Different Priorities

Pretty Flowers

Here’s a true story that will, a) mean nothing to anybody but me, and b) has no real point to it - both of which, I guess, make it a perfect story for this blog...

Many years ago, I worked for a guy I’ll call “Bruce”. Bruce was hired to be my boss - and not just my boss, but the boss of everyone that worked at this particular place of business. The problem for me was, since I happened to be higher up on the food chain than anyone else, I was the one who worked most directly with Bruce.

Not long after Bruce was hired, a rumor developed that I resented Bruce because he, and not I, was put in the position of running the division where we both now worked (or maybe I should say, “where we were both now employed”). I think this was at best, only partially true - but it was nothing personal. I didn’t resent Bruce because he was my boss. If I resented Bruce at all, it was only because he had no clue what he was doing.

Because of his lack of whatever it was he was lacking, much of my time was taken up either doing the work myself - or undoing the few things which Bruce attempted to take care of on his own. I guess it was fortunate that this rarely happened.

At the time, Bruce was (and presumably still is) married to a woman who somehow got into the hat business on a part time basis. I don’t remember what her “real” job was, but whatever it was, it left her enough time to sell hats to people in her spare time. These hats were along the lines of baseball caps embroidered with little league team or company logos - stuff like that. As I recall, she would order these hats a few at a time from somewhere in China - and this was before ordering things from China was all anybody ever did. Anyway, in the evenings, Bruce would often help her in some capacity with her part-time hat selling venture.

One day at work, Bruce got it in his head that he was going to take care of a particular customer order “all by himself.” And even though I offered to help, it was, he said, something he could handle alone and I didn’t need to get involved - which, amazingly, was how it should have been all along.

The particular order that I didn’t need to be involved with, involved measuring for, and ordering forty-thousand dollars worth of doors. I don’t know exactly how many doors constituted an order worth forty-thousand dollars - but I’m pretty sure it was a lot.

The good thing was, I was told, all the doors were the exact same size - you measure for one door and you’ve measured them all. The bad thing was, I was not told (but thought), if you make a mistake, you just screwed up forty-thousand dollars worth of doors.

This was going to be a big money maker, I was told, because, not only were all the doors all the same size, but all “we” had to do was place the order - and when the forty-thousand dollars worth of doors were ready, the doors would ship directly to the contractor. This meant no storing them, no handling them - nothing. All we had to worry about was what we were going to do with the ginormous pile of profits that would be pouring in from this money maker. This is how it’s done, I was told - many, many times.

One morning, after waiting six or eight weeks for this door order to arrive, Bruce got a call from the less-than-happy contractor. It seems the doors had finally arrived but apparently, Bruce had made a mistake (see: ‘the bad thing” from above). All the doors were the wrong size.

Suddenly “we” were no longer worrying about how we were going to be spending our ginormous amount of profits. Suddenly “we” were instead wondering how such a thing could possibly have happened.

It was instant havoc. Phones were ringing, threats were being made, and since this was back-in-the-day, faxes were being faxed. I watched in semi-disbelief while all of this was happening. I did not have the acute business acumen which Bruce clearly had - but even still, I was beginning to get the impression that maybe this isn’t really “how it’s done.”

In the ensuing days and weeks, much effort was spent trying to, a) find a solution to this problem (which didn’t involve replacing forty-thousand dollars worth of doors, plus waiting another six or eight weeks) and, b) trying to figure out how this was someone else’s fault.

This problem eventually got resolved. How, I don’t remember - because, thank god, I wasn't involved. However it was resolved, I only know that it was stressful and costly - though importantly, not for me.

What I do remember about all of this is that somewhere in the midst of this fiasco, a now continually stressed-out Bruce came into work one morning, already spewing off about anything and everything - including his wife - and complaining that (and I quote), “I’ve got some guy trying to shove forty-thousand dollars worth of doors up my ass and all she wants to talk about are f’in* hats." (*Substitute any f-word you like).

There weren’t many times, if any, I felt sorry for Bruce. He could be kind of a know-it-all blowhard, someone who had all the answers, and wouldn’t listen to any advice - no matter how delicately it was offered. But even so, on that particular morning, I almost kind of felt bad for him. It was a lot of stress to be under - plus it was a heck of a lot of doors.

Another Grocery Story

What you're seeing in the above blurry photo, beyond the snow shovels, the bench and the stylish grocery bags, is a blank wall. Why is this of interest? Well, I guess it's not.

