work – Page 6 – The Tao of Bill

long days, longer days

Yesterday didn’t start well. As soon as I put one foot on the floor I knew that it was going to be a feel-like -shit day. I call it such because there is no name or medical explanation for it. It’s a wonderful feeling that I can only describe as I slept but I’m more tired than when I went to bed; I feel like I’m coming down with the flu but I’m not; my legs feel like they have sandbags tied to them and I walk like I’m 80 years old; I can’t wait for my first nap today. Feel-like-shit is much shorter and still covers it nicely.

Regardless, I had to get out of bed. I had somewhere to go.

On Sunday, when I made my rare church appearance to see if the plaster ceiling would crack when I walked in, I was greeted by Dean. Dean is a townie, like most, that retired up here and now lives here full time. He was a good friend of my father’s and has been a good friend to me since the day I moved up here. He has helped me find odd jobs to make a few bucks and on this day he had a job for me. He needed a coat of wax put on his 5th wheel trailer. Not one to turn down a buck, I told him I would do it Wednesday.

Wednesday was here, and as I hung my head, fighting my morning nausea I could think of 276,000 things I would rather do than wax a trailer. But I promised. I was out of the house by 9:30.

I pulled into Dean’s driveway and surveyed the day’s work. He wasn’t there, he was already out volunteering at the community center. There was a ladder on the ground and I could see that the trailer was freshly washed. I knew what I had to do and got right to it.

A 5th wheel trailer is a camper that is designed to be towed from the actual bed of a pickup truck. The nose of the trailer essentially takes over the entire bed. They are very long and can be as tall as 13 feet 6 inches, which is close to the bridge clearance of a tractor-trailer. This one was maximum height and 35 feet long. I had my work cut out for me.

Did I mention that I hate ladders? Well, to be clear I really hate falling. This job required me to climb a ladder, on soft unstable soil, and to reach the very top of the trailer with a small applicator pad in my right hand, an open can of TurtleWax balancing precariously on the top step of the ladder and a rag in the left. To ease my fear of falling I repeated “wax on, wax off” as I reached high, left and right applying and buffing. It was mindless but difficult work.

The nose of the trailer was the most difficult to reach but it came out awesome. It took quite a while because it was covered in dead, dried bugs. Between buffing and my fingernails I got it spotless. The left side also took a while because the ground was so unstable the ladder proved to be a real challenge. The rear and other side proved to be easier. All in all, I spent 3 1/2 hours with no breaks doing an old school wax job. No gimmicks, no power tools, no shortcuts. It looked amazing but I was done, with the job and physically.

Dean still hadn’t returned but I wasn’t worried about payment, I knew we could connect at some point so I packed up my stuff and got in my truck. As I was driving through the center of town we crossed paths and he asked me to come back to the house so that he could pay me. I really wanted to go home but money is money. I followed him back to his house.

He was very pleased with the work. He couldn’t believe my attention to detail. No surprises there, I am a stickler for detail and I do good work. He asked how much I wanted. I really didn’t know, I told him whatever he thought was fair. He offered me $150.00.
I said No.
Too much.
Amazed, he asked if $100.00 would work. I gladly accepted. (who does that?)
He told me he had never seen anyone counter lower before. What he didn’t understand is that I was grateful for the opportunity for something to do that pays. And I will never take advantage of the good nature of the elderly in town. Besides, if I was reasonable, it increased my chances of being referred for more work. As it would turn out, I left with offers to paint his porch and detail both of his cars. I took his check and went home.

As I pulled into my driveway I realized that I was tired beyond the usual levels. My blood pressure was pounding in my ears, I had a headache and I could have napped standing up. I went inside and sat down. An hour later, I was still in that chair. I would spend the day so tired that I could barely walk. If that wasn’t enough, the cramps set in. My hands formed painful, locked claws that were so painful I was nearly in tears. I would feel like that until I went to bed at 9:30. I had finished the trailer at 1:30.

Something has got to give here. I am having fewer and fewer good days in which I can be productive. On the days that I am able to be productive, I need 2 days to recover from it. Today, I am so tired I can barely do anything and typing this blog is killing me because my hands are still crippled claws.

I sure hope this is a phase. Because it’s no way to live.

The Garden Party…cont’d

If you would like to catch up you can find the first installment here.

When I sat down in the makeshift circle of lawn chairs at the BBQ the first person I recognized was Mark’s sister Susan. I saw her with her dog Brady (who I knew from FB) and we exchanged pleasantries. I haven’t seen her in over 30 years. I used to have the hot patooties for her. She looked great. Next, I saw Mark’s mother and father. They are really nice people. They needed a refresher on who I was, I haven’t seen them in forever. I watched a million football games at their house but I’m not sure they knew about it. After some small talk, Scott and I settled in to catch up over a cold beer.

We talked about the kids for a while. He knows about the divorce and the rest of my “situation” but wanted to know what they were up to. I was proud to tell him how great they are. His kids are college-age and doing great. Knowing he and Dana I wasn’t surprised. Then the conversation turned to my health. Scott is like me in one respect, he would rather ask than not and come across as not caring. I told him the truth, that there is very little good news. He absorbed it and we left it at that. He knows I would rather give him better news if I could.

