing here?” As the saying goes, SOLD!
I was hired on the spot, given a department to set up, funding to staff it and leeway to run it my way. It would take time, but I became an integral part of the operation. Part of my responsibilities were to attend the auction every week with my GM. For 9 years we went to the same auction, a huge operation in MA where we sold our repos, mingled with our dealers and met as many new dealers as we could. Because most of our dealers were there, it was the ultimate way to conduct business. We would get there early, I would evaluate our vehicles and set prices and hunt down any poor sap that owed us money. When 10 AM rolled around, I was “on the block” selling cars. Wheeling and dealing, as they say, working with the auctioneer as he captured bids as fast as lightning. Once I was done, my GM and I would evaluate how we did, process our titles and then relax. On nice days, we would lean against the outside wall of our lane and enjoy the weather.
Last year to the day, a driver lost control of a vehicle, sped into a crowd of dealers and crashed through the very wall that I would always lean against. 3 innocent people died and 24 were injured. It was a senseless tragedy.
Fortunately, I wasn’t there that day. My career was over by then.
Being in the industry as long as I had been, I had seen accidents before. People are careless and walk in front of cars as they roll up to the line to be sold. People run across entire lanes in order to bid on a vehicle at the end of the building. They forget that these are used cars and the brakes may be old and worn out. In this particular case, old and worn out described the driver. He maintains that the accelerator stuck. Something was clearly defective because the first victim he killed was hit at approximately 35 miles per hour.
I was reminded of this incident by Facebook Memories today. I had posted a tribute to the victims last year and briefly touched on my history at that auction. I re-read my post, had a quick moment of silence for the victims and then I read the comments. I had completely forgotten the response my post generated. The most significant aspect was how many people immediately thought of me when it happened.
It was a pretty well-known fact among my friends that I was in the industry. I would often post pictures of nice cars that I saw at the sale. All of my dealers knew where I was every Wednesday. But the number of people who I thought had no idea what I did for a living was checking in with me on Messenger, calls, and texts to make sure I was unharmed. It really affected me today. Well, that and the actual tragedy itself…you know what I mean.
I didn’t have the heart to tell most of those that checked in that I was out of work for health reasons. I thanked them for their concern and assured them that I was fine. But it is nice, at the end of the day to know that people are there for you when you really, really need them.
The Tao of Bill 