Tag: work

Let’s start at the beginning

I was born in July 1965, I weighed 8 lbs 2 oz…ok yeah maybe not that far back. Let’s go as far back as August of last year instead. It was a hot summer and, despite being increasingly sick on dialysis, I was making my best effort to maintain my side business of detailing cars. I was doing really well, making good money and, despite being weak and really struggling to keep up, doing a car a day if the weather allowed. It was a good gig, people in town like me and are happy to give me their business. It doesn’t hurt that I do a really good job I suppose. It’s not a brag, I really do professional quality work for a very reasonable rate. I have as much work as I want.

One of my customers was a gentleman that I had never met until he called me on a referral. He was an ideal customer, he gave me 3 vehicles to detail and he was a big tipper. He was also fun to talk to and that mattered to me because he was my age, friends my age are hard to come by in this podunk little town. I immediately liked him. The day I returned the 3rd vehicle he mentioned to me in passing that he had just bought the local eyesore, a vacant convenience store. Everyone in town had hoped for someone to build something there and finally someone had. He told me all about his plans. In addition to having a full convenience store, he had plans to build a pizza, sandwich, and deli section as well. His plan was to serve New Haven, CT style “Apizza” (pronounced ahpeetz), a style of pizza that no restaurant in NH, never mind our local area, was serving. Thin crust, light cheese with a charred bottom. My favorite type of pie next to Boston North End style. It was exciting to hear him talk about it. I knew right away that he would be providing a unique product that people were going to love and travel for. His history of successfully flipping properties in town spoke for itself. This guy didn’t know how to fail.
He asked me if I knew anyone with food service experience. Impulsively, and in hindsight, regrettably, I told him that I did.

He told me that we needed to talk. I was looking forward to that conversation. But as fate would have it, the next day I got the call that saved my life. I was called to the hospital to receive a Kidney Transplant.

It’s been how long?

When I was in High School I had an awesome car. Not awesome in the vernacular of the day; I didn’t have anything expensive, exotic, or muscular but instead vintage and uncommon. My Great Uncle, who I had only met a few times, willed me his 1965 Ford Falcon when he passed in 1981. It was a fun car and I wish I still had it. Me and the Falcon, which my father’s “folksy racist” best friend referred to as “The ‘Coon” (my apologies) could be seen bombing around town on any given day. It was a joy to drive because it was a standard transmission with the shifter on the column, commonly referred to as a “three on the tree”. I’ll always be thankful that I was able to experience that, it was an unusual setup to have in the 80’s. The only drawback was that I couldn’t take advantage of the bench seats by wrapping my arm around my girlfriend because I needed it to shift. Like a dumbass, I got rid of the car to remedy this unfortunate situation. We soon broke up. I was left without the car and the girl. It was a unique situation that would never replicate itself.

Or so I thought. Should you tune in tomorrow you can join me as I tell you what I have been up to since I last posted. In April. Holy crap how did I get away from blogging for so long?

The big prize

Bill Marshall stood at the tee on the 18th Hole. Not only had he had a decent day of business that should yield a boost in sales, he had also played the round of his life for 17 holes. There is a Cardinal rule in sales regarding Golf with clients. Always let them win. Fuck that was Bill’s answer to that. Despite his recent brushes with mediocrity, Bill was a winner at heart and firmly believed that there is no honor in laying down. He was ahead by 2 strokes and if his clients wanted to win then they were going to have to earn it. He knew people and he believed that his clients were not the types to respect laying down for the cause. They were also winners, by virtue of the success of their respective businesses. He lined up his shot and swung. He sliced it into the trees. That settles that, he thought. I didn’t fake losing, I legitimately fucked up this hole. He could live with that.
As they completed the 18th, they picked up their balls and headed to the bar. He had lost by one stroke. The Universe had settled that dilemma for him. No dishonor in that.