At one point, Susan leaned in and asked what was up with my kidneys, she said she saw something on FB. I gave her the lowdown, carefully phrasing my words to not elicit a sympathetic response. This was the part I was dreading, although I did appreciate her asking.

At one point, Mark’s father, who is a little hard of hearing, started down the line asking all of us what we’ve been up to. I was 6^th in line so I agonizingly waited for my turn. Sure enough, my turn came and I decided to be funny. He asked “What have you been up to Bill?”
“Well, Mr. Riley, I’m officially a burden to society.” Everyone laughed, he asked me to elaborate. Before I could Mark saved the day and said “Bill has been fighting some health issues, Dad. He lives up here now.” I sighed with relief, it sounded so much better than, Well, I’m on the verge of Dialysis, I’m out of work and broke, I live with my mother and I’m not supporting my family. Did I mention that I have one nut and haven’t been laid in about 8 years? Either way, it was over with. The conversation shifted away and I shrunk back into relative obscurity.

Scott, Mark and I talked for a while. I was starting to relax a bit. We talked politics, current events, rehashed some fun times at the market, talked about cars and of course our families. I made a few off-color but witty (not my words) cracks that gave them a good laugh. At one point, Scott remarked that it was refreshing that some things don’t change. He meant me of course, I was well-known in the day to do anything for a laugh. I appreciated the comment despite the feeling that nothing about me, with the exception of my warped humor, was the same.

At 7:30, I decided that it was time to leave. I was starting to get tired and my mind was racing. I was getting into one of those thinking zones that never ends well. I get quiet, morose and I am generally not good company. I made it a point to give Scott and Dana a proper goodbye, sought out the people that I knew and made sure I said goodbye to them as well. I ended by finding Mark and his wife to thank them. By the time I got to my truck my mind was in full-blown thinking mode and it wasn’t happy thoughts. I was bombarded by some harsh realizations that I came to that day and they needed to be processed. I was about to, in the words of Jim Carrey in Liar Liar “kick my own ass.”

I drove home without the radio on, all I had was the hum of my tires on the winding back roads to keep me company. I was in a mood. I tried to summarize what I was feeling, to break it down into manageable parts. In short, what’s my fucking problem?
That would prove to be a question not easily answered. I had a lot of problems.

My first problem was that I was overwhelmed by the stark contrast in situations between Mark, Scott and myself. Disclaimer…I am NOT speaking out of jealousy. I am VERY happy for them. They made good choices and decisions and worked hard and they deserve everything they have. Mark is a brilliant mechanic and owns his own business. He works 6 sometimes 7 days a week. His amazing house is a monument to his work ethic. Scott works for a major investment company and has for 22 years. His wife has a great job as well and he is at a place now where he can pay for his kids college without loans, have a real nice car and look for a summer home. Not that is was ever equal when we were younger, they were doing well then also, but the disparity now in our places in life is staggering.

It would be easy to blame it on illness; my disease did take me out of the working world. But it’s so much more than that. Even when I was working, despite the size of the checks I was pulling in I never managed to save anything. I often joked that my wife could spend money like a drunk sailor with a fist full of Viagra, and in reality I can point to several financial decisions that she took the lead on that felt wrong to me but I kept quiet in the interest of “happy wife, happy life” but it’s not all on her. We simply didn’t plan for the future and we made some poor decisions. To put a Seinfeldian spin on it, yadda yadda yadda we were foreclosed upon and were forced to declare bankruptcy. I never bounced back from that. A proud moment indeed.

OK, so they’re doing great and I have approximately enough money in my checking account to drive to the end of my driveway. Yes, that’s a problem. But as I continued to navigate the back roads of Maine, radio off and mind working overtime I realized that my checkered financial history was the least of what was bothering me.

The real problem was clear, I was disgusted that I had become such a stranger to a group of people that were once my world. Where did the time go?

To be continued…

I went to a Garden Party

Have you ever heard this song? Because I can’t get it out of my head.

Went to a garden party to reminisce with my old friends
A chance to share old memories and play our songs again
When I got to the garden party, they all knew my name
No one recognized me, I didn’t look the same

But it’s all right now, I learned my lesson well.
You see, ya can’t please everyone, so ya got to please yourself
Ricky Nelson
Garden Party

On Sunday I went to a 4^th of July party at my old friend Mark’s house. I’ve been in a weird place ever since.

I was so excited when the FB invitation hit my newsfeed 2 weeks ago. Mark is part of my old crew, a group of guys that I spent almost every social minute with. Mark, Scott, Paul, Ernie (real name Paul) and Johnny D (real name John) and I were inseparable from our supermarket days. My immediate reaction to the invitation was of a reunion with the boys, to laugh and drink beers and reminisce about the fun days we had. Those were the only days of my life that I can honestly call the “good old days.” Seeing these guys meant a lot to me because I have almost completely lost touch with all of them with the exception of Scott. I went to the page and clicked “going”.

