The Meltdown in Midtown

As I have written, for 2.5 years, wifey and I slaved away to build the business of two of the most obnoxious guys to ever pull on a pair of socks in the morning. We did this remotely for most of that time. However, this summer, though they were aware we were preparing to relocate, they insisted one of us come to the office weekday afternoons during one of their peak seasons, which spanned most of August.

Because they were asking for -- no, demanding against all logic -- the presence of either of us up to 10 PM, I decided it had to be me because I wouldn't risk wifey coming home by herself on public transportation that time of night. Though they never gave us a concrete reason why, all of a sudden, one of us being at the office was so critical, I tried to accommodate them.

After a few days of waking up to work from home, then trying to squeeze in chores and errands, then dropping everything to rush to the office and do more work that I could just as readily have done at home, then waking up Friday morning to start the work week at my full time job, I realized how stupid this all was. At that point, I started going in whenever I was done taking care of business at home, because that was priority for me. My family ALWAYS comes first. I would arrive at their office 2-3 hours after I was expected, and was unapologetic about it.

One afternoon, during a torrential rain, I found myself yet again running errands when they were expecting me at the office. Having been caught in the downpour, I was soaked to my skin, aggravated, worn out and just not of a mind to deal with their nonsense. I was driving to a supermarket to pick up some groceries before dragging myself down there when I got The Call. A glance at my phone confirmed that the caller was indeed the elder of these two mopes.

Over the next 20 minutes, he proceeded to tell me that he didn't ask me to move during their peak season, he felt that HIS business always took third priority in MY life, the explanation for my reluctance to work from their office was "bullshit" and suggested that he was doing wifey and me a favor by contracting out to us. When I countered that, considering all the good work wifey and I had done during our business relationship, he was taking things too far, he yelled "I don't give a shit!" He closed the discussion with an imperious "Do your job!"

I didn't trip. I disengaged the call, went about my business and didn't go in that day after all.

Over the next several hours, the memory of that call marinated in my skull. The cursing, the arrogance, the gall this asshole had to yell at me as if I were his teenage son caught sneaking in on a school night after a joy ride in the family car!

At first, I had to cope with the disappointment that, in their eyes, wifey's and my overall efforts counted for little simply because we chose to put our family's interests ahead of their egos and petty office politics. I had high hopes for us with them. They made lots of promises and we really were doing a good job. But overnight, that disappointment turned to rage. For what they were paying us while we waited patiently to reap the benefits of our hard work and good faith, how dare they even hint that we should put their business ahead of our own well-being, and tolerate being harassed over the phone in the bargain?

Regardless, by the next afternoon when it was time to head downtown, I thought everything was under control. I tried to focus on business, but the closer I got to that office, the more certain I grew that I had managed only to temporarily suppress the rage I felt earlier.

By the time I walked into their reception area, I was so angry, I could not make eye contact with anyone for fear I might do something rash. I went to set my laptop on a desk and ended up throwing it, knocking a monitor and telephone to the floor...

Adjustments II

The flipside of the human capacity to learn is that we are first curious. We would have no motivation to find out what we don't know if we didn't care to begin with. This is what separates us from rats and pigs who can thrive in their own filth as long as there is plenty to eat. Until we get the "why" that goes with the "wherefore", we are not at peace. Reaching rational conclusions brings about a sense of satisfaction within us. That's why the forensic analysis of a disaster is not only educational, it's therapeutic.

Though it drives wifey bananas, when things go wrong, I gather fragments, piece together the wreckage and look for the black box. Hey, It works for the NTSB.

Over the years, this sometimes obsessive tendency to analyze has paid off. Today, I am seldom caught off guard by the unexpected. Under this context, I have mulled over what I hereby dub the Meltdown in Midtown.

About a month ago, I disappointed some people who badly misjudged their positions in my world. Oh, the looks on their faces when...

Adjustments

For 2.5 years, wifey and I toiled at all hours of the day and night, seven days a week -- even while on vacation -- for below market wages to build a business. And we did build a business. Trouble was it wasn't ours, but that of a pair of arrogant creeps working off a 1960s, cookie-cutter business model. Granted that for 99% of that 2.5 years, we worked remotely, but even with that perk, we were still stuck with THEM. These are two guys with personalities so transcendently annoying, waking up knowing that a phone call from either was imminent was enough to cast a pall on my morning.

Long on platitudes and knee-jerk reactions, but short on reasoning and foresight, these clowns worked their way into the fabric of my family's lives. It was not until maybe a month after walking out of their office for good that I could accurately assess their impact on us. From the moment I quit up to this instant, I have observed positive change in the four of us, a gradual leveling out and return to normalcy. Wifey and I are literally putting our house in order and the children are responding. Though this family restoration project is in its infancy, I can write with certainty that, between wifey and me, there is sufficient resolve to get it done. Why would either of us want these innocent babies to grow up in the midst of mayhem like we did? Of course, had we continued working with those lunatics, that's exactly what would have happened.

