The Push Back Part II

      Brisket, Mac & Cheese was packed with people.  I had a plan.  The process was simple.  Call ahead.  Put in an order.  Pick up the order.  Walk back to work.  Eat that tasty bbq brisket, Mac & cheese, or brisket, mac, cheese & curly fries.  Shut the door to my little office.  Nap for an hour.  Things usually worked out.
     That day was supposed to be a sit down meeting.  Normally you called ahead for a pick up because things were busy.  You always had your pick of places to eat in the restaurant, even on the busy days.  Every once in a while, I would change my mind and just eat in the corner or out on the patio, depending on the season.
     It was still cold out.  You could sit next to the window and watch the people walk by.  You could sit in the pit, the nickname the waitresses came up with for the center of the restaurant. You could also sit at the bar.
     Sitting at the bar was dangerous.  It wasn’t as dangerous as Lakeside or The Yard.  Lakeside and The Yard made the drinks strong all day, every day.
     At BMC it was like the corporation heads had come to the bar and specifically asked them to water down the drinks until after hours.  The days of the three martini lunch were dead … unless you knew the bartender.  Thankfully, I didn’t.
     That day the window seats were taken, the pit was packed, and the bar was barely visible.
     “What’s going on,” I asked the overwhelmed bartender.
     “It’s the Ala Tima Holla conference at the convention center.  It’s been nonstop for the last two days.”
     “Well damn!  Looks like the bills are paid and the food will be on the table this week!”
     “They’re tipping me like I’m one of their sisters,” She said leaning to shout whisper.  “Rent’s paid, too.  What do you need, Hun?”
     “Business lunch.  I’ll take a water for now.  If it falls to shit I’ll take a Jack and coke, a real one.”  I winked and she winked back.  I could always shut the door to my office and nap for an hour.
     The 50” tv above the bar was playing the local news.  The sound was off but that was ok.  The bar was a bit too noisy to listen.  Even though the 10 day forecast looked cheery, the scroll below the screen team kept showing more and more hard numbers of infections.
     A mask had already become part of my daily wear.  I wasn’t paranoid but I did have an 81 year old Mom that I liked to visit on the weekends.
     Chris Kilkirkland was right on time.  We had a solid discussion about open opportunities.
     “Your resume looks great,” he said digging into some tasty pulled pork nachos.  “Sadly, the Hartford location is kind of saturated.”  I felt my heart drop.  The machines were just about to kick into gear.
     “BUT route 8 could use a rep.  You’d pick a home location and then visit the other banks once a week.”  My heart jumped.
     He had a little cough.  I had barely noticed it earlier.  It hadn’t gone away in the 20 - 30 minutes we had been talking.
     “You’d work the whole corridor from Bridgeport to the Berkshires.”  He could see my smile through the mask.
     “Can’t say I’ll miss driving into Hartford every day.”  
     He coughed again.
     “I’m not sick,” he said putting his hands up.  “I promise.”
     Luckily my hands were still a little greasy from the brisket sandwich.  He offered a fist bump and I accepted.
     “I’ll be in touch next week with the paperwork,” he said picking up the bill.  “We’ll go from there.”
     “Once again, thank you.  I’ll keep my eyes open for it.”
     From the bar I watched him walk back to his car.  He had a spot right in front of the plate glass window.
     “How’d it go?” asked the bartender.
     I gave her a brisket covered thumbs up AND a wink.
     “You know what?  I will take that Jack and coke …. A real one.”
     She winked back.
     The process was simple.  I had a plan.  Walk back to work, shut the door to my little office, and nap for an hour.  Things had worked out.

The Pushback

      The machines are, as I have come to understand, powered by negative emotions and negative self talk.  They don’t thrive on the self talk or the emotions.  They put you on a slippery slope and thrive on the inaction due to the lack of traction, the inability to get a grip on things.  

     That crushing, squeezing ball of anxiety in my chest that kept me curled up was still energy.  It was energy that wasn’t being expended or used in any way, at least not by me.

