Some unfortunate news that I've been reluctantly anticipating for some time now came to the forefront today when my former employer, a local RV manufacturer, announced job cuts. I'm sure it comes as no surprise to any of us given the state of the economy, gas prices and the cost of a luxury RV. In addition another local RV manufacturer announced last week that each of their employees would see 5% pay cuts while their CEO would see a 25% cut. Such sacrifice by an RV CEO is astonishing to me as a former insider and I'm sure it may not sit well with other CEOs within the industry.
While the attitude and the mood of the corporate brass during these times may appear solemn to those of us on the outside whose only view is through the media, I can assure you that when the lay-offs are complete the upper management will breathe a sigh of relief and will be happy to have a burden lifted from their shoulders. In fact from what I have seen, I would estimate that in 90% of cases relating to job cuts or "lay-offs" of this sort the mood will be much brighter mainly because of the people who are gone. The corporations see this as an opportune time to "Weed the Garden" so to speak. I'm not talking about just axing the weak but axing those who have pissed off management for one reason or another. This being the case, nobody is safe here- from those whose personalities just don't mesh with the good old boys', to those who were unfairly hired into an un-posted position due to their relation to or status with a management head outside of work. Nobody is safe here! Step on the wrong toes just once and you'd better beware!
I, myself, was fortunate enough to have survived 3 large scale layoffs while under the employment of said RV company but i'm not sure that fortunate is highly accurate description of seeing friends pack up their desks and head home one last time because some jackass with in imported mahogany desk can't control his liquor consumption or some clown's brother needed a job or some sorry excuse for a technology director insisted that his minions give a company laptop to the son of VP who was more than willing to pay for it or how about when this same ignoramus suggested that an employee cancel long distance on their home phone and just use their company cell phone for long distance because that's what he did, and what about that Internet service on the corporate jet that only works 50% of the time at best, that's right I said corporate jet and what a luxurious flight that is. All the liquor you can handle, snacks, bottled water to further promote global pollution, and even a little debauchery and sexual harassment on the side. However I may have felt through these times I'm sure was nowhere near comparable to what my fellow employees could have been feeling in their freshly unemployed state but perhaps the worst feeling of all was that feeling of teetering on the edge. The feeling you get when the company announces that layoffs are coming, in order to appease the shareholders. You know the old men who have more than their fair share of currency and are unwilling to part with any decent sum in which a charitable organization may greatly benefit from? We would often get the announcement anywhere from 2-5 days ahead of time, as standard employees. But then there's the supervisor world, a world I was allowed into only when convenient. We would usually get the heads up on layoffs up to a week ahead of time so that we had ample time to prepare for the untimely departure of our piers and by this I mean that we would get the names of people slated for layoffs way before they knew that they were being issued a one way ticket home. A whole week? Really, we need this much time? Does it seem ironic that during such times there was plenty of gossip to go around the management world of which the main subjects consisted primarily of the employees to be laid off? So with anticipation building, I would do my best to hold back and not tell people that there day was just around the corner and they should open up and tell the Director the truth about himself. Lay-off day would come. And go. And I would get furious, only to have my supervisor tell me that it was pushed back a day or two but for why nobody knew. These were people's careers, we were playing with here. Real people. People with families to feed, car payments and mortgages. But who cares right? They had pissed someone off or did something a different way or didn't have the right personality, screw their families and most of all screw their lives. Looking back now, realizing what I had allowed myself to be sucked into and take part in, never happy about it mind you; I realize just how oblivious I was to it all, yet somewhere in the back of my mind I knew just how immoral the ways of this outfit were.
In regards to the recent announcement made by my former captor, perhaps the most ironic piece is where the CEO states something to the effect of not being able to predict the continuing decline of consumer confidence caused in part by deteriorating credit markets and record-breaking crude oil prices. Seriously? Do you watch the news, sir? You're a college graduate for crying out loud! If these are the wits of a millionaire, that fully explains my current financial status! To add to the absurdity, this character contributed a healthy (by normal American's standards) chunk of change to the 2004 reelection bid of our current Commander in Chief. You know that really funny guy that heads up the government? The government who won't do a damn thing about oil prices, oil consumption, price-gauging or pollution. Yes Oil, you know the stuff that is used to make the gasoline that is quickly approaching $5 a gallon and is used to fuel large RVs which happen to burn it at an average rate of 5 miles per gallon or so I'm told. Hmmm where's the problem?