Mark owns a beautiful 2^nd home on a private lake in ME, not too far from me. If the party was being held in MA, where we all hail from, I may not have gone due to the distance. Who am I kidding, I know that I would have tried to talk myself out of going anyway. While initially excited about seeing the guys, when I started thinking about my situation I began to have second thoughts.
What if I don’t feel well that day?
I have been day to day lately, the fatigue has been unpredictable and brutal.
Will there be swimming?
I’m not wearing shorts, my legs are swollen and embarrassing.
It’s supposed to be hot.
Again, the legs.
What if I don’t know anyone?
Scott and Mark will be there.
What if someone asks me what I’ve been up to?
Deal with it when it happens.

I decided that it would depend on who was going. I checked the page for responses and a couple of the guys had already declined. I texted Scott, if he was going I would make the trip. As it turns out, he was thinking the same way, he was going if I was. It was a date.

The party started at 2, I decided to arrive by 3. Arriving late is great when you want to make an inconspicuous entrance. Scott also had set his sights on 3 so I was hoping he would be on schedule.

I have been to Mark’s house once before but I wasn’t comfortable with doing it by memory so I turned on the iphone NAV. No signal. I decided to head in the general direction and hope for a signal. I missed a couple of turns and was about 5 miles away when my phone suddenly caught a signal. After all of the backtracking I arrived exactly at 3. When I got out of my truck I saw Scott and his wife Dana pulling in, Perfect.

Scott is the one guy in the group that I have maintained steady contact with. He is a good friend. Even when I was negligent with the communication, I would periodically get a text from him checking in. He has been diligent in asking how I am doing in life while most aren’t because they are afraid that if they ask me how I am…I might actually tell them. Since our mutual friend Paul passed away from Liver Cancer, we have been closer. Scott was very close to Paul, aware that he was sick and he took it hard. Understandably, because Paul was a saint among mere mortal men. I, being the guy that basically dropped out of sight didn’t know anything until Paul had passed. I was a combination of crushed and guilt-ridden. It really drove home the cost of losing touch. When he got out of the car I gave him a bro-hug. He looked great. He’s lost at least 60 pounds since the last time I saw him. I congratulated him.

I gave Dana a hug, I haven’t seen her in forever. She and Scott have been together for a long time and they have 2 great kids. I haven’t seen her in person in years but Facebook keeps us in touch. She used to always try to get us together as couples but it never happened.

We walked down the hill together, I was glad not to walk down alone. The view that awaited us was amazing. The house was enormous, facing the lake. Lots of windows and decks. The lawn was huge, leading to a private swimming area and boat dock. Games like Cornhole and Volleyball were set up for later and there were about 25 people in lawn chairs enjoying the breezy summer day. Mark immediately greeted us and proceeded to invite us in and give the tour. The house was perfect, well decorated with plenty of rooms but livable, not glamorous. We then went to mingle with the guests, a combination of his family, co-workers, neighbors and business associates. We were introduced to a few and I shrunk into a lawn chair next to Scott and Dana and tried to blend in.

to be continued…

Something big between my legs…cont’d

Hopefully you read my last installment and you are hanging on like I did when I was 13 reading Penthouse forum. Unlike those stories, this actually happened. Tune in here for part 1. Here is where I left off

I had just been propositioned by a beautiful, sensuous and did I mention older (?) woman at work. Up until this point I thought that we were only playing around. Surely a woman ten years my senior is out of my league. It’s akin to a dog chasing a car…what would he do if he caught it? Slowly realizing that this was for real I kicked the remaining vendors the hell off of my dock for lunch. One vendor saw the exchange between us and gave me a coy smile as he left. I locked up, punched out and headed for the Leggs van, or as I have forever known it as, the original “shaggin’ wagon”.

It was running. As I approached the window I saw that the driver’s seat was empty. I looked in and a voice called out

“in the back!”

I went to the back of the van, opened the panel doors and she motioned for me to hop in. After what seemed like seconds of small talk, she began tearing my clothes off. Nothing, I repeat nothing like this had ever happened to me in my life. I immediately knew that every sexual experience I had had up to this point was with girls. I was now with a woman. She truly rocked me to my foundation that afternoon. When it was over, she nonchalantly got dressed and informed that she had to finish her route. I checked my body for skid-marks, put out a couple of small fires, got dressed and went back to work.

As I walked back to the market I asked myself, was I just used for sex? My brain responded immediately with a profound “what’s your point? Go with it!”

For the remainder of the afternoon, and I suppose of the entire week before I would see her again I was consumed by the memory of that day in the van. I was curious what would happen when I saw her again. Was it a one-time thing or the beginning of many? I was a man obsessed. I was also becoming an overnight legend. I was spotted getting in and out of the van and it didn’t take long before my name was immediately followed by “the guy who banged the Leggs lady.” You may choose to believe me or not, but I didn’t welcome the notoriety. I respected women as much then as I do now and I was a gentleman. But it was out there none the less.

Friday afternoon would roll around again and like clockwork, she showed up at 11:30. We exchanged smiles as she came in with her dolly stacked high with product. It was taller than she was. She went about her business and I was very busy with deliveries. As she left she handed me her paperwork to sign. I reviewed everything, signed off on it, kept my copy and gave her back her copies. She handed me a piece of paper and said:”this copy is for you” and winked. I looked down, it was an invitation to meet her at “The Cove” a popular section of beach in a town nearby at 8:00. Scrolled at the bottom was “bring the bike”.

