Once I hit the street, not even the heat and humidity of August in New York could diminish the sense of relief that washed over me. For sure, I am NEVER happy to walk away from money, but we were simply not paid enough to justify the shit we had to take from these schmucks and their dopey minions, nor the damage being done to our family.
Our working relationship with them lies before us on the slab. Let's make with the scalpel and examine the evidence.
Foremost, our children were suffering for lack of attention. Wifey and I had morphed from "two" parents into "too" parents: "Too" busy, "too" tired, "too" stressed and "too" damned lazy to do anything or, to be fair, as much as we thought we should be doing with our kids.
Then, there was the neglect of our home. There were weeks we'd be so busy we couldn't even manage to clean our bathroom. The hard water stains around the toilet bowl might as well have been drawn with a Sharpie. The kitchen? Like a meth lab from an episode of Cops. The kids' room? Buried under a foot of debris. The great room? Enough crumbs under the dining table to put out on a tray as hors d'oeuvres, papers piled sky-high on the desk and dust bunnies had colonized the area rug.
[Disclaimer: Wifey has gone on record as being firmly opposed to the posting of the above characterizations, but I figure they're just too funny to not share.]
Then there was the damage Wifey and I sustained as individuals and as a couple: the stress, the bad eating habits, the missed exercise and the deficits of energy and time we had to devote to each other.
Then, of course, there was THEM: The twin ulcers. Where to start? Suffice to say they lack insight, they lack foresight, hell, they even lack hindsight. Though they have managed to maintain an office and pay the salaries of a staff for several years, to watch them in action, one has to wonder if it's by accident.
The two biggest issues I have with them? Their senses of entitlement and almost pathological need to be dominant over me. I can deal with that type of testosterone-driven foolishness over the phone, but I can't have some egomaniacal asshole draped over my shoulder to show every one that he's The Big Boss Man while I'm trying to get some work done. I mean, how simple is it: We're good at what we do, we're proven at what we do, right now, you can't do what we do, so go do what you do and let us do what we do.
For the relative security of two monthly checks that were a fraction of what they should have been and the convenience of working from home, Wifey and I allowed ourselves to be led astray. Even if the pay was better, it's clear we would have lost far more than we ever stood to gain had we continued.
The cause of death? Sheer hubris.
These saps had gone all in to grow this business. To their credit, their sales guys developed the leads, made the calls and snared the clients, but Wifey and I DID THE WORK. Anywhere. Any time. West Street at rush hour. New Year's Day during a blizzard. On vacation in Puerto Rico. Waiting in the emergency room with our children when they both had stomach flu. And through it all, Wifey and I understood that growing a business requires that kind of sacrifice. We didn't gripe. We persevered. Ultimately, that wasn't enough.
Once Frick and Frack had finally built a decent client base on our sweat, they got carried away with themselves. They figured they had me by the bolitas because we are buying a house. They swore to God that we couldn't afford to just walk away. To their way of thinking, two and a half years of work counted for dick, all because Wifey and I prioritized buying a home over showing up at their shitty little office for a few days in August.
I'm glad they overplayed a weak hand. Their misreading and mishandling of the situation may ultimately have saved our family, or at least a few years of our lives. The pressure they tried to exert was that serious. And it backfired on them.
It's all over now. I wish them all the best. As for Wifey and I, we have other plans.
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