It is a sad thing to see some really great people, some of the best I've ever worked with, at this place once again. As an outsider now, my view has changed and I think I truly understand what a terrible thing this is. On the other hand, the brass deserve what's coming to them in the form of failure but the unfortunate irony of all this is that at the end of the day, even if the company was to fold, the brass will be the last to feel the hurt. Send the Comptroller home jobless and he's still feeding his family, in fact it would probably be an opportune time for him to take a much needed vacation before he decides his next move whether it be with another corporation or as an independent consultant charging hundreds per hour. Send the guy installing cabinets home jobless and he's trying to figure out how to afford to feed his family, put gas in his car to go apply for new work, and make this month's rent.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Return to The Land of the Single Speed
It is said that among what we take for granted in life are the simplest of things that bring us so much pleasure. It is only now that I understand the truth behind such a statement for I have returned from the land of the Fixed Gear, humbled, fatigued, aching and mildly disappointed. Of all the legend of this new way of life, all the excitement, all the lore I have learned that this indeed is not the way for me. For in my conquest, I found myself alone, my plan to acquire the assistance of the team at Collin's was halted when I learned that I was not selected on account of their decision to adhere to their own bureaucratic ways. Determined, I would forgo the journey alone. Sure the Peugeot could not make such a journey in my care alone, I devised a new plan. Such a plan would have to involved the most trustworthy craft of my fleet, the Redline 925. Already thriving in the land of the single-speed she was the only cycle I entrusted my life to on a daily basis.
Upon learning that I would not be assisted by the army of my preference I quickly moved into survival mode, planning out how I would venture into unchartered territory alone with the 925. I had heard by many that such a feat with a craft such as mine would be an utterly easy journey but I was still hesitant to proceeded. I waited patiently for three days and on the fourth day made my move. Unbolting first the rear tire, followed by the chain tensioners and then the fender I proceeded to remove my chain and clean it. Once clean, I flipped the wheel to the side where the fixed cog lay attached to the hub and proceeded to reattach the chain followed by the tensioners, the axle bolts and finally the fender. After some minor adjustments of the chain tensioners, my journey was complete. Setting foot in this new land was yet to come.
I stepped into the pedal clips, quickly, to not be noticed as a foreigner. The first revolution of the pedals was one unimaginable as I felt not a choice but to pedal. Trying to slow the craft was also a new technique as it was nowhere near as simple as the coaster breaking I had experienced on my cruiser back on the Single Speed, in fact pedaling backwards seemed to only slow my momentum minimally and I found my old way of hand-braking a comforting companion. I proceeded down the street, up the hill and back down again. The hills of this world felt slightly different from the hills I had known previously as I felt it almost easier to climb with the momentum of the bike carrying me with the option to stop pedaling absent. Reaching the crest of the hill, I turned to head back in the direction from whence I came. Descending the incline, I felt more in control than I had on descents in the Single Speed but could feel the pressure building on my knees. If anything my brake pads could live a longer life in this land though. After a short journey inland of less than two miles I returned to my home base, resting to contemplate my next move and take in this new experience.
Within hours I began to notice aches in both of my knees obviously brought on by the intense demand of this dark new world. Taking into consideration the history of knee problems plaguing my lineage as well as myself I began to seriously consider my options. Was this pain and suffering worth enduring to find what this place had to offer? Would all this be worth the content life I had loved and left behind? I could not see how and therefore my mind was made up. I would retrace my route and return to the single speed at once.
Only resting the hours I took to contemplate, I wasted no time in heading back in the direction of my home.
When I returned, all was as I had left it. Fatigued, I sat back to take in the view of such a wonderful, simple world. My world. The Single Speed.