In the days before cell phones, it was exceedingly difficult to coordinate meetups like this so I asked her how I would find her. She told me to look for the van.

Thus began a tumultous, wild ride that I would never forget. We met up at various places; my house, no-tell motels, and of course the van. But I didn’t take the time to notice that we never actually went in any establishments, we always met outside of places. I figured that she was outdoorsy and loved the summer. I did as well so I went with it. We rode my bike, had incredible sex all over the east coast of MA and hit the repeat button as often as possible. Life was indeed good that summer.

One Friday I decided to take the day off. I had some friends over and we were hanging out in my backyard. My home phone rang (remember no cells then) and it was Cheryl. She was calling from the market.

“Why aren’t you working?” she asked.

“I took the day off. I forgot Friday was your day.”

“I want to see you. I showed up today expecting lunch in the van and you weren’t there. You owe me now.” Her voice was throaty, sexy and incredibly matter of fact. I had never met such an assertive woman. Parts of me were scared stiff. Well, one to be exact.

I explained to her that I had friends over. She simply told me to get on my bike and meet her at a market about 25 miles away. She “needed” me. I told her to hold on and updated my boys on the situation. They unanimously agreed that I would be the world’s biggest putz if I didn’t take this opportunity.

I told her to give me 45 minutes, got rid of the boys and fired up the Honda. It was a hot day, I was in a hurry and I decided that the sneakers, tank top and shorts would have to do. I was off for another afternoon of Van-rocking debauchery.

Little did I know that I wouldn’t make it to see her that day.

to be continued…

Something big between my legs

This is a re-post. I was perusing my older posts and I noticed that almost all that read and commented on this, with the notable exception of a few of you, are no longer active on my page. This is one of my favorite series and I hope some of my newer readers read and enjoy it. It was sure fun for me to write.
Because it really happened.

I was driving on a very scenic, winding road today. I had gone to run some errands and I decided to take the long way home. I was alone on the road for a good while, enjoying the cross-breeze through the open windows of the cab of my truck. Eventually, I approached a group of bikers, all on late-model Harley’s. They were taking their time, driving the speed limit, not in a hurry as they navigated the challenging curves the road offered. Respectfully, I kept a good distance between my bumper and the bike in front of me.

It’s “Bike Week” here in NH. Bikers from many neighboring states visit the Lakes Region of NH, primarily concentrated on the area in and around Lake Winnepesaukee. Bike Week has been a standing institution in NH for decades. It has evolved from a drunken, bloody week of hell-raising to an enormous gathering of bikers from all socio-economic backgrounds, all celebrating everything that is the motorcycle. Local businesses prep, advertise and rely on the revenue of this event. My Mom and Dad used to go as well.

I personally think that nothing screams ‘Murica more than thousands of loud, shiny 2-wheeled stallions ridden by men in helmets or merely bandanas and sunglasses on bikes ranging from choppers to full-dressed cruisers with women of wildly varied levels of attractiveness, decorum and let’s face it, weight class. You are almost guaranteed to get flipped off and flashed at least once during this event. The problem is that some of the “flashers” would be well advised to keep them under the shirt.

It is truly a sight and a “people watcher’s” paradise.

Today, as my peaceful road morphed into a crowd of motorcycles I was in no hurry. I let them pass. I respect them and know how to keep my distance. I was now on a different road. Memory Lane.

I once had a bike, and although it was only for a brief, fleeting period it was one of the happiest times of my life. Every time I think about my riding days I’m not going to lie, I get a bit aroused. Seem unusual? Not when you hear this story.

In 1987 I worked at a local supermarket. I had been there for many years and had been promoted to Receiving Manager. The RM is the guy who takes deliveries from vendors and makes sure no monkey business is happening. I dealt with bread guys, the Hostess Guy, the milk guy etc., everything went through me. It was a great job. In the summer months, I would ride my motorcycle, a glimmering Honda CB650 which was a real nice bike in its day and park it on the loading dock so that I could keep an eye on it. It made me happy.

One vendor in particular was the Leggs pantyhose driver. I don’t think they are around anymore but in the day they sold their pantyhose in egg-shaped containers. They were also notorious for almost exclusively hiring smoking hot women to drive their trademark Vans. Our driver was no exception. Cheryl was a gorgeous woman of about 33 years old when I met her (I was 22). Five foot nothing, blonde hair, a cute smile and a posterior cortex that would make Perez Hilton straight (OK I exaggerate). Every time she made a delivery, she would progressively escalate her flirtatiousness towards me a little more. I was helpless to stop it. When she walked away, I truly couldn’t take my eyes off of her. How’s the saying go? “I hate to see you go but I love to watch you leave?”

One day, she motioned to my motorcycle outside and asked me if it was mine. I told her it was. Her reply floored me. “I like motorcycles, it’s something big between my legs.”

My only response, after rolling my tongue up and forcing it back into my mouth was “I”m taking lunch soon, care to join?”

