Running an office for a madman
For many years I worked in the grocery industry. It is a very structured industry that only works when “the trains run on time” if you know what I mean. Things had to be done on a very strict schedule and deadlines were vital to making sure that the whole building ran like a well oiled machine. People calling off sick tended to throw a wrench into the works, and late trucks and late deliveries could ruin your bottom line for the week.
The last store I ran did well over $900,000 per week in gross sales and was one of the finest in my regional division. The place had over 400 employees and I have to stress that each and every one of them were great workers. We didn’t keep around the bad ones. Everybody danced a very intricately choreographed ballet or they were shipped out to one of the lesser stores in the area. The district supervisor kept his office just upstairs from my own.
That is what I was used to. That is what kind of atmosphere I excelled under. That was the kind of business-like attitude I expected, and was expected from me when I entered the front door. It is also the kind of thing I expect in my new profession: office manager.
I left that job in the grocery store a few years ago and recently, due to a death in the family, I agreed to help (I use the term “help” loosely as it rapidly became something very out of hand) out my father with his business. My mother, who died last December, used to run the office and had her own way of doing things. The files, phone lists, contractor bills, and customer information was a complete mess. She did it her way, but as with a lot of things in life, things just didn’t make sense to a person coming in from the outside. All that aside, I want to stress that you shouldn’t underestimate the power a woman has over a man and his retarded appetites, but more on that below.
For the last three months, I have been struggling not only with her records and filing, but also with the way the business is run. Things are not “on time” but rather “I’ll get to it when I get to it.” I don’t like the way plumbers, renters, maintenance men, and property owners have a general malaise when it comes to getting things done.
Getting a new furnace put in a unit is like pulling teeth. I go to see the shape of the thing and read that it has been put into the home in 1967. The owners think that sort of thing is fine. They don’t want to put money into a cash cow if they don’t have to, but the reality is the place won’t hold its value much longer if they don’t do the upkeep. The contractors and the plumbers all are the same way. They will overcharge you for retarded repairs and then take twice as long to finish the work. Renters are late with their payments nine times out of ten, yet the deposits must be in on time or the bank will start calling me and asking me where the mortgage payment is. But none of that shit bothers me. It’s just how the business works.
What really bothers me is my father. After my mother died, he pretty much went off the deep end. He didn’t go crazy and start shooting, acting depressed, or turn to prescription pain medication or anything; he’s not the type of person to feel very much when a wife or child dies. To him, that sort of thing is “business as usual.” When I say he went off the deep end, I mean that my mother was the only person holding him back from acting like a retard. My brother and sisters lived for years with the idea of him being in control of himself. Boy, were we wrong!
The second he had me working for him, he got on a plane and flew to Florida. He’s been down there since February of this year and I doubt that he will be coming back; he has a nice condo and a very comfy life down there. He spends money like it is water, he runs around with the girls like he is a chicken with its head cut off and evidently he recently bought a $40,000 sports car with cash. I can’t verify as to how great the car is, I am up here busy running his business, but my sister assures me it’s very nice.
Now all of this is well and good for an older man who is retired and trying to enjoy his later years in life. I hope to one day act like an idiot of his magnitude as well. But the problem is he is living beyond his means. I have approached him about this. I have faxed him the records. I have shown him the books. With the way the economy is going, I don’t see him being able to sustain this sort of lifestyle for very much longer. The money is going out faster than it is coming in and this is where the trouble lies.
I need to get paid!
Because of his rapid spending and insane attitude towards his bank accounts, I have been paying myself less and less. Hey, I figure, the old man is enjoying himself! Let him have a fling or two. I spoke with my sister about it a few months ago and she agreed with me until this week. See, I finally quit paying myself out of the payroll fund because the account is gone and she called me up and bitched me out about how things were going. I had to explain the whole situation to her. The payroll account has been bouncing along the black/red line for the last two months, and I finally had to close it, pay off the other workers who do small jobs for dad, and tell them there will be no more work. Things they do include photographing properties for sale, showing the properties, and getting information to MLS (Multiple Listing Service).
How am I going to do all of that on top of running this rat hole? My sister got the other siblings together without me and while I wasn’t there, they appointed me the “intervention specialist.” I was the one elected to do the dirty work concerning dear old dad. I called him and confronted him about the whole thing and really let him have it. I was pretty mean to him, but I figured why not…he would be mean to me if I were screwing up as badly as he is. And I finished off my tirade by telling him that I hadn’t paid myself for the last two months. “Get yourself some money out of the payroll fund” was his reply. Gahhhhhh! There is no fund! It’s all gone! You spent it on Pina Coladas and strippers!
So finally, today I am supposed to get a check for the last seven weeks of work and some extra cash due me because I had been skimping on my own pay. Also, I get to run around and give all the fired employees their last checks too. I am sure that’s gonna go over just swell.
The first thing I am buying with my paycheck is a new suit. I am gonna start looking for another job.