The cocktail lounge was full of chattering golfers. They had teed off late so it was no surprise to find cocktail hour in full swing. Bill ordered a round of drinks for the group. It was only his second drink of the day. His companions were several rounds ahead of him. Bill always imbibed carefully on company outings, there was no room for gaffes and embarrassing behavior while at work.
The day had really gone well. His three guests had enjoyed themselves and the hope of many hours of uninterrupted relationship building had come to fruition. One of his guests, Drew, was a regular customer who had been invited as a reward for his loyalty. The other two, Steve and John, were prospective clients with a lot of potential business. They seemed to like Bill and he was hopeful that their liking would convert to dollars and cents. Bill Marshall was a businessman first and foremost but in his heart of hearts he genuinely liked people. In sales, they buy you as well as your product and he believed that Steve and John were buying into him. As they sipped their drinks and made small talk with the other guests a young woman selling 50/50 tickets came around. Bill called her over and asked for 100 dollars in tickets.
“Big spender”, Drew chided.
“Hey, it’s company money, right?” His owner had given him 200 in petty cash for drinks and raffle tickets, he planned to use it.
“What will you do if you win?”, Steve inquired.
“Give it to the cause, of course”, Bill replied.
“I think I speak for all of us when I say Bullshit, Bill.”
“OK, it’s not like I’m going to win anyway.” Bill knew that he would donate it. He wasn’t on his dime for starters. And the tournament was being sponsored by one of his best customers. A local dealership owner whose passion was the Boys and Girls club of Holyoke. The owner only gave Bill some of his business, there was a lot more to be had, but he wasn’t there for that. He was there to support his client and his cause.

Dinnertime arrived and the 150 or so golfers filed into the dining room. As they ate, the host, Bill’s client grabbed the microphone and made his thank you’s and announcements. The event had been very successful and he expressed his gratitude. He then announced that he would do the drawing for the 50/50. The total take was 3000 dollars and the lucky winner would take 1500. He proceeded to announce the winning ticket, which happened to be in the hand of Bill Marshall. He was floored. He stood up and went to the podium to claim his prize. His client greeted him and announced Bill’s name and his company and acknowledged that they did business together. He then handed Bill the envelope of cash, to much applause and fanfare, and started to move on to other business. But Bill Marshall was still standing there. The host asked if there was something wrong.
“Yes”, Bill replied. “I’m here on the company dime to support a charity. So why am I leaving with an envelope of cash?” With that he handed the envelope back to the host. The room erupted. He glanced over at his table and his guests were smiling at him. He walked back to his table and sat down.
“You son of a bitch, you actually followed through,” Drew said. His other guests nodded in agreement.

Bill Marshall just smiled. Doing the right thing is easy, and it doesn’t matter who is watching.

The Tournament

It was a 3 hour drive from the house to the location of the golf tournament. Bill Marshall was in a decent mood this morning. Relatively speaking, he was at peace. Things had been quiet at home overall. The kids were doing well and the wife has been fairly calm. He knew that the next shitstorm was close by but he still welcomed the reprieve. He had decided months ago that his marriage was a lost cause and that he was there for the kids. He suspected that she would make access to his children difficult should he try to leave and he wasn’t having any of it. His kids meant everything to him and if that meant sacrificing his own happiness then so be it. Bill was raised by an old-fashioned man. He was taught that when you have family, your happiness is secondary to the welfare of those that depend on you. In that vein, it was a no-brainer. Thus, a few quiet, albeit tense evenings of silence at home was worth the quality time with the kids. As he ran those thoughts through his head, he recognized and accepted that he already knew that he was going to leave her. The only question was when. Alone in the car, with the radio volume down, he absorbed that revelation and let out an audible “holy shit”.

Traffic was heavy but moving. He turned the radio volume down and focused on the day ahead. He was excited about the tournament. It wasn’t lost on him what a luxury it was to play Golf on the company dime. He had played Golf many times under the umbrella of work, it was an excellent and effective sales tool. It was very difficult to conduct business when visiting clients at their place of work. They are constantly interrupted by coworkers, the phone or one of many crises that always come up. On the Golf course, your only real enemy to productive business talk is the cell phone. Most of his clients have the manners and common courtesy to put the phone away. If they didn’t? Well, Bill would just have to deal with it. A bad day of golf still beats a good day at work, he mused.