Upon learning that I would not be assisted by the army of my preference I quickly moved into survival mode, planning out how I would venture into unchartered territory alone with the 925. I had heard by many that such a feat with a craft such as mine would be an utterly easy journey but I was still hesitant to proceeded. I waited patiently for three days and on the fourth day made my move. Unbolting first the rear tire, followed by the chain tensioners and then the fender I proceeded to remove my chain and clean it. Once clean, I flipped the wheel to the side where the fixed cog lay attached to the hub and proceeded to reattach the chain followed by the tensioners, the axle bolts and finally the fender. After some minor adjustments of the chain tensioners, my journey was complete. Setting foot in this new land was yet to come.
I stepped into the pedal clips, quickly, to not be noticed as a foreigner. The first revolution of the pedals was one unimaginable as I felt not a choice but to pedal. Trying to slow the craft was also a new technique as it was nowhere near as simple as the coaster breaking I had experienced on my cruiser back on the Single Speed, in fact pedaling backwards seemed to only slow my momentum minimally and I found my old way of hand-braking a comforting companion. I proceeded down the street, up the hill and back down again. The hills of this world felt slightly different from the hills I had known previously as I felt it almost easier to climb with the momentum of the bike carrying me with the option to stop pedaling absent. Reaching the crest of the hill, I turned to head back in the direction from whence I came. Descending the incline, I felt more in control than I had on descents in the Single Speed but could feel the pressure building on my knees. If anything my brake pads could live a longer life in this land though. After a short journey inland of less than two miles I returned to my home base, resting to contemplate my next move and take in this new experience.
Within hours I began to notice aches in both of my knees obviously brought on by the intense demand of this dark new world. Taking into consideration the history of knee problems plaguing my lineage as well as myself I began to seriously consider my options. Was this pain and suffering worth enduring to find what this place had to offer? Would all this be worth the content life I had loved and left behind? I could not see how and therefore my mind was made up. I would retrace my route and return to the single speed at once.
Only resting the hours I took to contemplate, I wasted no time in heading back in the direction of my home.
When I returned, all was as I had left it. Fatigued, I sat back to take in the view of such a wonderful, simple world. My world. The Single Speed.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
A War of Words
Today Collin's Cycle Shop picked the top 5 essays in their "Free Fixed Gear" essay contest. The picks were based on votes and well, unfortunately, yours truly was not in the top 5. This came as a surprise as I had counted the essays with the top votes first thing this morning and was sure that I was #4 however it turned out that not all essays were tagged properly so I didn't count a few mediocre (at best) essays written by some very pretty and premiscous young ladies (or so they'd have you believe). Apparently the male majority will favor anything fabricated by an individual that remotely portrays a somewhat attractive member of the opposite sex. Who'd have thought? My only real discrepancy with the outcome of the essay contest would be the lack of rules as pertains to spelling and grammar. Had such rules been in place the Seventh Grade Teacher who just so happened to rack up the most votes would be disqualified (I recently rescued a couple of used 80’s Japanese touring bikes for my wife and I?) No offense to the essay contest leader though, we all can't be professional computer nerds with no college education.
To those of you who didn't vote for me and feel bad that I didn't win: I can do nothing to soothe your guilt, that's just something you'll have to learn to live with. (I hear that it gets easier to accept over time). It may ease your mind to know that I already have three bikes so I'll likely get by.
To my peeps who did vote for me: Thank you for your support. Unfortunately you won't be getting a ride on a free fixed gear anytime soon however next time you're in the neighborhood and find me in a generous enough mood you may find yourself on the receiving end of a ride on a single-speed road bike, cruiser, or vintage ten speed. Stay off the trike, it belongs to my kid!
So what have I learned from this experience? I should base all future essay contest writings from the viewpoint of a highly sexually active, early twenty-something female who has an unusual attractions for bike nerds. Now I just need to come up with a pen name. Suggestions?
Finally I felt that my essay or story, if you will, deserved nothing more than to come home after such a hard-fought battle. So without further delay, I give you
"A Brave New World"
It was the spring of '07 and the pedals of my cycle called to me like a long-lost love. With record oil prices looming, the threat of global climate change and a rapidly declining economy that would make even the devil himself shriek; I answered the call.