     The machines fed off that energy.  It powered their deep need to control my soul.  The less I did, the tighter the grip, the stronger the machines.  Laying curled in the fetal position would not get rid of the pressure.  Standing and stretching would.

     While sitting in front of the tv or staring at a screen watching mindless videos would not dismiss the distress, walking would.  

     There was always a reminder to do 3 things:

1. Get out of bed

1. Take a shower

1. Eat breakfast (this might just mean having a coffee)

     It wasn’t any of these things in particular that pushed back on the machines.  It was the act of doing.  Every bit of energy used to do something else was a bit of energy not accessed by the machines.  Even the energy used to push back was energy not given to the machines.     

     Some days I would just go for a walk.  I didn’t equate the walk with clearing my head.  The walk was using energy so it couldn’t power the negative self talk or the self doubt that powered the machines.

     If nothing is done, the machines use the energy to generate crushing fear and anxiety to feed themselves.  They then create more fear and anxiety to make themselves stronger, essentially paralyzing you.  You are turned into an in house factory.

     The simple act of going for a walk, stretching, doing yoga, taking a shower, or getting out of the house took the energy from the machines and gave it back to me.

     The problem; walking to an office where I didn’t want to be fed the machines.  The anxiety created every day by walking to a job I had grown to dislike left me as hollow as laying curled in the fetal position or staring at a screen watching mindless videos.  Every day, that is, except that one.

    That day I had a little extra energy in my step.  Each move forward was a step further away from the darkness.  I had scheduled a sit down face to face interview with another company.

     It was set up as a casual interview at Brisket, Mac & Cheese.  Even if I bumped into another associate I could just say that I was just having lunch with another friend in the business.

     Best case scenario, I got a job that got me out of my current state of mind.  Worst case scenario, I got some tasty brisket, Mac & cheese and the knowledge that I still had the ability to put plans into motion.  That day the energy would be used to walk the walk and talk the talk.  I was hoping to thrive on the traction of my action.

The Jolt

      The Jolt came from deep inside.  It was a middle of the night thing.  I woke up with my lungs on fire and a feeling like someone had a fist wrapped around my heart.  I was in a cold sweat.

     The cycle had continued.  Another $228 replaced the standard pay check.  Another withdrawal had been made against a once substantial safety net.

     I had made a promise to myself that this time I was really going to start looking for a way out.  I considered it a prison.  The problem wasn’t the job.  It was me. 

     Derich had been right.  It was time to stop talking and start doing.  The thing is, it’s always time to stop talking and start doing.  I was just tired.  I closed my eyes and tried to lull myself back to sleep.

     The jolt was the whiny little piece of me that didn’t want to work at this job mixed with another part of me that wanted to start my own thing but never did.  The jolt was that part that had been sitting quietly in the background waiting for me to get comfortable only so it could show me everything I had to lose.

     The jolt was strangely familiar but much stronger.  Its wings had become fists that, rather than carry it across the gentle meadow, were grasping at anything to hang on for dear life.  These were the fists that would wrap around my heart in my sleep and light the fire in my lungs.

     The jolt was every insecurity and self-doubt manifest in the physical form of soul crushing anxiety.

     “Of course, you haven’t looked for another job, yet.  You should be happy to have this one.  But it doesn’t matter they’ll realize you aren’t good enough and fire you soon.

     “You know why you are only friends with these women?  Because none of them want you.  They talk to you because they feel sorry for you.

     “Of course, Tessa wants to date you.  She has daddy issues.  You’re smart not to date her.  You’d just make a fool of yourself, again.  Just like you did with Connie and Tabitha.

     “And yes, Derich was also right about you.  You aren’t good enough to realize your dreams.”

     And with that I was jolted awake again.

     The jolt was The Machines.  They had returned stronger than ever.  They were manufacturing self-loathing and fear on a scale the greatest factories couldn’t match.  They had used my latest spiral as a key to escape their prison.  They weren’t looking for a way out, they had found it.  It was me.

