Job Offer

view of the Merchandise Mart in Chicago
from Union Station

I've always gone wherever the agency has sent me. Up until today.

My regular readers (and you three know who you are) know that I was turned loose on the world after my 30-some years of managing a contractor's office.  I finally ended up as an office temporary. I've had some glorious assignments, including a digital imaging gig in my own cubicle nest to a window on the 13th floor of a prestigious Downtown Milwaukee skyscraper. My last assignment lasted about 2 months, counting the part-weeks.  I was even put on overtime during the height of a massive secret project.  And before I left, the office manager informed me that The People In Chicago were considering me for a permanent position that will be opening early in summer.

Then, as often happens, the assignment ended, and I was once again leading the carefree life of the janitor/handyman in commercial rental properties that my wife and I own. This can get quite desperate, money-wise, but the next assignment always comes just in time.

Yesterday, I got a call from the agency.  "How would you like to work in the First Wisconsin building?" "Great - get me up in the clouds!" - 20-some stories taller than the 411 building.

"It's general office type work - I'm sure you can handle it, based on the good reviews from  your last assignment."  "Yes, yes, send me!"

:"Oh, by the way, it's part-time - seven hours a day" "Well, I suppose they'll insist on deducting a lunch too, so it would actually be six and a half hours a day, probably some Dickensian task-master that expects 8 hours' worth of work in 6 hours - I can do that!"

"And, it's second shift - 3 pm through 10 pm five days a week."  "Well, seeing as how it's such an inconvenient time of the day, must pay a lot more."

"Actually, it pays less than we've ever sent you out for"  "Time to weigh some pros and cons - I'll call you back and let you know."  My mind started reeling as I began to imagine myself as a second-shift worker.

With me on second shift, all activities in my Real Life would all be curtailed. This Thursday for example, my wife's store is staging a fashion show for a suburban event. She can't do it alone. And musical rehearsals -  two shows coming up, and the only time people can come to rehearse is evening hours.   Meeting with tenants for repair/maintenance issues.  And on and on. The "supper hour" is the main time when I see my wife, even when I'm working at home. Under the new hours I would see her rarely.  And the "part-time" aspect of the job, at a very low rate, would bring in less money than I'd ever made in a week. The only "part time" aspect about this job is the hours on the clock - going to/from work by bus, getting ready, coming home, will take the same amount of time out of a week that a full-time job would take.

So the question came down to this:  Would I give up Life as You Know It in exchange for making less money than the lowest-paying assignment I have ever worked, at an odd and inconvenient time of the day?

somewhere in Chicago - ever notice that
sometimes the pictures have nothing to do
with the story? 

How much could I put up with, without refusing work from the agency?  I'd never refused a job before - I'd like the agency to view me as versatile, hardworking, and dependable. Although the answer was obvious, it was still an agonizing decision.  At the end of The Day I Said "NO", I went to bed exhausted.

I hope this does not discourage the agency from offering me future assignments.  Nevertheless, deciding not to accept this assignment has, in its way, affirmed my self-esteem. My time has value, and I do not feel compelled to trade my life for ever-decreasing compensation.

Thank you for shopping at GAR*MART

Music in the Celestial Spectrum

This is beyond accordion music. The 21st Century Accordion Ensemble is not just your everyday stage full of flailing reed-squeezers. Their arrangements are written by virtuoso Bayan accordionist Stas Venglevski. The precision of the execution (under Stas's direction) is breathtaking.  And then to have Milwaukee's foremost chanteuse, Robin Pluer, join them onstage as a surprise guest - - well, let me tell you, the musical high point of the year, and I'm talking goosebumps and emotional clouding of the camera viewfinder.


All I can do is stand by and humbly whisper "Thanks".