She looked at me and began walking out the back door. Transfixed as always by her gait, I was surprised when she did a hair flip, looked over her shoulder and said “meet me in my van.”

to be continued…

38,325 days…a life truly lived. Cont’d

If you missed the first 2 installments of my tribute to my amazing Grandmother you can catch up here and here,

If having a normal childhood and maintaining friendships was possible to this point was challenging for my mother, it would prove to be a walk in the park after Mom’s recovery. This only suffered in comparison to when Mom started dating. When a young man “came-a-courtin” as my Grandfather so eloquently phrased it, he was subjected to a grilling that made the Spanish Inquisition look like a job interview. Marion wanted to know the entire family tree and required notarized copies of financials, in triplicate, before anyone would date her daughter. My grandfather thankfully balanced it out and usually managed to reassure the hapless young men that their testicles were safe…at least for the moment. Needless to say, Mom didn’t go on many dates, at least ones Marion knew about. It was just too much work for her and the poor guy. Of course, no man ever worried about his future reproductive viability than my Dad.

Mom was raised “middle middle-class” despite Marion’s attempts to present otherwise. Marion believed that if you carried yourself according to your aspirations then it would happen. Due to a lack of savings, Grandpa’s penchant for a new car every few years and a couple of failed business ventures they never graduated from that small but very nice, and homey, house North of Boston. Unfazed, Marion remained proper, well-dressed and impeccable of reputation.

I can only imagine her reaction when Mom brought home the handsome, hard-working boy from the “other side of the tracks” to meet the parents.

It wasn’t long before she found out that he wasn’t just from a poor family, but had come from a long line of poor families. When I say poor, I mean dirt floors and plastic on the windows poor. She did not approve of the pedigree at all. But Mom put her foot down, continued to date him and Marion would soon realize that her daughter was growing up despite her efforts to the contrary and that Billy Mac senior was not the type to be underestimated. He wasn’t going anywhere.

My dad may have been from the other side of town but he was by no means a typical resident. While raised in abject poverty, he was determined to break the cycle. He worked several jobs, earned and saved and most importantly treated my mother like a Princess. Marion eventually came to respect him. Mel really liked my Dad from day one, of course, he loved everyone. He would end up being the only one in his family to really make anything of himself, Marion either saw that or just had faith…as unlikely as that scenario is. In 1964, my dad on leave from Army training stateside at Fort Sam Houston, Texas they were married. In the wedding pictures, I can see a slight look of approval on Marion’s face.

She may not have had she known that I was in the picture as well, hidden neatly under the wedding dress.

Mom had to break the news to Marion that she was pregnant eventually, but if my understanding of the events is correct, no one really did the math after I was born. I was technically a “preemie.” In the summer of 1965, my very pregnant mother worried every day about my dad being sent overseas to Vietnam, His unit was notified in June that they would be called. Marion was doing everything in her power to keep mom away from all media. With regards to Vietnam, the news was all bad, She was unsuccessful and out of nervousness or panic, mom went into labor. When I entered the world, my dad was reassigned stateside where he would serve out the remainder of his enlistment. He visited us as often as he could.

Marion would become the backbone of her entire family until Dad came home. A role she was born to play.

to be continued…

A bitter anniversary

For the last year, I have made wondrous progress in reconciling with my past. I have tried to get away from negativity, to stop beating myself up over mistakes made and poor decisions. Be that as it may, today is the 2 year anniversary of the worst decision of my life. 2 years ago today, I ignored my inner voice and better judgment and left the best job I ever had for what I thought was a better opportunity. There is no doubt in my mind that, had I not done so, I would be in a very different place right now.

I have spoken often of the “best job of my life”. I romanticized it a bit, truth be told there were some very difficult times, but in hindsight, it was more often great than not. After bouncing around in my career, making mostly upward and a few lateral changes in position I had a rare moment of good fortune. I just happened to meet someone looking for someone with my exact background. The initial interview was very exciting, I had never before felt so right about something. I was hired almost immediately and the owner made it clear that I would be given whatever I needed to establish and grow my own department. Who wouldn’t jump at an opportunity such as that?

It was a small company that was growing too fast when I joined them. It was a sub-prime auto loan company. By sub-prime it is understood that they dealt with people with poor to no credit. They were being inundated with repossessions and my short-term goal was to find an outlet for them; auction them off or remarket them to our dealer base. My long-term goal was to assist collections in determining the reason for the increase in defaults and try to find a way to stop the bleeding. I immediately found myself in a shitty situation. I would get tremendous opposition from the collections and sales departments who felt that I was meddling and feared that I would cost them money. Their paychecks weren’t predicated on losses, only on sales volume. I somehow managed to be very diplomatic, selective in the battles that I chose and eventually made them understand that I was there to help.

It eventually started clicking and my knowledge of appraising vehicles, my relationships with auctions all over the country and my work ethic made me a top manager in the first year. My biggest contribution ended up being problem-solving. I didn’t always have the answers but no one ever worked harder than I did to find one. In a building full of people able to make decisions, I became one of the only ones to follow through on them. The employees and dealers who we funded loans for, essentially making them our customers more than the debtors, came to appreciate and value my efforts. It came down to one essential ability that I had that you would think is common but strikingly not so…I knew how to talk to people and I worked with them, without hubris or bluster. It worked for everyone.

