Chapter Four Part One
Despite my words to the now previous boss, I was still feeling rather ill at ease as I pulled into the almost empty parking lot of the main office early that next morning. I thought of the things I had left unsaid, and came very close to correcting those omissions, when I found a box on my former desk already carefully packed with my collection of coffee cups, golf balls and matching tees, ashtrays, pens, paperweights, ball caps, finger nail clippers, and other miscellanea I had received over the years from both customers and suppliers. Missing were the business cards and thank you notes that came with those items as well as the cigarette lighters and my bottle of Visine. Apparently, in the eyes of the Company, I did not warrant business associates, gratitude, fire, nor even the ability "to get the red out".
Still thinking the things I had left unsaid, and, in fact, expanding upon them to a great degree, mostly in the direction of immoral, if not illegal, acts in most of the western hemisphere, and adding a few physical impossibilities as well, I put the box in the back of the Jeep and drove over to the next building to meet with the warehouse supervisor before the rest of the crew arrived.
I had worked for him a couple of times in years past, and after speaking with him for a short while that morning, found myself actually looking forward to doing so again. He was one of those rare few who lead by example rather than executive fiat. Always working harder himself than he asked anyone else to, he tacitly dared his people to try to keep up with him.
It was to be a physical job that, unlike than my last position which had mostly involved calming things down, would primarily deal with stacking things up. The variety of tasks I had been previously required to handle had been replaced with the uniformity of cardboard cartons. But, besides it being a job and source of income, it was also good honest work, the results of which were a little more apparent and tangible than just a clean desk and an absence of complaints.
I had worked side by side with a fair number of my new coworkers, as well as swilled a rather large amount of beer with them, both during and since my last stint in this department. Instead of me being "okay out there", I received more of a "Welcome Home". There wasn’t exactly a cake, but more the feeling that the prodigal son had returned. A lot of them held the office staff with disdain, considering them to be a lower form of life, in some cases with good reason; however, I always maintained that title should be reserved for high pressure sales staff and certain mid-managers.
The years I’d spent in the office, however, had taken their toll. I was a little more than a tad tuckered, and well past dishrag status when I got home after that first day. While I was feeling pretty good about what I had accomplished that day, I also cursed myself for my decision to have an upstairs apartment. These curses were to continue for only a few days and the term "candy-ass" returned to my vernacular.
As I was adjusting from wing tips back to red wings, Kathy and I started adjusting Billy to the idea of the three of us becoming a family unit. On the Fridays he was not staying with his father, we weaned him toward spending the night with us at the now not so bachelor pad. When that started going smoothly, we added that Saturday night as well. The other nights he spent with Kathy at her parents’ house with me spending a little more time there each week. It didn’t really take all that long for us to fall into a nice routine.
But Kathy and I both knew that it was one thing to spend a lot of time together and quite another to live together full time. We had to know if it was possible that we could actually share a residence for the days weeks and years that were to follow. We had to determine if our family dynamics would be such that would allow for an active and healthy social interchange between each and every member of our unit as well as a peaceful coexistence while allowing for individual personal space and expression. We had to know if we could all live together without driving each other absolutely fucking nuts.
The solution was to be a trial run of sorts. They would move in with me a couple of weeks before the wedding. We figured any particularly annoying personal quirks or habits would manifest themselves directly. If we looked still looked forward to spending time there together, or at the very least, could still stand each other’s presence, we would go through with the wedding as planned. If we didn’t, we would consider it "no harm, no foul", and move on to continue with our separate lives or, perhaps, try again later.
The not so bachelor pad had been going through some changes as well. The rooms without plumbing had been heretofore of no fixed purpose, often changing designation with a quick rearrangement of furniture. These tended to stabilize somewhat when we set aside a bedroom for young master Billy for the nights he would stay here. Although, the long hall did still double as a putting green.
The artwork changed a bit when I found homes for some of my hanging collection of black and white photographs, namely, the nudes. They weren’t cheesecake pinups or even erotic by any means, but museum mounted and framed figure studies I had obtained while I was in college, usually in trade. I saw nothing even risque in them, but Kathy thought they had no place in a home with a curious young child. I disagreed but, not being a parent yet, deferred to her judgement.