Vet Gets His Wings

It was a ripped-up morning. I'd just fought my way toward Office Max on 27th street, and when I got to the intersection, instead of 27th street, there is a mile-long bank of dirt and gravel next to a gaping trench.  Apparently, the city no longer welcomes people from east of 27th Street.  I finally found a breach in the embankment, and, feeling like I was in an ATV instead of a Mini-Van, I crawled through.

Office Max was empty except for staff  - what a surprise. While digging for my change, I found the elusive grocery list -  I couldn't seem to locate the blasted thing while I was at the Piggly Wiggly earlier.  Two items had been forgotten -  Salsa and Italian Sausages. 


So, since I was already through to The Other Side of 27th Street,  I navigated over to Pick'n'Save using access roads and alleys. The usually busy Saturday morning store was very, very quiet. Amazing what a difference a road makes.

No people, but; still a checkout line. Taking up about three carts' worth of space was a shopping cart made to look like a plastic automobile, with two children in it.  The children leaned out of the car's windows and waved.  "Hello!", OK so "hello" already, now shut up.  But they kept it up.  I was just about to go to another longer but more quiet line, when an older man in a motorcycle jacket with a huge US flag on the back got in front of me,  waving back to the kids. "Hello"   He kept returning their relentless salutes until their father finally shut them up, and moved ahead to bag his order.

When things quieted down, I noticed how loosely the jacket fit the old biker.  He had a scraggly once-blond beard, and, judging from the jacket, he must have weighed lots more at one time, in a burly beer-guzzlin' biker way.  He was apparently a regular, and talked to the cashier as she was checking out his purchases, chicken breasts and bread. As she was bagging his purchases, my salsa and Italian sausages drifted down the belt and stopped directly in front of him.

Amazed, he dropped mid-sentence, stopped talking to the cashier.  With a tone of amazement he turned to us both, and exclaimed "Whoa! All the Good Stuff!.  I could eat a whole jar of this salsa and nothing else!  Doctor at the VA says I can't have that any more.  Sausages, too.  No pork chops, no gravy, nothing spicy, everything has to taste the same."

"Well, what can you eat?" asked the cashier?

Turning around with his bag, the flag on his jacket waving so much more freely than it once had on his frame. "Well, I'm sprouting feathers, with all the chicken I gotta eat.  I'm gonna grow wings, pretty soon, I guess."


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The Smell of Dirt

I smelled the dirt today.  I didn't hear the robin yet, but the smell of dirt was reassuring that winter's almost over. Well, it's almost April, let's get with it - the ferns need a little heat.  

When I was at college supposedly studying electrical engineering, I would take a bicycle out to the edge of Madison every chance I got, just to experience the smell of a feed and seed store in spring. I grew up in a small town with strong agricultural roots. Even the people in town would grow huge gardens, so the Rock River Coop and Globe Milling Company were places patronized by both farmers and town people alike. (why yes, there was Midwest Lawn and Garden as well, but this is my history, so let's keep it pleasant).

In the late winter and early spring, the dominant smell inside the seed center would be seed potatoes  and onion sets in burlap sacks. Although both potatoes and onions can be grown from seed, the preferred way in my upbringing was to get some seed potatoes and onion sets from the feed store.  

Seed potatoes are, essentially - just - - potatoes. You'd pick your variety from exotic names such as Katahdin, Kennebec, Yukon, Norland, and many others. You cut the potatoes up, each eye would form a plant,  and sturdy potato plants would grow from the eyes of the potato pieces.  Same with onion sets - they were tiny onions. Both sold by the pound, real cheap.

So, what is Dorm Boy doing out at the LL Olds Seed Company out on the edge of Madison on a Saturday morning? Getting back to his roots, or, tubers, to be perfectly correct. The smell of LL Olds building was a comforting anchor to something constant in a fast-changing world. Breathe deeply the darkness of the potatoes, the pungent onion sets, the smell of burlap and the dirt, and you are ready to get planting!