This was taken at what used to be our favorite grocery store but has lately become ("lately" as in the last several years) just another place for me to complain about.

It used to be a place I would enjoy going with the kids. The place was brightly lit, the atmosphere was pleasant, and often, there were smiling, sometimes familiar faces of the folks that worked there.

It was way more uplifting than it is now (if "uplifting" can be used to describe a grocery store). Now, the store is more dimly lit (unless that's just a problem with my eyesight), only a few people are recognizable (and not in a good way) and no one looks particularly happy.

Part of this, I'm sure, is me. I'm no longer accompanied by the clown car-like carriage filled with little kids - hands darting in all directions as I make my way up and down the isles. But even when the kids were older, it was still fun.

Now, I don't look forward to it - at least not like I did in the "good old days". Oh, the shopping is fine. And I can put up with the less-festive, more dimly lit atmosphere. I can even do without recognizing anyone (which might actually be a plus). But it's the check-out I hate. I guess it's the check-out I've always hated. It's just that lately, they seem to be rubbing my face in it.

This wall is just the latest example.

Since I avoid (like the plague) the self-check-outs (let's not get me started on that), I'm forced to wait in the ever-growing lines of the few registers they bother to open. While waiting in these endless lines, the one, possibly "entertaining", aspect of it used to be looking over at this wall.

The wall used to display 8x10 photos of allegedly valued employees - people such as the store manager, the assistant managers, heads of departments - people of that ilk. What was fun was watching how often these photos changed. One or two of those people were lifers - meaning they somehow lasted more than a couple of years - so those photos stayed up - though not necessarily in the same order.

For some unknown reason, the order of the photos would randomly change. Maybe the order was some kind of threat. Who knows? Every visit would be like a game show. Who was up? Who was down?

Other photos came and went with abandon. Sometimes, when an employee was presumably teetering on becoming an ex-employee, they didn't even bother to take their photo down - they would just tape a piece of paper over it. What was that about? Were they already out the door - or was it just a warning? Maybe it was some poor (or lucky) soul's last day - and this is how they prepped them for the soon-to-come bad news.

But now all the pictures are gone. Apparently, the head of whoever sets policy for this place, must have caught onto the fact that somebody was still managing to squeeze a drop of enjoyment out of their shopping experience - and therefore, they ordered all photos to be removed immediately.

Or maybe they couldn't keep up with the increasingly frenetic pace of employee turnover.  Whatever the reason, they're all gone. They even took out the hooks.

From now on, all I have to look forward to is the anxiety-filled dread of who I will be lucky enough to get for a cashier. Much like the recently departed photos, gone too are the familiar, semi-friendly faces of the cashiers I once almost knew - or, at least, almost knew well enough to be able to say hello to, without having to worry about what their reaction might be.

Instead, those cashiers of long ago have been replaced by a rotating series of sometimes indifferent, often disgruntled, rough looking individuals - possibly on some ill-conceived work release program, possibly getting paid in cigarettes.

Maybe that's why they took the photos down. Nobody smiles anymore.

One Final Visit

Sam and I made what is likely to be our last visit to a local discount food store on Saturday, and we're both a little depressed about it. This place, like many places, holds an emotional attachment that is way out of proportion to what it would be for normal people. It is, after all, only a store - and a not very attractive store, at that. At least, not attractive on a superficial level.

This store sells (or sold) a variety of groceries. Some were overstock items from, well, for the most part, I'm not really sure where. Some items would have labels from mystery stores - stores that were, presumably, outside of our area.

Often, we would find items a manufacturer had discontinued - sometimes for good reason, sometimes not. But you might never know the reasons why they were discontinued -  unless you were willing to roll the dice.

In the instances where we were intrigued enough to try something new, it was often a mixed blessing. We either hated it, which was almost a relief, or we liked it. The problem with trying something new and liking it was that there was a better chance than not that we would never find that item again. Every visit thereafter would involve searching for our now nonexistent white whale.

But the thing is, most of the time - by far, I don't think Sam and I (or his brother or his sisters, for that matter) ever went there because we needed anything special. We went there because it was an excuse to "run errands", an excuse to get out of the house, and an excuse to spend some time together.

We would go and rummage around, maybe find something interesting, maybe not. But all the while, we would be making small talk - sometimes about what we were finding, often about other things going on in life. As with most places, where we happened to be was beside the point.

