The Eventless Horizon

Billy pulled me aside today.

"Can I ask you something?"

Sure, Billyboy.

"Do you think the Boss has a drinking problem?"

The Boss was out for days last year with a strange "stomach problem" and it was widely rumored that his beloved combination of tequila and weed were hitting his gut and his immune system with a one-two punch.

I told Billy I story I heard about the Boss.

I heard that the Boss's grandmother died of cirrhosis, and that he had to see her as she died. Apparently, she was sweating and twitching in her final moments.

"So it runs in the family," Billy said.

Then, without missing a beat, Billy went on to explain how his beer consumption has risen to ten to twelve beers a night. "Although," he added, "If I drink hard liquor, my girl will kick me out of the house!"

*

My mother got power again, and thanks for that. Because the Boss has been out two days straight, I haven't had access to the worktruck, so I've been stuck in the w.

At one point, to alleviate boredom, I tore up a piece of paper and rubbed it in my hair.

I try to learn more about sales, but people are protective of their knowledge and guard whatever skills they acquire. The company itself seems to lack all organization when it comes to training their employees. The computer system is still based on MS-DOS and, as I mentioned before, parts are assigned numbers we have to memorize to input them into a sales order. Unfortunately, the parts correspond to those used by an old manufacturer we no longer work with. There are hundreds of parts. One, for example, a sticky back collar with damper, has the number 133 stamped on the side, but Billy, and everyone else, calls it a 168. Not a big problem for a few parts or even twenty, but with hundreds, you can imagine how this makes it difficult for the "new guy" -- I've worked there for two years, if you can believe it -- to learn the system.

Additionally, different contractors have different names for the parts. They are not standardized.

When I make progress learning the system, it is during the occasional slow days. As I catch on, the truck runs start coming back in, and I soon return to the same duties I've held since my second day on the job. Pulling orders off a list, driving the truck, sweeping the floors, emptying the trash, stacking the cardboard.

On a day like, say, today, the eventless horizon makes for some long hours. During the last five minutes of my shift, I suspect I look at the clock dozens of times.

*

The raid on my mother's freezer yielded a hefty package of chicken breasts, which I've been slow cooking with green onions, shallots, nutmeg, cinnamon, oil, and chilli peppers since I got home from work at five.

It is a vaguely Indian tasting dish. Not my best, but okay. Probably enough for ten meals if I space them right. Decent meals, at that: mix up the rice and the sandwiches and the salads in appropriate combinations and I just might make it to the end without becoming tired of the taste.

The trick, tonight, is get a little reading and writing done and get to bed in time for seven hours sleep. In the event that the Boss misses again tomorrow, I don't want to face another day like the last two with anything but a full fighting spirit.