For a while, I almost thought it was too good to be true. Because I always think this way I waited patiently for the other shoe to drop. It didn’t take long. I soon saw the real personality of my manager, who I spent a lot of time with, and it wasn’t pretty. An accomplished man with the gift of gab, he really came across as a genuine and nice man. He was very good at his job. But underneath that exterior was an explosive temper and a very insecure personality. In short, he wanted me to be good but not as good as him. I could be smart, but not as smart as him. He was unpredictable in how he was offended and as volatile a man as I ever met. As I began to really establish myself, he became insanely jealous and tried to tear me down as often as he could for fear of becoming upstaged. I tolerated the closed-door meetings in which he would slyly try to put me down and sometimes burst out in angry tirades. For a while. Then I gave it back, sometimes in spades and our relationship deteriorated. We would be like this for the entire time I worked for the company. Overall, we got along more than we didn’t and we made it work.

It was difficult for me. As hard as it was to tolerate his megalomaniacal behavior, I both liked and needed the job. My relationship with the owner kept me grounded. A quiet, non-confrontational and highly intelligent man, the owner refused to get involved in personnel matters but he would always take care of me financially and he often referred to me in his distinguished class of businessman and clients as “the best in the business” at what I do.

Two years into my employment I hit a real downward slide. My ongoing financial woes, that I took with me upon hire and my health both came to a head at the same time. I had to declare bankruptcy, our house was foreclosed upon and we had to move. In addition, my illness progressed from maybe needing a transplant to definitely needing one. I would become increasingly ill for the next 2 years. While keeping up with my rigorous schedule, it was starting to take its toll. Until the greatest stroke of luck I ever had came my way.

A co-worker offered to donate a kidney to me. It would end up being a perfect match and she saved my life. In addition, my manager initiated a fund-raiser for me. The owner personally kicked in $15,000.00. I would end up getting the transplant before the fund-raiser. Deb and I limped in, a mere 7 days after our surgery, to a huge room filled with friends, family, and co-workers. I have to give my GM credit, he really stepped up for me. But little did I know that his gratitude would be a permanent wedge in our relationship. He held the fund-raiser over my head mercilessly.

As generous as Deb’s gift was, the only one who made me feel guilty was my manager. Whenever I appeared ungrateful, to be determined by him, I would get beaten down for my lack of reverence. Other than recovering, coming back to work in a mere 33 days total, and working harder than ever I will never be clear on the source of his animosity. But as I said before, the good days outnumbered the bad and I loved the job. I was a key player, I was in a position to help people, I was well-known and respected in my industry and earning a good living. I would stay for 9 years.

Towards the end of my ninth year, the company started getting visitors. Those visitors were involved in a lot of closed-door meetings that I wasn’t invited to. As it would turn out, the company was being sold. Not the worst news, many companies sell. But this buyer intended on liquidating us. Some knew some didn’t, but 2 months later everyone would hear that in April of 2016 we would write our last loan. The entire sales and most of the administrative staff was summarily let go with no notice and a very weak severance check. My GM was among those let go, he was livid, to say the least. I was asked to stay indefinitely because my role was a clean-up position and I was needed now more than ever.

My GM was so upset, due to a combination of embarrassment and not being consulted with in the process that he went on a tirade. He made a hell of a scene on his way out the door and conducted a serious phone campaign after to pull any remaining employees away. Myself included.

I was experiencing many powerful emotions. I was sad for the fate of my company. I was upset over the good friends that lost their jobs. I was relieved that I was safe for the moment but aware that it was definitely temporary. In the interim, I negotiated my terms for the immediate future.

At the same time, a good friend who had left the company a year before called me. He would never recruit me before, but now that the job was defunct it was perfectly legitimate to see if I wanted to join. I would be Operations Manager of a large finance company that specialized in financing motorcycles. The job was perfect for me. 3 interviews and 3 weeks later I was offered a position. I asked for an offer letter. It took them 9 days to provide one and I was very turned off by this. My wife and I were arguing, she thought I should stay and ride it out, I argued that I was on a sinking ship and I had a chance at a new beginning. Add to this mix my former GM calling me constantly urging me to take the job, joining him in sticking it to the company that wronged him. He put a lot of pressure on me. My decision was made when my present company immediately cut my pay. When the offer came I jumped at it.

I ended up working for the worst manager in history. Controlling, arrogant, unaccepting of any input than what spewed out of his fat, donut-stuffed mouth. It was a horrible experience. My staff loved me, I could do the job, but he was unbearable. I think he’s mentally ill. Speaking of ill, my new kidney began to fail and I started to miss a lot of work. The days of working for a company that cared for me and worked around my illness were long gone. I was laid off 3 months in. I had made a huge mistake.

I could have stayed at my previous company for years. They are still open, collecting on their portfolio. I’m not sure how long they would have kept me, but I know that I would have earned for a while longer and they would have worked with me as I dealt with my health issues.

Today is a day that is hard to just pretend never happened, regardless of how hard I try.

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 2^nd 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 mystery text…part deux

Approximately a year after I became sales manager Eric’s performance had reached an all-time low. His daughter was at the peak of her illness, his marriage was in disarray, he was missing work by starting late and leaving early. I suspected that he was drinking heavily due to the bags under his eyes and a noticeable weight gain. Never was it harder for me to walk the line between friend and manager. Up until this point we had made it work, he was receptive to my input and appreciated my attention to his performance. In turn, I treated him with the respect that a man of his experience deserved and I was as lenient as I could be with regards to the number of appointments he was committed to as the ordeal with his daughter continued on. Family court, doctors, and lawyers all work 9-5 and I couldn’t stand in his way in this difficult time. It soon became clear, however, that his work, and consequently my department was suffering. My leadership would soon be called into question.