Planting proved a challenge for me, a college student has little arable land in his dorm room.  I had lots of grow lights, clay flower pots everywhere, and elaborate trough arrangements to handle watering. Building Maintenance would always shake their head when they saw my room. I grew geraniums, tomato plants, and a few cacti. 

The urban gardening experience would serve me well in later life - pausing after college before taking off in the wrong direction, I did a four-year sentence in Midwest Lawn and Garden in Watertown, Wisconsin, another story altogether. But I'd do it again!

Thanks for listening and contributing. I'd love to hear from you.

The Juice of the Cacti

The amazing power of the Juice of the Cacti.  If it's good enough for the Yack'Wee Indians of Paragwah, think of what it could do for you! W.C.Fields, an expert on Miracles of Medical Science gives a 45-second presentation on this miraculous plant:

 

So, I decided to grow my own Cacti.  Turning to the Amazon, I found, for 18 cents plus shipping charges of 23 cents (41 cents total) I ordered "50 flowering cactus seeds".  Since Last February the lowest postal rate is 49 cents - how can this be?  I really expected to hear nothing back. 

Not really expecting anything, but still hoping that I would someday grow cacti from seed, I read up on growing cactus seeds.  The cactus seed is to be placed ON the soil, not in it.  The brilliant sunlight of Paragwah must be what activates the seed.  Keep the future bed of Cacti evenly moist until germination is complete.  

A small package arrived from Paradise, and the postage had only been 23 cents. (HOW? Does the packet travel through time on its way here?).  And inside the envelope, a small foil packet containing well over 150 grains of cactus seed.  Also, a packet labeled "Safflower" which is going to be an enormous flowering plant in the thistle family. That was too much excitement for one day, so I put that packet aside until such time as I can plant the seeds outside, imagine if the safflowers spring up in the middle of the night -- that might even frighten Syd the fearless wonder cat.

So, I've done all that was asked of me.  On top of the soil, not buried, evenly moist, and in the sun - my bed of cacti.  It's been about four weeks now since I first put the seeds onto an evenly moist pot of Stern's succulent mix.  After about two weeks, I noticed a small spherical object, which was a pale yellow, and never changed color or size.  I didn't want to touch it, not knowing how sensitive the baby cacti are, and there was only one of the little round things.  So there have the seeds sat sown in their consistently moist bed, for over two weeks.

So my question is this:  is this a future juice-filled succulent specimen of cacti?

Or is it a piece of vermiculite swelled up from the even moisture of it all that has popped out of the potting mix?

Tell ya more when I know.






Thanks for listening and contributing. I'd love to hear from you.

lux ex tenebris

For 30 years, I sat at a 1970s modular desk, staring at a fabric-wallpaper wall. A little slit of a window half-buried behind the rack of dot-matrix printers was the only indication of an outside world.  Then, one day, the company went out of business, my desk was sold in a large auction lot, probably used for scrap, because it was so heavy.  I was free to go, and after finding out how willing businesses are to talk to a 60-year-old about employment, (they're not interested - really they're not), it was decided that my lifetime of skills was best put to use as an office temp. 

An entire world opened up to me. The things I had been teaching myself in my windowless void were all job skills that allowed me to fill in as a temporary worker anywhere with minimal training. Telephone, computer, Excel, mail processing, graphic layout, digital imaging, it all came into play. Each assignment presented its own new challenges and opportunities.  It has never paid much, but it's all I can get so far. I love the work, and I love the people I meet along the way.

So, last Thursday I took the bus downtown, a half-hour early so I could sip coffee in the cafeteria for awhile and watch the sun rise over downtown before going up to work. There are dress codes, and everybody looks professional, cogs in the vast urban machine. Then up to my work-station on the 13th floor. This week I'm a digital imager, in a white cubicle right next to an 8-foot high window overlooking Milwaukee's Downtown-East. The glorious sunshine of a Milwaukee Thursday morning bursting through the window, making everything brilliant. 