Moving Up...and Shelling Out

Moving is something we absolutely had to do, but I won't front -- it's a bitch. Without airing too much of my dirty laundry, I have had to pull more strings than the Godfather to make this happen. Every available resource, every nickel in the piggy bank, every pubic hair I could pluck. That's OK. I do not, and will never, regret any sacrifice I make to improve our quality of life.

Our new street is clean, tree-lined and quiet. Our home-to-be is better than twice the square footage of our apartment, not including the basement. Within a two-minute drive, there is a colossal recreation center with basketball courts, an indoor track, weights and cardio machines, not to mention ballfields for every popular sport. It's ridiculous. And it's waiting for us. And [insert generic disclaimer such as "barring catastrophe" here] it's only 3 weeks away.

The prospect of leaving The Bronx evokes mixed emotions. Whatever I have developed into, The Bronx has been the Petri dish. I will always feel a connection to the northernmost borough of New York City, but I'm oh so done with people hopelessly enmeshed in the games I've seen play out time and again. Moreover, I'll be goddamned if through failure to act on my part, one of my babies gets caught up in that bullshit. No! People can say what they like about roots and community, but until fools stop shooting first and thinking last, THERE IS NO COMMUNITY. There are only kids dying young and ignorant or innocent bystanders dying in their place.

By the grace of God, I am 43 years old. Admittedly, I pissed away a good deal of my youth through ignorance. It is my duty to my wife and children to learn from the mistakes I made and pass that wisdom down.

Am I happy to be leaving the Bronx? Despite the history I leave behind -- or maybe because of it -- you betcha.

Soul Food

I'm laying my lazy ass on the sofa this morning watching another old movie. Today's feature is Soul Food. It's a decent flick, but it covers so many subjects, there isn't time to delve deeply into any of them. I guess it's basically a chocolate chick flick in the vain of the Gone With the Wind of the genre, Waiting to Exhale. And don't get me started on THAT bucket of fish guts. That movie single-handedly did more to set back relations between black men and women than slavery, the DL and "wait -- not the hair" combined. They should round up every copy of that movie made for man-haters and dump them into a blast furnace! What am i doing watching this crap anyway? I should be packing or running or something. I can't stand a lazy ass, no account, trifling brother and when I manage to get up offa this couch, I'm gonna go find one and tell him so. Why isn't my wife up fixing me some damn breakfast?

The Firm

I watch this flick any time I can. The script, the pace, the actors, even the soundtrack blend together to make the perfect cinematic cocktail. I especially like the scene where Mitch has to confess his infidelity to Abby. She says "You can't promise anything -- ever!" But what I like best is a tale of a smart guy who, while under unfathomable pressure, worked the angles like a geometrist. More than that, he did it to survive, not simply to affirm his superiority over his adversaries.

Preparing for My Son's First Day of Pre-K

Because I didn't get video or pictures, I wanted to document with the written word my family's preparation for my son's first day of school. It is September 9, 2010. My wife and I are preparing for her sister's wedding in Puerto Rico -- 9 days hence. We are in good shape financially, with the exception of a huge federal back-tax obligation and a couple of student loans. I am gainfully employed and my wife and I work from home for an entrepeneur in a start-up with a huge upside. After the wife's sister's wedding, we intend to renovate our apartment, put it on the market and move to climates more hospitable to a developing family. Our son will attend a private school for pre-K as part of a city sponsored program that covers much of the expense. Our son is 4 years old, beautiful, lively and inquisitive. He is already comfortable using computers, he reads and he's not afraid of numbers. Tonight, at approximately 6:30 PM, my wife and I introduced him to his brand new school supplies. Using stickers depicting characters from a couple of his favorite TV shows and movies, we customized his folders, allowing him to lead the way. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The sun was setting on a partially cloudy, rather cool Thursday afternoon. There was a brisk wind and the leaves beyond our picture window swayed in the breeze. In the twilight, our boy sat at the dining table opposite my wife and me as she announced to him, piece by piece, his required school supplies. As his eyes lit with joy at the sight of each of them, my wife and I were struck with those emotions known only to loving parents. My eyes met with hers, and no comment was necessary. During this process, our daughter joined in. She had no idea of the significance of the moment. Regardless, she was going to participate, and was prepared to offer loud, disconcerting protest in the form of one of her patented tantrums if she was denied. Not wanting to risk that, my wife acted to placate her with a make-shift folder of her own that she could customize with left-over stickers. Mission accomplished. Our children are wonderful. I am thankful everyday for them, and for my wife.