On this final visit, Sam and I searched around together on the now-sparse shelves, searching for mementos - last minute souvenirs of things we really didn't need.

We talked about some of our past visits, and about some of our memories here. We talked about being sad to see the place closing. We talked about how we liked this place and how we'll miss it.

And it's odd because, like so many places, it holds an out-sized emotional attachment for us - even though, in the end, it's only a store.

Quiet Night Music Video

Consider this another, "I'm still around but too tired to write" post. With that in mind...

There's a lot of versions of this out there and it's hard for me to decide which one to go with. Let's start with this one...

Things I Get Stuck Behind on My Way to Work

I normally post these things without comment but in this case, I wanted to make sure you noticed the roll of hay precariously hanging off the right end of the flatbed. 

Thank god there's a strap on it and thank god that strap is holding something nice and solid, like a big roll of hay - as opposed to strapping down something fibrous, which might be prone to falling apart as you drive along on a windy morning.

(Not shown in photo: The random pieces of hay which keep bouncing off my windshield.)

Morning Meeting

I'll be heading into work a little late today. Instead, I'm sitting here in the early morning hours, going over notes in preparation for a meeting I have this morning with an agency that helps support Sam in his job at the High School. I hoping this meeting goes better than the last one.

I'm sure I've posted about this before, but just in case...

Sam has been with this agency for quite a while but, until last March, he was getting support out of a different office. All that changed when he turned twenty-two and was no longer considered a student. When that happened, his "case" (I hate that term) was transferred to a local branch - and let's just say, the transition was a little bumpy.

One of the great things about the other branch was that they had worked closely with Sam for quite a while. So when they were going on job searches and job interviews with him, they knew him well enough to know what jobs would work well for him - and maybe more importantly, they knew what jobs would not work well for him. More than one job was turned down because they knew it would likely end in disaster - possibly with long term ramifications, at least for Sam.

When he transferred to this new place, even though he was (and is, thankfully) employed, I was (and always will be, I'm sure) worried about what would happen in the hopefully unlikely event that Sam loses his job. How would they be able to support him in finding another job if they didn't know anything about him? I wanted to have a meeting to discuss Sam and to discuss my concerns. But for reasons I will not mention here, (I'm looking at you, Former Director), it did not go well.

Anyway, today is a new day (aren't they all?) and I am sitting here waiting to go to this meeting before heading into work. Today, I hope, it should be easier. It's a New Director - and anyway, I'm "only" going to get some information about another possible program that may, hopefully, benefit Sam.

I hope we all have a good day today.

How I Spend My Time - Part III (2020 Edition)

While I was at work today, I got the following email from Sam's supervisor...

Just wanted you to know that one of the ladies that we work with at the HS son in-law died on Monday. Obviously she hasn't been in working, she is hoping to be back on Tuesday. We have not been talking about it until today.We had a card and Sam signed it. Sam started asking me questions about how old he was and what had happened. I let him know that he was only in his late 30's far to young. I also told him I didn't know what happened. Just wanted to give you a heads up in case, when she comes back, she says anything that he overhears.
Let me know if there is anything I can do. We try to watch what we talk about but things slip out sometimes when we are out back in the kitchen.

I know things like this are sometimes on Sam's mind - whether he lets them out or not (like when he writes to Santa, for instance).  Because this is such a weighty subject, I spent a fair amount of time writing her a long response.

After starting to post the response, I changed my mind and decided not to, at least, not right now. It essentially boiled down to thank-you for letting me know and thank-you for, once again being so sensitive to Sam's needs.

I hesitate to be positive about stuff like this because I will often end up eating my words as soon as they drop out of my mouth. That said, I'm so glad that Sam has such a thoughtful supervisor, one who, not only is in tune with who he is, but also keeps me informed when it comes to these kinds of things. Sam's lucky... and so am I.

How I Spend My Time - Part II (2020 Edition)

Sam gets a little financial assistance every month from SSI. The amount he gets varies from month to month depending on how much he earned at his job two months earlier. At the beginning of every following month, I need to report his wages for the month before. Sometimes the amount is a little, sometimes it's even less than a little. Once in a while, it may be nothing at all.

In the month of November, because of the way the weeks fell, Sam had an extra payday. This meant that Sam brought home more money than he normally would have. I want to stress, we're not talking anywhere near big bucks. I'm not even sure we're talking little bucks, but that's irrelevant. All that matters is, it was more.