Little Machiavelli, as Eric and I jokingly called him, summoned me to a meeting with the owner. The topic du jour was Eric’s performance. The owner was a very nice, highly intelligent man who knew everything about his business numbers wise. The rest he relied on my manager for. This relationship was at the center of all of the problems I had with the company. The owner was fed daily doses of one-sided information, carefully crafted to build up the performance of my manager while carefully chipping away at the accomplishments of the other players…like me. In addition, he ran some solid defense in not allowing us access to the owner, insisting on following the “chain of command”, aka the wall of misinformation. I sat before my two supervisors and patiently listened to a long list of things I already knew. Eric’s sales numbers were way down. He looked disheveled and overtired. His customers had been calling in more often, which usually suggested a rep wasn’t making his rounds. None of this was news to me. I was told that disciplinary action was in order. I had been expecting this but the dread that consumed me was as if it came out of the blue. It was also not lost on me that both of my supervisors had never, ever reprimanded him during Eric’s entire career because they were both extremely non-confrontational. I was to be the heavy. I told them that I would write up a disciplinary action proposal, sit him down in person and give him terms. We agreed that he would be subject to a 90-day probation period at the end of which time he would be deemed, by me, as satisfactory or unemployed.

I called Eric and asked him to come into the office the next morning before he started his rounds. He wanted to know why. I explained that I had to review some things with him and left it at that. I didn’t sleep that night. I hadn’t had to be the heavy up to this point and while certainly capable of the role, I didn’t like it. My style was one of collaboration, hands-on assistance and to lead by example. I had disciplined employees before, but not one that I cared as deeply about.

The next morning arrived and I was in early doing my daily reports. Eric had come in without my knowledge and was in my GM’s office. My first instinct was that he was fishing for information about why he was called in. My GM dutifully called me and I went in, made small talk for a few minutes and then asked Eric to join me in the conference room. I was nervous and extremely uncomfortable with the task at hand so I got right to it. I handed him my written disciplinary action which listed in great detail the concerns we had with his performance with statistics to support it. I sat in silence as he read it. At several points, he offered up objections but I was ready with a fact to support my position. Finally, he finished reading it, looked up defeatedly and asked: “Where do we go from here?”

I explained to him that he was grounded for the next three months. He was to be in the office, with me, working his customers from inside. He would leave only by a verified and legitimate appointment. It was explained that I would do whatever I could to help him and to count on my support. It was further explained that I would decide after those 90 days if he still had a job. It was painful for me to say the least. To his credit, he made no excuses and offered no arguments. Amazingly, he said, “This must be hard for you.” Interesting take, as accurate as it was, that he was concerned about me at this point. I accommodated him:

“This is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do” I admitted.

The next 90 days were painful. It was difficult for him to be “grounded” and he struggled with the micro-management. I did my part and worked with him to rebuild his client base, making calls and visits when needed. His numbers began to turn around. As the deadline approached, I was again summoned by my GM regarding his fate. Was he doing the work? Has his attitude improved? Do you want to keep him on? I explained that I did want to keep him. I was then told, shockingly, that I didn’t have the “balls” to let him go. My response was “I’m the only one with enough balls to write him up. You sure didn’t.” This pissed him off to no end and I was told to do whatever I wanted. And I did. I told Eric the next morning that his job was secure and that my assistance would continue if needed. His response almost knocked me off of my chair. “Thank you, Bill,” he said. “You saved me when I couldn’t.”

We became even stronger at that point. Many things would happen after that. I would later be removed from sales because my previous department fell apart in my absence. Eric would be given my old job and we were true peers again, co-managers. He would deal with Little Machiavelli as I did and eventually would quit because of him. But we always stayed in touch until last year.

Our conversation would reveal that he is doing very well professionally and has a very nice girlfriend. While his daughter is still a tremendous emotional burden to him, the situation is “stable” so he is dealing with it. He was in a good place. It occurred to me that the tables have turned. I once sat across from him at the lowest point in his life, in a position of power. Today, he sat across from me as my life was at its lowest point ever. He had no power over me, but he is clearly doing much better than I. And he was kind. A lesser man may take advantage of my situation. I decided that I had to address the elephant in the room.

“You know, my Facebook post wasn’t intended to make anyone feel bad for me. That’s not me.”

“I know that. But your post reminded me that you were out there. That you weren’t feeling well. That maybe you needed a friend. You know, like you were to me.”

I thanked him for reaching out to me. He responded, “You’re one of the few people that I smile every time I think about. I needed to reach out to you, it’s the least I can do.”

He paid the tab, his theory was that now I owed him one and a second lunch was now guaranteed. I thanked him and we walked to the cars.

On the ride home, I marveled at how much he and I had been through together. I fondly remembered my working days. The good and the bad flashed through my mind as I drove. It seems so long ago, the days when my days were full of meetings, I was called upon to make decisions, my presence was felt and my absence was noticed. I accomplished things. My, how my life has changed. To imagine that it was only a mere 10 months ago.