Bill pulled into the Country Club parking lot at 9 AM sharp. He had 30 minutes to gather up his clients/guests and check in. He walked into the clubhouse and through the doorway he could see two of his guests at the bar, Bloody Mary’s in front of them. Bill considered himself a respectable functional alcoholic but he wasn’t ready to go down that road this early. He needed to be sharp. He waved to them as he checked in and dialed his 3rd guest. He was in the parking lot. So far so good. He walked into the cleverly named lounge “The 19th hole” and greeted his clients. They were cheerful and eager to play. It felt right, he felt on top of his game. He paid for their drinks and went out to meet his other guest.
He glanced to the sky, the morning haze was burning off. It was going to be a great day all around. Little did he know how right he was.

The epileptic Carp

As they entered the Hospital Foyer, Bill made one last attempt to get his manager to leave him. He was having none of it.

The check-in process was fairly quick. It was early afternoon, the ER wasn’t busy. Being in an affluent community didn’t hurt as well. Bill’s home hospital was often flooded with drunks and victims of violent crimes. There wasn’t a lot of that in this sleepy Massachusetts town, he mused. Within 15 minutes Bill was seen by the ER physician. He was asked a bunch of questions about his health history. They did a run-up of blood work. The ER doctor was clueless regarding the episode. Bill was not surprised, no one else had ever figured out why he had these attacks either. The Doctor scribbled on his board, muttered something to his attending Nurse and went on to another patient. Bill was left to make small talk with his GM until someone came back.

To his encouragement, his manager didn’t talk about the events of the previous hours. He instead shifted gears to talking about some of the business matters that he wanted to review in the now cancelled meeting. It was a relaxed conversation and they actually accomplished something. Before long the ER Doctor poked his head in.
“Are you aware…” time stopped for Bill, he knew exactly what was coming…3,2,1 BOOM
“that you have serious kidney failure?” Bill high-fived himself mentally, just as he had called it.
“Yes, I am aware” he replied as he looked over at the furrowed brow of his boss.
“Are you being actively treated for it”? the doctor asked.
“Not as actively as I should, perhaps” Bill replied. “But here’s the thing, is it related to why I’m here?”
“Not that I know of” he replied. “I can’t identify the source of your episode.”
“Then we’re done here unless you have some suggestions.”
“See your Nephrologist. If you give me his contact information I’ll have your labs forwarded.”
He gave him what he asked for and they left.

It was a quiet car ride back to the office. Bill decided to just get it over with.
“I have Kidney Disease” he offered. “Now you know.”
“Well something has to be wrong with you, you were flopping around on the conference room floor like an epileptic Carp.”
They shared a laugh. Then Bill asked, “Does it change anything?”
“Like what, you mean your employment status?”
“No.” Bill rephrased his question. “Is this something that I should have told you when you hired me?”
His manager didn’t flinch. “That’s why we have health insurance, you dumbass. How long have you had it?”
“Since I was a teenager. It’s unpredictable in its progression. I think it’s getting worse.”
“Do you think you should have told me on the interview?”
Bill stroked his goatee, stalling.
“Yes and no. It really hasn’t affected my work that I know of. I don’t have a crystal ball so I don’t think about the what-if’s. When I met you, I wanted you to see the man for the job, not some sick guy. Does that make sense?”
His manager nodded. “So now we know,” he said. They drove the rest of the way in relative silence. They passed through the security gate and as a courtesy he was dropped off at the door. It was 4:30. Bill was thankful and he got out with the intention of going in, grabbing his bag and calling it a day. As he nodded a thank you for the ride his manager asked,
“Where does stress fit into all of this, you know, with the kidneys?”
“I don’t think it helps, I know that much. Why?”
“Because you’re wrapped tighter than a convenience store sandwich. You try to do too much. You’re the first one in, last one out. I’m not asking for that. Take it easy on yourself. You’re getting the job done.”
“Thanks, but you might as well tell water not to be wet. It’s how I’m wired.”
“No, that’s how Superman is wired. Your name is Bill, not Clark. Smarten up.” With that, he put the car in gear and drove to his reserved spot.