The office manager stopped by just after I arrived. "Hey, Gary, just so you know, tomorrow is a casual day - you can wear jeans to work. Man, that's so bright - you can lower the blind, you know..."

Derek (not his name) didn't understand my answer. Dress casual after working 30 years in a dark dank hole in West Allis? Shut out the sunshine of a brilliant new day of opportunity?  

What I said was, "No thanks, Derek. I'm livin' the dream!"



Thanks for listening and contributing. I'd love to hear from you.

What the....

I still don't believe this really happened.

I was across the street in the apartment, packing a lunch for my wife (When you run a business you can't punch out for lunch.) The phone rang. My wife. "There's a guy with a pickup truck shoveling snow onto our sidewalk" "Onto our sidewalk? From the city?" "No, just a plain pickup truck." "I'm on it." Dropped the knife in mid-butter, and slammed on my coat.

And there it was, right in front of our store. One of those oversize black pickup trucks that's always cutting in front of you on the freeway.  And in the bed, full to the top, snow, half unloaded.  A fairly large dullard in a plaid coat was shoveling snow from the bed onto the sidewalk in front of my wife's store.  I was mad.

"TAKE IT DOWN THE ROAD!" said a voice I had never heard before.

He looked up briefly, stupidly, and got another shovel-full ready to fling on our sidewalk.

"NO! You're not going to unload that in front of my building!"  I was not to be ignored. I stood between him and the sidewalk, so he couldn't unload.

"It's not illegal. It isn't your property out here." he said in a stupefied voice.

Rutabaga

Then I did something stupid. I let myself get drawn into a legal discussion with a rutabaga.  I explained to him: "For your information, we pay excessive property taxes for this property. We pay extra property taxes for the business improvement district this property has the misfortune of being located in. If I don't keep this sidewalk clear, I will be fined. This sidewalk is as much my responsibility as the building. For all practical purposes, it is my sidewalk. And you will not be dumping any more snow here. Verstehen?"

"But I don't want it in my truck."  That was about the stupidest goddam thing I had ever heard, and let me tell you, I have been to Home Depot, so I know stupid when I hear it. He didn't want it in his truck. That could be said for a  lot of substances, and at this point I suppose I was fortunate that it was snow that he didn't want in his truck, and not something else. 

He scooped up another shovel full out of the bed, as if nothing had been said.  Hello! is this thing on? I grabbed the other end of the handle just above the scoop, and slammed it down on the truck bed. For a moment I thought he was going to take a swing at me.  At this point I did not care if he did.

"I'll call the cops." Idiot said, in a stupid whiny voice. He pulled out his cell phone and poked at it. He wasn't really calling the cops.  But I ran over to the store entrance, and hollered the license number to my wife. Teamwork.  She phoned 911, because the crime was in progress.  911 said it wasn't a life-threatening emergency, but would send a squad anyway.   "I'll come back when you're not here and unload some more."  Is that it, Buddy? If you can't do something stupid, then let's be saying something stupid. Stupid never sleeps. He got into his stupid truck and drove it about a block down the road.

Meanwhile the police stopped by, Officer D'Amato (not his name), got the details, told us we were completely in the right.  Finding out that the truck was still in the neighborhood, the officer went down to witness this record-setting stupid for himself.  

Officer D'Amato called us back and told us he had spoken with the guy, and yes, this was truly an idiot of monumental proportions, and from Mukwonago, no less. (for those of you not from Wisconsin, that's pronounced "muh KWUH nuh guh".)

Officer D'Amato told the idiot three things.

1) Putting snow from your pickup truck on somebody else's sidewalk is LITTERING - $175.00 fine
2) Threatening a store owner to come back and litter his prooperty is DISORDERLY CONDUCT. - another $175.00 fine.
3) If anything should happen to our store during non-business hours, guess who would be suspect  #1, and get a ticket? That would be YOU, Mr. Mukwonago.

And that's how we do it in Milwaukee.
.

Thanks for listening and contributing. I'd love to hear from you.