Conference In California

      “Just as a precaution, and let me say I think it is far too much, Harris, Harris & Rickman has opted not to have their ‘Conference in California’ event this year,” announced the owner of the firm.  “They’re freaked out.  This whole thing is going to blow over.  Personally, I think they’re going to be hating themselves in May when half the firms are referring someone else.  Cowards.”
     “I mean is it really that bad?” asked one of the secretaries.
     “Of course not!” He said.  “The president just gave a conference last week saying this is a problem in Chiii-naaa,” he laughed to himself a bit, imitating the commander in chief.  “Besides, we all wash our hands.”
     “I know he’s your favorite,” stated another secretary, “but that man is just a horrible human being.”
     “Careful,” he said, hands confidently crossed in his lap.  “You are quite possibly talking about the greatest president since George Washington.”  He wasn’t kidding.  
     One of the female account reps just rolled her eyes and walked back to her office.
     “So the Conference in California is canceled?  Ok.  I need to book up some appointments for that week.”
     “I mean, didn’t they already buy the tickets for everyone and reserve the hotels?”  I thought about Amber’s canceled meetings and Tom saying the situation in China was worse than anyone actually knew.
     “They’ll just write this shit off,” the owner stated, “then they’ll suffer in the summer.”
     “Did you ever see that movie with that guy from Boston and that super hot English guy about the virus … you know the one where the mother and son died in the first 10 minutes?” started the secretary.
     “Seriously,” said the female rep.  “What the fuck?”
     “Look,” said the owner, “the greatest president of our lifetime just said there shouldn’t be a problem, so there shouldn’t be a problem.”
     I felt my stomach churn.  It had been so obvious for so long.  This was the final straw that let me know I had to get out.  Most of the time I admired the owner’s enthusiasm but let me say this time I think it was far too much.

The Prime Method

     “So it’s a contract,” said Marrianne blowing on her spicy tea.

     “Damn that tea smells good.  What flavors do you have other than cinnamon?”

     “Blueberry, lavender, vanilla, and green tea.”

     “I’d like to try the blueberry, please.”

     When she opened the tea tin the smell was amazing.  It actually smelled like fresh blueberries.

     “You got these at work?”

     Marrianne had had another banner year.  On top of a financial incentive, they liked to give little gifts they thought people would appreciate.  This year, along with a 5 figure bonus, she got a satchel of 5 hockey puck sized gourmet tea tins.  Each tin had a different flavor.  There were 3 to 5 tea bags per tin.  It was a tease of tasty teas.

     She also received a small jar of local high quality honey.

     “Yes.”

     “I’m sorry,” I said lost in the cinnamon scent.  “I swear it’s the last time I’ll talk about my new phone.  But yeah, that’s what I said, it’s a contract.  BUT at the same time it’s $200 less than if I bought the phone outright.”

     “Can’t really argue with that.”

     “AND,” I said waving a finger in the air, “I have early access to the newest phones when they come out.  I can trade in or swap out my…”

     “Contract,” she said, rolling her eyes as she finished my sentence.  “They’ll get you any way they can.  It’s not a ‘contract’ ,” she said making air quotes, “it’s an extended discount.  It’s all such bullshit.”

     When the hot water hit the blueberry scented satchel the smell jumped to another level.

     “Take this tea.  They offer a subscription service.  Different teas every month.  It can get expensive as hell.  They get you when they pair it with honey, or chocolates, or mugs.  That’s what’s gonna happen with your phone.  They’ll get you with the watch, the earbuds, the tablets.  You name it.

     “What are you gonna do next year when the latest and greatest comes out?”

     The tablespoon of organic honey melted into the steeping water as she lifted and replaced the teabag.

     “I thought about that and I have come up with the prime method.”

     “What is the prime method?”

     “Example: This is the 11.  Theoretically the next phone I would let myself buy is the 13,”

     “Which,” she said knowingly, “is riiiight about when the ‘not a contract’ will be at it’s end.”