Upon the completion of my first 16 mile round trip to my daily place of business I found myself thrust into the world of cycling, a permanent resident. From the neighborhoods of Thurston to the rough and tumble streets of downtown Springtucky to the bike paths of Tracktown USA littered with transients, junkies, runners and my newly acquired brethren of cyclists; every moment was pure joy. And while joyous it was, within two months I found the serenity of the ride interrupted by a horrendous racket equivalent to that of fingernails on the chalkboard. Growing increasingly unbearable by the day, the demonic shrieks from below continued in the attempt to sabotage my ride but this was only fuel for my fire. My drive to overcome the evil that imprisoned my bicycle took me to places unimaginable by any man. This battle I would continue to fight until on the sixty-third day a revelation came to me, a relieving yet utterly disappointing realization that this battle could not be won. Not by myself nor by my enemy who had come to be known only as The Derailleur. It was a battle that could exceed time if not ceased soon. Thus I saw it in my best interest to save my energy and retreat from this bitter war. With my hatred for The Derailleur now engulfing my entire life, I knew I could no longer exist this way.
It was not until I had returned from the battle front in my mentally fragile state, weakened and exhausted that I learned of a Utopia of sorts. A paradise unscathed by the tormenting ways of The Derailleur that had plagued the rest of the cycling world. A peaceful state known only as the Single Speed. Something drew me to this bold new world. My passion for simplicity coupled with my love of the cycle, possibly? Whatever it was, something of this new world felt faintly familiar but exactly what it was I could not decipher. Nevertheless, it was on my mind around the clock. Nothing more could please me than the thought of such a wonderful state in which I could have my cake and eat it too, cycling in peace without even the slightest threat of The Derailleur and it's Napoleon-esque complex invading my way of life. Was this what was meant for me? Perhaps my recent battle had not been fruitless, after all would I not be so humbly appreciative of the Single Speed way of life if not for my bitter feud with The Derailleur?
Months have now passed since taking up residency in the world of the Single Speed. With the exception of a fortnight spent nursing a knee injury, every day lived here has been nothing short of joyous. They say we are creatures of habit and perhaps it is because of this that my rambling ways always seem to come calling. While I may still be considered youthful by many accounts, the days only allow for me to grow older. Recently I have heard talk of a new place, a more simple way, even more simplistic than that of the Single Speed some say. They call it the Fixed Gear. They say the simplicity is such that the need for handbrakes is obsolete. The cycle can be stopped by merely "pedalling backwards". Some say they are crazy, that this cannot be. Regardless, the prospect of this Fixed Gear intrigues me, drawing me like a moth to a flame. I must judge for myself. I will move swiftly and embark on this rugged new world at once but I shall not go it alone. For I fear that I cannot succeed in such a place without the company of my trusty Peugeot whom has fallen prisoner to The Derailleur and its army of Ten Cogs. Liberating the craft will be a not be a terribly easy task but a necessary task nonetheless as nobody deserves a chance at the Fixed Gear life more than my Peugeot. As I plot the rescue of my trusty cycle, I have come to realize that such a feat would not be wise to attempt alone. I must gather a crew. Word around town has it that there is no better crew to be found than the Team at Collins Cycle Shop but will they do it? Will they stand beside me in my attempt to free my trusty craft from the evil clutches of The Derailleur and seek a new life in the world of the Fixed Gear? It is said that they have experience in this field, but can I trust them? My instincts tell me I can. I have no other option I must go to them at once for I cannot do this without them.
To those of you who didn't vote for me and feel bad that I didn't win: I can do nothing to soothe your guilt, that's just something you'll have to learn to live with. (I hear that it gets easier to accept over time). It may ease your mind to know that I already have three bikes so I'll likely get by.
To my peeps who did vote for me: Thank you for your support. Unfortunately you won't be getting a ride on a free fixed gear anytime soon however next time you're in the neighborhood and find me in a generous enough mood you may find yourself on the receiving end of a ride on a single-speed road bike, cruiser, or vintage ten speed. Stay off the trike, it belongs to my kid!
