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.

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.

Establishing the Blog Habit

A new habit is hard to create...or something.

I'm in awe of the busy ppl whose blogs I have been reading this past week. Makes me feel like a slacker. I'll try to do better.

It's been a quiet week here at the office. The boss is out on vacation and I've been sorrier than hell. Way too much blog-reading...not enough customer-calling. Shame on me.

Tyrone came back to us this week after one of his absences. He's one of My Guys. All of us have our favorites. Tyrone was in the military, in combat from what I've learned, and it didn't do his psyche any favors. Already borderline bi-polar, he came back Stateside from his tour with a cocaine habit, which has kept him living on the margins for several years now. Such a waste.

Tyrone is close to 40, slender and handsome---delicate features that I'd even give the label 'beautiful', if he wouldn't get the wrong idea. He's got a gorgeous singing voice and regularly serenades me with soul music or gospel when I pull into the parking lot. He's also got a wicked sense of humor and no internal 'shut-up' switch, which gets him in trouble.

Of all my guys, he's the one I'd most like to "save" if rescuing were my job. But it's HIS job to save him. For now, when he comes in, I try to get him on a ticket, and encourage him to fork over a $10 bill for his savings envelope when he cashes his check. Occasionally it works. Then he disappears for another week or three. And comes back, a little thinner, perhaps sporting a black eye which he'll cheerfully dismiss as being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And he'll sing to me...and promise to be a good boy this time. And I'll want to believe.

Reporting from The Bottom of the Barrel.

I've been working here at....well, I can't tell you the real name of it. Let's just call it PDQ Labor. Here at 'PDQ' we supply unskilled and skilled labor to construction and warehousing companies. You need a strong back---brain optional.

As many people have asked---"Why in God's name would you want to work in one of those places!?"

To start with, 5 years ago when I came here I was about to go under. My truck had been repossessed and I was saddled with a boyfriend who believed in working on a semi-annual basis. There wasn't much of a choice. Now? I can't imagine where else I would want to work. I wear jeans daily. It's almost expected that I put my feet on my desk and swear like a sailor. Besides, I make almost double what I did at the University.

And then there's the people. Homeless folks, drug addicts, criminals. The "dregs of society". You never know what will happen next--it's rather like living in a sit-com / soap opera. There are even times I can make a real difference in people's lives. I don't think I ever want to leave.