     “Well, probably the 14, but yes. NOW I won’t buy it because the upgrade won’t be good enough.  Next phone I’ll probably look at is the…”

     “17,” she finished, shaking her head.

     “Yes,” I said snapping my fingers.  “Same goes for the tablet, earbuds, or the watch.  I should be good for the next 5 years provided the phone lasts that long.  I will literally be buying these things at their prime.”

     She just shook her head and sipped her tease of tasty tea

Phone Time

     “How much time do you typically spend on your phone?”  I asked.

     “Where in the hell are all of these questions coming from?”  Tony asked with a cheek full of wings.

     “I’m just curious.  Maybe it’s this new phone but I was on this thing for 5 hours the other day!”

     “That seems like a bit much.”

     “I know, right?”

     “Did you use any of that time to narrow down your contact list?”

     “You know I thought about that.”

     “And?”

     “AND if I ever do write a book or put out new music I can use that contact list to let people know what’s going on.  I’m actually expanding on it. 

     “I’m also reaching out to see if there are any jobs available.  I just can’t do this anymore.  I don’t like the drive.  I’m not a big fan of the office.  I don’t want to be there.  It’s obvious.”

     “Do you need anything else?” Rachel was on her rounds.

     “No, Rach, we’re good.” I smiled.  “Last wings until May.” 

     “Everything all right?” She asked.

     “Hibernation!”  I announced proudly.

     Tony rolled his eyes and Rachel just smiled.

     “You’ll be missed.”

     “Thanks, buddy.”

     “So what’s next?” Tony continued as Rachel took our empty plates.

     “I have no idea.  I have solid office experience.  I’ve been moderately successful but I’m also over 45, I’m black, and I know my worth.  That has been a turn off to some people.”

     “You’re right.  Solid office experience is a turn off.”  He shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes again.

     “You laugh.  I started putting out feelers when I turned 40.  I had 5 years in at the tech company.  I had won a few high profile deals.  Nothing.  I got the interviews but no offers.  When they let me go, also nothing.  I had built a multimillion dollar book from damn near nothing.  Nada.”

     “Embrace the suck.”

     “What?”

     “Embrace the suck.  You have to embrace the shitty aspects of the job until it gets better.”

     “Nope.  The suck can suck it.  That would be like paying for shitty wings when you know somewhere out there is a place that has really tasty wings.  

     “The last three jobs made great promises and delivered nothing.  I have nothing against long drives and long hours when you value what the outcome will be but right now thinking about leaving this job there is no love lost.  That’s how I know it’s time to go.”

     “I thought you were going to wait until May?”

     “I am but I have to put the feelers out now.  That’s why I haven’t cleared the contacts, yet.”

     “Well just be careful.  This China thing is starting to get crazy.  I mean really crazy.”

     “You sure it’s not just marketing shit?  Some type of large scale negotiation tactic?”

     “I mean crazy like not just in China crazy.  Amber mentioned more meetings are getting canceled with clients all over the world.”

     “We’ll see what happens.  Hope for the best.  Prep for the worst.  If I can’t find anything else by April the busy months at the firm are May, September, and October.  Between seminars and client visits I can possibly make it work through November.  The last 3 years have been hell.  Honestly how can 2020 be any worse?  Seriously.”

     I smiled and checked the screen time on my phone.  4 hours 35 minutes.  Tony rolled his eyes one last time and motioned to Rachel for the check. 