So what have I learned from this experience? I should base all future essay contest writings from the viewpoint of a highly sexually active, early twenty-something female who has an unusual attractions for bike nerds. Now I just need to come up with a pen name. Suggestions?
Finally I felt that my essay or story, if you will, deserved nothing more than to come home after such a hard-fought battle. So without further delay, I give you
"A Brave New World"
It was the spring of '07 and the pedals of my cycle called to me like a long-lost love. With record oil prices looming, the threat of global climate change and a rapidly declining economy that would make even the devil himself shriek; I answered the call.
Upon the completion of my first 16 mile round trip to my daily place of business I found myself thrust into the world of cycling, a permanent resident. From the neighborhoods of Thurston to the rough and tumble streets of downtown Springtucky to the bike paths of Tracktown USA littered with transients, junkies, runners and my newly acquired brethren of cyclists; every moment was pure joy. And while joyous it was, within two months I found the serenity of the ride interrupted by a horrendous racket equivalent to that of fingernails on the chalkboard. Growing increasingly unbearable by the day, the demonic shrieks from below continued in the attempt to sabotage my ride but this was only fuel for my fire. My drive to overcome the evil that imprisoned my bicycle took me to places unimaginable by any man. This battle I would continue to fight until on the sixty-third day a revelation came to me, a relieving yet utterly disappointing realization that this battle could not be won. Not by myself nor by my enemy who had come to be known only as The Derailleur. It was a battle that could exceed time if not ceased soon. Thus I saw it in my best interest to save my energy and retreat from this bitter war. With my hatred for The Derailleur now engulfing my entire life, I knew I could no longer exist this way.
It was not until I had returned from the battle front in my mentally fragile state, weakened and exhausted that I learned of a Utopia of sorts. A paradise unscathed by the tormenting ways of The Derailleur that had plagued the rest of the cycling world. A peaceful state known only as the Single Speed. Something drew me to this bold new world. My passion for simplicity coupled with my love of the cycle, possibly? Whatever it was, something of this new world felt faintly familiar but exactly what it was I could not decipher. Nevertheless, it was on my mind around the clock. Nothing more could please me than the thought of such a wonderful state in which I could have my cake and eat it too, cycling in peace without even the slightest threat of The Derailleur and it's Napoleon-esque complex invading my way of life. Was this what was meant for me? Perhaps my recent battle had not been fruitless, after all would I not be so humbly appreciative of the Single Speed way of life if not for my bitter feud with The Derailleur?
Months have now passed since taking up residency in the world of the Single Speed. With the exception of a fortnight spent nursing a knee injury, every day lived here has been nothing short of joyous. They say we are creatures of habit and perhaps it is because of this that my rambling ways always seem to come calling. While I may still be considered youthful by many accounts, the days only allow for me to grow older. Recently I have heard talk of a new place, a more simple way, even more simplistic than that of the Single Speed some say. They call it the Fixed Gear. They say the simplicity is such that the need for handbrakes is obsolete. The cycle can be stopped by merely "pedalling backwards". Some say they are crazy, that this cannot be. Regardless, the prospect of this Fixed Gear intrigues me, drawing me like a moth to a flame. I must judge for myself. I will move swiftly and embark on this rugged new world at once but I shall not go it alone. For I fear that I cannot succeed in such a place without the company of my trusty Peugeot whom has fallen prisoner to The Derailleur and its army of Ten Cogs. Liberating the craft will be a not be a terribly easy task but a necessary task nonetheless as nobody deserves a chance at the Fixed Gear life more than my Peugeot. As I plot the rescue of my trusty cycle, I have come to realize that such a feat would not be wise to attempt alone. I must gather a crew. Word around town has it that there is no better crew to be found than the Team at Collins Cycle Shop but will they do it? Will they stand beside me in my attempt to free my trusty craft from the evil clutches of The Derailleur and seek a new life in the world of the Fixed Gear? It is said that they have experience in this field, but can I trust them? My instincts tell me I can. I have no other option I must go to them at once for I cannot do this without them.
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