Thursday, January 6, 2011

Almost Friday

Inventory ....check

Tickets entered...check

Email read....check

Package sent....check

Ageing called......ugh.

Calling the ageing is not my idea of a good time. It's about my least favorite task here at PDQ, honestly and it must be done weekly. 'Ageing' is short for 'Aged Receivable Report'. Each Weds I get to go thru the 30-pg report, calling each client who has past-due invoices, and dunning them with an increasing level of urgency. PDQ takes away our branch commissions after an invoice is older than 50 days, unless we can prove some sort of extenuating circumstances such as it's a Federal Job and they're usually slow. Thus my first call is at 31 days, 2nd at 40 and "Lookahere. I'm about to send Guido with his violin case and we ALL know what that means" at 45 days. If those approaches fail, I hand the account off to our Branch Mgr and he tries the Good Ole Boy schtick.

Right now the report says we're at 90% current. This is good.

In other news, we're slower'n heck but a local hotel has ordered 2 dishwashers a day for the next week. We'll take it. It's January, and the only thing we're going to turn down (to quote one of my guys) is our collars.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

New Year...New Resolutions

I'm back. Found that the blog habit was hard to take up during the busy-season here at PDQ. Work orders to the left of me, billing to the right... So we'll see if I can cultivate the habit of at least a brief post each workday. Today was slow--very few people went out on tickets. Most sat for an hour or two and then slipped away to God knows where---the streets? Local drug-house? To be with their families, one would hope--but it's not likely. I would guess that 70% of the guys here at PDQ have a significant drug or alcohol problem. Another 20% are coming out of jail / prison. The remaining 10% is a mixture of young kids with no experience, small-business owners who have lost their work and homeless transients who have just lost their way. Right now I have very little to offer them and it's starting to wear on me. Only so many times per day can one answer the same sets of questions as to likelihood of a job, procedure for trying to get on with us, directions for finding PDQ without becoming calloused and--I'll admit it---curt. But I don't lie. One of our characters has returned to us after a brief stay at the local Grey Bar Motel. His name is Leonard but somehow he's come to be known as The King. He was snoring on a bench in front of the TV when I got here this morning, oblivious to the buzz around him about the College Bowl games, who owed who money and that J-Lo has gotten FAT! (Evidently she's preggo--who cares?) When he awoke, he peppered me with questions I didn't want to answer about Shawn (the ex). I held up one hand, told him we aren't together and I don't want to talk about it at all, and promptly turned my back. His next victim was our dispatcher, Victor---V for short. "Hey Candy Man!" V didn't respond. "Oh that's right--you're not the Candyman no more, now you're Rebbrend Victor--or is that Deacon now?" I turned off my ears and started entering tickets into the system. When a call for a worker came in, V put The King on it, just to get him out of our hair. The King is about 45 or so. A skinny black guy, with a mouth that doesn't stop moving unless it's puckered around a crack-pipe. He works so he can get high. Unlike most of the men, he'll admit it. V and I have wasted untold oxygen trying to appeal to his reason--get him to stop using. The King will cheerfully argue with any logic you care to present. All day if you want to. And then he'll go "do his thing" whether he has food in his belly and a place to stay the night or not. He gets "rescued" by the police at least once a year and spends 30 days in jail, then he's back on the streets a few pounds heavier...for a week or so. His mother died 2 years ago. Knowing her son's Issue, she had his inheritance parceled out to him on a monthly basis, which has to be the only reason he hasn't killed himself with cocaine yet. About 4:30, The King sauntered back into the hall, signed ticket in hand. I wrote his check while he was in the bathroom. When he came out, he plopped on the bench and picked up our public phone. "Hey man--whassup?" "Dis Da King, man." "I got a nick for ya." "I also got a sweet address--ya want it? You gonna let me sample?" I hollered "Quit making damn drug deals on my phone, Leonard!" He hung up quickly. As he walked toward me to get his money he explained. "That's no drug call. I was talking about poonani. I got a chick AND her friend-girl. I'm pimpin' them and I'm banging 'em both, but one is mad at me right now. I'm trying to make a quick buck from a homey so I can...you know. Go do my thing." I just rolled my eyes. "What the hell ever, Leonard." "I ain't no Leonard----I'm The King!" And he swaggered out the door.