The Build Up

      I had prepared myself with the standard isms and questions ‘How’s the family?’  ‘How are the kids?’.  The goal was to be as personably impersonal as possible, get the new phone, and get to the comfy couch at my Mom’s house.  That’s what I told myself.
     I wanted to stop by the store earlier but just felt like that would have made things awkward.
     The parking lot was quiet.  This little town on the way to Mom’s place was struggling.  It used to be a factory town.  In the 1980’s and 90’s the factories left.  The internet exploded in the early 2000’s.  The new hip internet business model wasn’t quite ready for business yet and it slowly fell apart.
     The town had barely started to recover from the collapse of the dot coms when the great housing crash hit.   The big box stores had moved in and were slowly moving out smaller Mom & Pop shops leaving empty store fronts.
     The people in town had few choices and many of them chose to leave.
     Today was the day.  Months of talking and planning were about to be replaced with a few minutes of doing.  The rep at the phone/tablet/watch store had given me the lowdown on the phones I was looking at and how long they had been at this store.  For some reason the color black wasn’t popular at this store so it wasn’t flying off the shelves like it was every where else.
     I knew this was divine intervention.  Everything happens for a reason.  It would be a quick hello to Grocery Girl, make sure all was good, and then we would get down to business.  Scratch the standard isms and the personal questions.  Get your phone and go.  Keep it sparse.  Don’t poke the bear.
     I pumped myself up at the door before I went into the store.  Today’s mantra: Get your phone and go.
     The phone/tablet/watch HQ was pristine and practical teeming with twenty somethings alert, attuned, and attentive.
     This corporate cellular store had gray and navy carpet squares to offset the bold but dated wallpaper.  The cases that held the accessories were basic plastic.  The goal was to hold and display the product.  The cases did their job.
     “Be right with you, sir,” said the woman behind the counter.  Her reading glasses were at the end of her nose.
     “Thank you … Shelly,” I said as I got close enough to read her name tag.
     When she was done we exchanged pleasantries and then got straight down to business.  I had narrowed it down to the upgrade of my current phone or last years latest, but not greatest, phone.
     I was also looking out for Grocery Girl while trying not to look out for her at the same time.  Get your phone and go.
     “Are you sure you don’t want to look at this years new model?”  She asked.
     “I’m just not a huge fan.  It seems like all the updates and new camera kind of kill the battery life.”  I had been doing research and just hadn’t been impressed.
     “I am torn between the two.  I like the update of my old phone.  Last year’s phone has great battery life even with a bigger screen  BUT it’s $150 more.”
     “You’ve done your research.  And you are right.  The phone is sort of $150.00 more.”
     “Sort of?”  I leaned in.  She had my attention.  
     “How long have you been a customer?”  She walked back to the counter.
     “20 years.”
     “Have you checked our promotion page?”
     “No.’
     “Have you gotten our texts or emails?” She asked over her reading glasses.
     “This little phone has been crashing … a … lot.  If the texts and emails weren’t from friends they were just deleted.”
     She turned the computer screen around for me to see.  I could upgrade to last years model for a $200.00 discount.
     “The payments are broken up over 30 months.”  She let her glasses hang from their chain on to her practical black sweater and clasped her hands on the countertop.
     “Oh Shelly,” I said as the realization kicked in, “this isn’t a discount.  It’s a contract.”
     She smiled a knowing smile.
     “It’s a discount that saves you $200.00 on what’s arguably been their best phone in 5 years,” she said with a confident energy that her twenty something counterpart wouldn’t be able to muster for at least another ten years.
     I honestly couldn’t argue with her.  I was about to try when I finally looked up and saw the literal writing on the wall.
     This was divine intervention.  Everything does happens for a reason.
     “Can’t argue with the … the … new manager.”
     Over her shoulder was a recent promotions photo I had missed earlier. 
     “Thank you.  It’s recent.  My boss’s husband got a great offer in Iowa.  She was able to get a management position out there and I was promoted.  It all happened so quickly.”
     “Congratulations,” I said awkwardly.
     I decided on last years discounted device.  The parking lot was still quiet when I walked back to my car.  
     I was struggling a little bit.  Apparently I had missed Grocery Girl by about a week.  
     I had prepared to not poke the bear only to find out there was no bear to poke.  Like most of those before her, she had chosen to leave.  My build up had been blown up like the dot coms.
     I had the satisfaction of bringing home the new phone to the comfy couch at my Mom’s house, at least that’s what I told myself.