the End of the facade

Bill Marshall had just collapsed on the conference room floor in front of the entire management team. His co-workers swarmed around him anxiously barking questions. Are you alright? Where does it hurt? Can I get you anything? Can you talk? Bill wanted to answer all of them but the pain in his side was excruciating and he couldn’t get the words out. The muscles below his rib cage seized, failed to relinquish their grip. He couldn’t breathe. He clenched his teeth and tried to draw breath. His GM reached down and sat him in an upright position against the wall and handed him a bottle of water. Bill leaned forward, grabbing his ankles, trying to stretch the spasm away. Finally, the pain subsided. He sat against the wall, sipped the water and tried to regain his composure. He looked up, the entire room was staring at him.
“It’s all over,” Bill said. “Let’s continue.”
“Are you nuts?” his GM said. “You’re going to the hospital.”
Someone in the background offered to call an Ambulance. Bill resisted, insisting that it was over and he was fine.
“Have you had that happen before?” the controller asked.
“Not like that.” He lied. The truth was that he had. Not as bad but similar. He had mentioned them to his Doctor and they could find no explanation. Just one more thing to deal with.

“Well, we’re driving you to the hospital then. I’m not giving you a choice.”
Bill dropped his shoulders in defeat as he was pulled upright. He allowed his coworkers to take his arms as they ascended the stairs, walked outside, and got him into a waiting van.

By the time they had reached the local hospital, Bill felt fine. He didn’t want to go in. He had been the local hospital route before. It was always the same thing, they would run some tests and send them to his own doctor. Nothing would be accomplished except the waste of a lot of time. A doctor would come out and ask if he knew that he had Kidney issues. He was aware.

There was a bigger picture here shaping up. Bill’s GM was going in with him. When he hears the words “Kidney Disease” from the Doctor, it will be the first time his company learns that he is sick. Two hours ago, he was bulletproof. That façade was about to crumble. It was his biggest fear, that his coworkers will now see him as the sick guy. Bill had done an admirable job of denying, faking and downplaying his illness to his family, friends and employers for a hell of a long time. Now his Achilles Heel is exposed.

The downward spiral

“What can I get you, Bill?” the bartender asked. She had startled him. Despite the fact that a drink was all that he had wanted for the last 2 hours, he had been distracted by the Sox game on the corner TV.“Good evening, Liz. What are the beer specials this evening?” God, how he hated to ask that question. The Crown Royal bottle on the top shelf was waving and calling his name but he was on a copper budget. His gold tastes would have to deal with it.
“Coors Light and Bud Light draft are $2.50 each.” She seemed to be on edge tonight, not as friendly as usual. He would know, he was as regular as Norm from Cheers.
“Bud Light, please.”
“You got it”

Within seconds, a tall mug of cold, GMO-infused, foamy piss water was in front of him accompanied by a basket of tortilla chips with Salsa. For anyone else, that’s another $2.50 but Liz always took care of him. He took a long sip of his beer and scanned the bar. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular. Maybe a new face or something to indulge in his favorite past-time, people-watching. His scan was nearly complete as he turned his gaze back to the Sox game.

As he did so he inadvertently caught the gaze of the guy sitting beneath the TV. He was careful to not stare back but instead focused on the TV. He occasionally found himself darting his glance at the man and each time his gaze was met. This annoyed him. Why does every dickwad sitting under the TV think I’m looking at them? Where the fuck else am I supposed to look?  He glanced over again and the fellow looked particularly hostile. Bill was not in the mood for a confrontation, it was the very last thing he wanted after today. So, he chose to look straight ahead at the mirror behind the bottle rack. As cranky and depressed as he was when he came in, it was now worse. He was disgusted by the round face and bloodshot eyes that stared back at him. 
Relax, Bill. The mirror adds 15 pounds.
Yeah, but how many mirrors am I in right now?