With the wedding to take place in July, it was of course, rather warm on moving day. Record setting as I remember. But we got her stuff moved in without too much trouble with the exception of an Ethan Allen couch she bought. That we had to hoist up onto the back porch with a rope. The bachelor pad was no more. It was now the apartment. With the affixing of Billy’s Superman toothbrush holder on the bathroom mirror, it officially became our apartment.
Still thinking the things I had left unsaid, and, in fact, expanding upon them to a great degree, mostly in the direction of immoral, if not illegal, acts in most of the western hemisphere, and adding a few physical impossibilities as well, I put the box in the back of the Jeep and drove over to the next building to meet with the warehouse supervisor before the rest of the crew arrived.
I had worked for him a couple of times in years past, and after speaking with him for a short while that morning, found myself actually looking forward to doing so again. He was one of those rare few who lead by example rather than executive fiat. Always working harder himself than he asked anyone else to, he tacitly dared his people to try to keep up with him.
It was to be a physical job that, unlike than my last position which had mostly involved calming things down, would primarily deal with stacking things up. The variety of tasks I had been previously required to handle had been replaced with the uniformity of cardboard cartons. But, besides it being a job and source of income, it was also good honest work, the results of which were a little more apparent and tangible than just a clean desk and an absence of complaints.
I had worked side by side with a fair number of my new coworkers, as well as swilled a rather large amount of beer with them, both during and since my last stint in this department. Instead of me being "okay out there", I received more of a "Welcome Home". There wasn’t exactly a cake, but more the feeling that the prodigal son had returned. A lot of them held the office staff with disdain, considering them to be a lower form of life, in some cases with good reason; however, I always maintained that title should be reserved for high pressure sales staff and certain mid-managers.
The years I’d spent in the office, however, had taken their toll. I was a little more than a tad tuckered, and well past dishrag status when I got home after that first day. While I was feeling pretty good about what I had accomplished that day, I also cursed myself for my decision to have an upstairs apartment. These curses were to continue for only a few days and the term "candy-ass" returned to my vernacular.
As I was adjusting from wing tips back to red wings, Kathy and I started adjusting Billy to the idea of the three of us becoming a family unit. On the Fridays he was not staying with his father, we weaned him toward spending the night with us at the now not so bachelor pad. When that started going smoothly, we added that Saturday night as well. The other nights he spent with Kathy at her parents’ house with me spending a little more time there each week. It didn’t really take all that long for us to fall into a nice routine.
But Kathy and I both knew that it was one thing to spend a lot of time together and quite another to live together full time. We had to know if it was possible that we could actually share a residence for the days weeks and years that were to follow. We had to determine if our family dynamics would be such that would allow for an active and healthy social interchange between each and every member of our unit as well as a peaceful coexistence while allowing for individual personal space and expression. We had to know if we could all live together without driving each other absolutely fucking nuts.
The solution was to be a trial run of sorts. They would move in with me a couple of weeks before the wedding. We figured any particularly annoying personal quirks or habits would manifest themselves directly. If we looked still looked forward to spending time there together, or at the very least, could still stand each other’s presence, we would go through with the wedding as planned. If we didn’t, we would consider it "no harm, no foul", and move on to continue with our separate lives or, perhaps, try again later.
The not so bachelor pad had been going through some changes as well. The rooms without plumbing had been heretofore of no fixed purpose, often changing designation with a quick rearrangement of furniture. These tended to stabilize somewhat when we set aside a bedroom for young master Billy for the nights he would stay here. Although, the long hall did still double as a putting green.
The artwork changed a bit when I found homes for some of my hanging collection of black and white photographs, namely, the nudes. They weren’t cheesecake pinups or even erotic by any means, but museum mounted and framed figure studies I had obtained while I was in college, usually in trade. I saw nothing even risque in them, but Kathy thought they had no place in a home with a curious young child. I disagreed but, not being a parent yet, deferred to her judgement.
With the wedding to take place in July, it was of course, rather warm on moving day. Record setting as I remember. But we got her stuff moved in without too much trouble with the exception of an Ethan Allen couch she bought. That we had to hoist up onto the back porch with a rope. The bachelor pad was no more. It was now the apartment. With the affixing of Billy’s Superman toothbrush holder on the bathroom mirror, it officially became our apartment.
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