PopcornJackTerry

In the late 90’s I lived in NYC and worked with a guy named Keith. He and I were both easily distracted, so many of our conversations would end up so far off topic that, once we realized it, we would have to stop and work our way backwards to what the original point of the discussion was. We called this habit our tangent train. In honor of Keith and those memories, I would like to present the tangent train that has led to today’s blog:

My last blog mentioned that I owned a Chevette. A friend posted that she couldn’t imagine me fitting inside one. I mentioned that I had a picture somewhere of me standing next to it after I totaled it. I went looking for the picture. I found one of just the car. I kept looking. I found a box that I thought had more pictures, but when I opened it I saw a lot of papers. Some looked like they might be old stories I had written so I took the box upstairs and started shifting through it. Turned out to be full of letters, most from my college years. I laughed over many of them, even shared one with the original author 24 years after the fact. We decided the best use for such letters was as fuel for our funeral pyres. And then I found – drum roll, please – the email. And here we are.

Just before I moved back to the city in the 90’s, I worked for an insurance company in the call center. There had been a “merger” between 2 companies. I put “merger” in quotations because, out of the 1200 employees of the smaller company, 1100 took the buyout package. Sounds to me less like a merger and more like a takeover. This left them so understaffed that they had to hire replacements. I remember the first day I walked on the call center floor the shortest wait time I saw for a person to speak to an operator was 45 minutes. Ouch.

Part of this “merger” meant reshuffling managers from other departments, which resulted in me having a boss who had no idea what my job was or how to do it. Once we all got trained and up to speed, and there were actually operators available and no one in the queue, I got in trouble for reading the newspaper at my desk. I tried to explain that my job was answering the phone, and I couldn’t answer what wasn’t ringing, so what was I supposed to do? That logic failed them, so to placate them I took to calling for files from our archives just to read about famous people who were our clients. Needless to say this job wasn’t for me, so I made my escape plan. The day our bonus checks were delivered I took mine down to the credit union, cashed it, and then had a friend drive me to the bus station so i could move to NYC. Before I left, I sent out the following email to everyone in my department:

“Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes. I’m afraid it’s time for a goodbye again.”

For a writer, I’m finding myself strangely drawing a blank. This email will be received by two groups pf people: Those whom I worked with, and those whom I worked for. I feel i will start with those I worked for:

There’s an irony that I feel has been missed by the supervisors. In the obsessive search for the perfect stats, the fact has been lost that to obtain those stats, which could easily be done by the staff that is currently working here, the staff needs to want to earn them, and that is not something achieved via threatening and oppressive tactics. There is no one here that I know of that is happy with the current situation, and yet this is not to say that there are not people here who want to be happy here, who like the job and want to continue. I’m not saying that this should be run like a Club Med, but instead of intimidating the staff, try respecting them. Very few give their all here because they feel there is no reason to. Too much emphasis is placed on emphasizing the negative and too little on reinforcing the positive. Respect the staff and the staff will respect you, and the elusive wonderful stats will be achieved. An emperor that rules with an open hand has a far more rewarding and productive country than one who rules with a closed fist.

On to those with whom I worked. I have met all sorts of people, from the “outrageous” to the “uptight” (you know who you are) and I will take all of you with me. It is the artistic conceit to use that which one knows as fodder for creation, and that which I have experienced here will give me years of material!! There are two groups of you, and to each of you I give a wish:

To those of you who know that this company, or one like it, is your future: Keep up the fight. There is much that must be changed, and there is much that will be changed. Remember all that you are entitled to, such as simple decency, and do not stop asking for it until you get it. This can be a good place to work, for you are all good people to work with, and you can make it good. It shouldn’t have to be that way, a comfortable work environment is something that should already exist and not have to be fought for, but you can make it that way. Just don’t ever stop. (and remember: the state labor relations board can be your best friend…)

For those of you who know that this company, or one like it, is not what your future holds: the world is out there waiting for you, and you must go and meet it. Some people believe that we live many lives, but since this is the only one I seem to remember, I can only believe that this is it, and therefore we must make the most of it. It is up to you to make the most out of life, for life will not make anything for you. In the end, you will only regret that which you did not do and not that which you did.

I’m out of here kids. My fingers are shaking, my blood is pumping, my body is jazzed and my bags are packed. I wish everyone nothing but the best. If I leave here, and you all, a little different, preferably better, then when I first arrived, that makes me a happy man. I hope someone knows enough/is foolish enough to take over my position as department court jester, for there is nothing more precious in this world than a smile and a laugh. Since I started all of this with a song quote I might as well end it with one:

“I’m going back to New York City, I do believe I’ve had enough.”

That was from Wednesday, March 5, 1997. I only keep in contact with one person from that job. Finding this email reminded me of a few different names, but so far I (and Facebook) haven’t been able to find them. I wonder how they are doing. If it is artistic conceit that uses our experience as fodder for creation, then it is simple personal conceit that makes me curious what’s been going on. I temper that conceit with the reality that, as I went through all these newly found letters, there were some from people I don’t remember; surely that goes both ways and people from my past would say “Jack who?’ when asked.

What I am learning that is most important is that, as much as I may tell myself otherwise when I am writing one of these manifestos is that they are not for other people. Other people may get some benefit, or at least a good laugh out of them, but ultimately we write and say these things for ourselves, to remind us of who we are in a world that expects us to be so many other things.

Today’s soundtrack: If you think there are actually going to be two songs today, you’d be mostly right. There’s actually three: the two that you might expect – don’t mind the silliness of the Dylan video; I wanted to be sure it was a version where you could understand his singing – and a third song I just heard again after a long time that speaks to the same themes of the blog. Click here for your 3 song pre-Christmas serenade.