He decided that he had to do what he hated most, play with his phone like “one of those” people. Bill Marshall was opinionated and old-fashioned and the phone thing conflicted him. He needed it and hated it at the same time. He saw the cell phone as an Orwellian nightmare, he refused to be glued to it and he had open disdain for those who were. But in this case, drinking alone at 3:45 on a Tuesday afternoon really was no time to stand on principle. As he pulled the phone from his pocket he saw that he had missed 3 calls. 1 from his boss and 2 from home. He made a mental note to call his boss back. He chugged the remainder of his beer and motioned to Liz for another. She was there with a fresh one immediately.

“Nice hat.” Bill had forgotten that he was wearing his Red Sox Scally cap. He loved the hat and got a lot of feedback whenever he wore it.
“Thanks Liz. I like it a lot.”
“Get it at Fenway?” she asked.
“Yup, thieving bastards got me good on it.” He had, on a whim gone into the gift shop at Fenway Park, home of his beloved Red Sox while on business in Boston looking for that very hat and paid stupid money for it.
“It looks good on you. It’s a keeper.” She smiled at him, there was a sadness behind it. As she walked away she said, “My brother would love it.”

The comment seemed odd to Bill, almost forced. Less conversational and with intention. Whatever. Remembering that he had to return his boss’s call he pushed his stool back and stepped outside. He walked to the end of the concrete walkway to escape any noise from the patrons entering and leaving. Bill knew from experience that this was the best spot to call his boss and lie to him about his whereabouts and productivity that day. The nature of the call would dictate how big the lie will be. He hated this part, and it was of no comfort that he had done it a lot lately.

He was in a rut at work. His customers weren’t busy, so consequently, his portfolio was suffering. His competition was killing him and Bill was worn down by the constant “No’s” from his customers by about noon each day. Deep down he knew that he was a great salesman. But he had lost faith in his product, his managers, and most importantly, in himself. He hated going to work as much as he hated going home lately. Whenever he could knock off early he did. Without permission, of course, which is why he was dreading making the call. If asked where he was, what would he say?  He wasn’t where he was supposed to be so whatever he said it will be a  lie, a lousy fucking lie that he thought he was above. He took a deep breath and dialed his boss.

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.

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.

Gratification

I have been working a lot. My new boss has been very generous to me and in turn I find myself very willing to go the extra mile for him. I am really excited about working for him, and downright thrilled to be working at all. It’s always been one of my favorite things to cook for people. Making delicious food and watching people enjoy it is a honest and enjoyable way to make a living. When I worked at the Restaurant many, many moons ago I worked long hours often without breaks but I loved what I did. I had pride in my work. It wasn’t until I got married that it was pointed out to me that I was under-performing financially and that I could do better. This is a nice way of saying that my wife and mother-in-law thought that I was in a loser job. I knew that I wasn’t making a lot of money but I didn’t really have a lot of prospects then. When I started there the economy was in a major recession and my first “professional” job offer upon graduation was $18,500/yr. I was making 40k at the restaurant.

It’s sad that the jobs that we want often don’t pay the bills. The hardest working people make the least money in many cases. EMT’s get paid the same as someone flipping Burgers at McDonalds. They save lives, fast food workers do not. I don’t think there are many fast food workers who have PTSD from their vocation. Social workers barely make a living and they have one of the hardest jobs one can have. They do it for the cause, not for the money. My take is that if it makes you feel good it may not pay enough to support you. So many adults are forced to take the soul-sucking corporate jobs that drain our spirit for the sake of financial responsibilities. The takeaway is that you can chase your dreams, but do it after work.

I have always loved making food and at this point in my life I suppose that I can afford to live on what it pays. That makes me lucky. For the first time in 25 years I will again enjoy what I do. I also have for the first time a boss who respects me and wants to do things for me, to invest in me because he believes in me. A boss who wants to know what he can do for me. What a concept!

This opportunity is just one more positive thing that has come down the pike for me lately. I am experiencing an amazing wave of things going my way and I can’t explain it other than to think that the positive energy I try to put out into the world is coming back to me. I live with a grateful heart and I see the good in all situations, no matter how bad. I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.