What this meant was, come the month of January, because of the big bucks he made in November, he shouldn't be receiving any assistance at all.

For some unknown reason, last Tuesday, I went online and I checked the balance in Sam’s account. Lo and behold, there had been a deposit made from SSI on that very day. I couldn't figure out what this was all about.

First of all, he shouldn't have been getting anything that month. And second of all, anytime he has received any assistance, it has always been received on the first of the month (unless the first of the month were a holiday. If it was a holiday, then it would have been the first business day, the day before.) This deposit was made on the seventh. This didn't make any sense. Not only that, the dollar amount didn't match up with any of the admittedly vaguely-accurate records I keep. It didn't match up with anything.

So the next day, Wednesday, I called SSI - which as you may or may not know, is easier said than done. First of all, you have to get through the detailed menu before you can even get to the recorded announcement. The announcement tells you that, due to the heavy call volume (or something), there is a wait time of "up to fifteen minutes". I used to believe that this meant that you might wait as long as fifteen minutes. I have long since found that this message has no bearing on reality.

If you're not cut off immediately, you then get put on hold, where you're entertained by scratchy, zero-fidelity "music", which I think is being played off of an old 75 rpm Victrola. To break up the monotony, they keep interrupting about every forty-five seconds, or so, with a recording offering helpful advice, such as saying that you might be better off going on their website. (Tip: you won't be.).

To make it even more exciting, each time, right before this announcement, there's a ringing of the phone that kicks in, leading you to (foolishly) think that someone might be picking up the call. Generally speaking, they won't be. All of this, I believe, is designed to weed out the weak (of which, I am one - so it's not working). Often, after somewhere around twenty plus minutes, a new recording kicks in and tells you to try again later - then you get cut off.

I went through this a few times on Wednesday before I was finally able to connect to a living person. After the living person took all of my and Sam's personal information, I explained the situation to this living person and said that I was pretty sure that the money that got deposited, wasn't Sam's. I even explained my so-called logic.

(As an aside, feel free to assume that this was highly honest and noble of me - even though you would be wrong. Very wrong. The reality is, I know this would catch up with me at some point, and as screwed as I might be right now, I'm sure they could, and would, screw me over even worse later on.)

So the living person eventually looked at the last few months of reporting and she couldn't quite figure it out either. Ultimately, she decided that yes, I probably need to pay it back and said that I would be receiving paperwork in the next couple of weeks. In hindsight, this may or may not have been to shut me up.

Anyway, that was that. Problem solved.

The next day, Thursday, I came home from work a little early and there, on the dining room table, was a mailing from SSI. I knew this couldn't have anything to do with the phone call from the day before. Nobody, certainly not SSI, moves this quickly.

I figured this was no big deal, probably just a typical monthly notification about Sam's pay. Wrong. Well, not entirely. Technically it was an adjustment to Sam's pay - but not the usual acknowledgment of what I had reported earlier.

According to this mailing, Sam had been overpaid not only in November, but also in December - and by a fairly substantial amount - and this mailing essentially said, "Pay Up". (The "or else" was implied.)

Since there was still about an hour and a half before the SSI office closed, I attempted to make another phone call to get this obviously mistaken notification straightened out.

I can't remember whether it was two or if it was three times of dealing with the typical "on hold" routine, but eventually, after about about forty-five minutes and however many tries, I was finally connected to someone.

Like the day before, this living person took all my information and then asked why I was calling. Also like yesterday, I explained the situation and how it obviously had to be a mistake - their mistake. She dutifully listened and then asked if she could put me on hold for a minute. "Sure." I said... and the phone went to (almost) dead air. I listened for maybe another minute and a half or so (in addition to the aforementioned forty-five minutes of trying to get through), and then I heard a very faint sound, not unlike a spring going "boing" - and after that - nothing.

Was I cut off? I couldn't tell. I waited. And I waited. And I waited.

Nothing. Meanwhile, the clock was ticking down closer to the end of their day. Soon, all the SSI employees would be heading out to the bar, to tell  stories and laugh at all of the people that got cut off today. (Note: if you work for SSI, just kidding.)

I stayed on the phone a little longer, just in case the obvious hadn't just happened, but since I was on the house phone, I decided to also call back on my cell phone. Once again, I was met with the menu. Once again, I was left listening to the scratchy music.