Eric’s text reminded me of one thing, there are people who still care about me out there. That in itself provides hope where there once seemed to be none. I look forward to our next meeting.

The mystery text

Hey, I am a bachelor this weekend. I’m staying with my girlfriend in Dover but she has art class from 8-4 Sat and Sun. I want to meet you for lunch and catch up.

I stare at my phone, No name and I don’t recognize the number. This person clearly knows me. After pondering the myriad of negative consequences of responding “who the hell is this” I went ahead and did it anyway. Who is this? It’s ten O’clock at night and I now have to wait and see if I’ve just offended an old friend. In need of immediate gratification, I hoped that I would get an answer soon.

While I impatiently waited for my answer, it occurred to me that I recently lost my phone and all of my contacts. I’m terrible with phone numbers and spoiled by the option of going into “contacts” and just pushing the button next to the name. Obsessing, I sent another text. Lost my phone recently and most of my contacts, sorry if I don’t recognize the number. Who is this?

It’s Eric.

Eric, former co-worker and good friend. A relic from my past life. We chatted by text for a few and set up a lunch for the following Saturday. After we concluded I found myself experiencing a rare emotion, anticipation. I haven’t had much to look forward to lately. It will be good to see him.

I arrived at the restaurant on time. I had suggested the restaurant, a local watering hole with good burgers and cheap beer. At 26 miles door to door, it was still the closest place for me to go to drink beer and people-watch. As I walked in, Eric waved to me from the far corner of the room. He looked the same as always; moon-faced, greying hair, big belly and a genuine smile. I walked over, said hi and he stood to greet me. Fuck the handshake, I gave him a man-hug.

As we sat, he immediately commented on my appearance. He had never seen me with a beard. The last time he saw me, I was clean-shaven, in pressed pants, a 75 dollar shirt and shiny shoes. It makes sense that the pallid, scraggly bearded guy in jeans and a sweatshirt, shivering despite it being 65 degrees out may have unsettled him a bit.

We made small talk for a while. He asked a bunch of questions about my “transition to NH life” but they were really all thinly veiled attempts to find out what the hell had happened to me. After some small talk I finally asked him “so, what prompted this invite?”

“Well, I think of you often regardless of how often we actually speak. And I do follow you on Facebook” his voice fading towards the end as if to convey a hint. I got it immediately, he had seen the link to an article I had posted recently. It was an infuriating article about CKD (Chronic Kidney Disease) patients and dialysis patients being “entitled” and not as sick as people think. Written by a dialysis nurse, it was a senseless and incredibly insensitive affront to all who suffer from an invisible illness. It pissed me off enough to share with the caption “really? because it’s kicking my ass right now.” Because I have been basically nonexistent on Facebook lately, this post stood out to Eric and grabbed his attention. I felt bad, I’m not one of those people that post their laundry on FB to elicit sympathy or pity. I posted it out of frustration.

I was at that point sitting in front of the last person on earth that I would ever complain to. Eric has been through so much in his life, not the least of which being his daughter is dying of Anorexia. For as long as I have known him, his daughter has been sick and it has torn him apart. He has resigned himself to the fact that she will never recover. She has failed to thrive outside of a hospital environment in 6 years and her current situation is considered permanent. As a fellow father and friend, I have always felt compelled to ask him about her. He knows that I have a “is it better to ask or not mention it?” mentality and I lean towards asking because I want him to know that I care. He always responds with something along the lines of “I’m losing her.” It breaks my heart to this day. Yet, here he is sitting across the table worried about me.

He wanted details, so I gave them to him. Straight to the point, no holds barred, I spared no detail about the events of the last 10 months. He listened patiently, asked the occasional question, sipped his coffee and picked at his Reuben. He was clearly taken back by my accounting of recent events. I shifted the conversation to him. I asked about his daughter. He updated me, there was no change. She was in a psychiatric ward with little likelihood of leaving. I could see the heartache on his face. After a brief pause, he changed the subject to the good old days at the office.

We talked for at least an hour about work. We talked of memories of our time there and the characters we worked with. We rehashed funny stories and updated each other on the whereabouts and antics of some shared contacts. It was a fun trip down memory lane. But in the back of my mind, I was flashing back to some of the incredibly powerful moments he and I had shared, some good and many not so good. As we spoke, I was transported to another time. A time that seemed so long ago but was less than a year. The days when I was working, contributing and feeling good.

We had worked together for nine years. It was a tumultuous time for both of us. He had been there years before me and was “king of the hill” in the sales department. By the time I joined the company, he was struggling and his relationship with our mutual superior was strained. Over the years, we formed a bond over our disdain for the megalomaniacal, Machiavellian despot with a Napoleon complex we called “boss”. Despite not being in sales, I helped Eric with his accounts when possible. I saved a few for him and it helped forge a solid bond. That was a fortunate turn because I would be promoted to be his manager after 3 years and it can be an awkward situation transitioning from co-worker to subordinate. He took it in stride and in turn, I treated him with the respect that he deserved. We became close friends. That friendship would soon face a mighty test.

to be continued…