Finally, FINALLY, with about twenty minutes left before their office closed, I connected to some gentleman (I'll give him the benefit of the doubt) who spoke with a heavy accent. In my now heightened state of panic and with my not-great hearing, combined with the few remaining minutes to get this addressed before having to go through this all over again, probably tomorrow, for a third day in a row - I may have begun talking a little loudly.

Alleged Gentleman once again took all of my information and I once again explained the problem - their problem and after looking at what he felt were the facts, he proceed to explain to me, or rather, attempted to explain to me,  why, according to their super-secret rule #185, I was wrong, and they were right and I owed this money back.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I kept asking him to explain the logic of this, trying to get it to sink in. I won't get into a lot of detail (mostly because I don't understand it all) but let's just say that, a) both our voices were getting louder and louder and I was being called "sir" a lot, and b) if I understand it correctly, super-secret rule #185 involves a chicken sitting in a barn on an odd numbered Tuesday.

After several heated moments (because that was all the time we had left) it was decided that neither I, nor the mailing, were completely correct. The mailing was only partially correct in that I only owe a portion of that money back - the more substantial part, naturally. The other portion, apparently, I do not owe (unless he was just saying this so he could get off the phone and get to the bar).

What about the chunk of money I called about the day before, the money I originally thought was incorrectly deposited in Sam's account? According to Alleged Gentleman, there doesn't seem to be any answer to this. Why was this? Was this wiped out because of my conversation with the woman the day before - or am I somehow going to be thrown in jail for not responding properly to this mystery money. Who knows? If so, this is looking like a pretty appealing option.

Alleged Gentleman said that I could either pay for only the portion I owe right now, and ignore the remainder - or I could wait for revised paperwork to show up and then pay the amount I owe at that time. (I can't remember what it is, but there's a term for a situation, where you have to choose between two awful possibilities. Whatever it is, it applies to this.)

I know if I pay the money now, but not in full (at least according to the current paperwork), it will be a problem. If I wait for the other alleged paperwork to show up, and then pay it, I am trusting that somebody will remember to actually send that alleged paperwork and that it might be accurate.

Which is worse, I don't know - but I decided to hold some kind of faith that the forthcoming paperwork will be something more than alleged - and that it will hopefully be accurate.

I can almost guarantee that this is the wrong decision - mostly because this is the decision I've made.

How I Spend My Time - Part I (2020 Edition)

I've been struggling off and on all week to write something about Sam's visit with his friend at the mall last Sunday - and I keep getting wrapped up in too many details about it - details that are important but in trying to cover all the ground, ultimately, it goes nowhere. But before I give up entirely, I wanted to say how enjoyable it’s been to see Sam connect to a peer - and connect on his level.

Last Sunday was the third time in his many months that Sam and his friend, along with me and his friend’s mom, have gotten together in as many months. The first two times, the boys got together to go bowling. On Sunday, they went bowling again, but unlike the last two times, this time it was at the mall. Afterwards, they went through the arcade together, then we all walked around for a bit

Along with it being enjoyable, it was interesting and gratifying to watch them and to help with interaction and communication between the two of them - especially since the two of them are not big communicators to begin with. (At least, Sam isn’t - and his friend seems to be very much the same.)

What was particularly interesting was the time the four of us spent walking around together, and helping these guys to connect on things where they seemed to feel the same way about something, but were sometimes missing cues from the other.

I won’t get into a lot, if any, detail - or I’ll never get this posted - but to offer a very poor analogy... at times it felt like his mom was on one side of them and I was on the other, and it was like the two of us were trying to gently fan two balloons, which at times were drifting near each other - but weren't quite connecting. It was more guiding than directing. I don't know how to explain it. It's something I can't quite articulate.

Whatever you call it, it was so nice to see them connecting.

As nice as the day was, maybe the most gratifying part of the day came later in the evening. When it got closer to bedtime. Sam got up to take his shower but before going upstairs, he stopped, thought for just a second, then said, “I had a good day today." And then he headed upstairs.

It’s very unusual for Sam to offer something like this unprompted, so this was a very big deal - a big deal - for the both of us. We both had a good day.

Today's Brief Update

I'm still here. Just been trapped in SSI hell the last couple of days. I'm sure it will all be better soon.

New Year's Day

Scenes from our first walk of the year...