TWILIGHT OF THE GODS

We held the wake for the company one day early. The sale to the Canadian piranhas was not, in the end, finalized till Wednesday afternoon around tea time. On Tuesday evening, about fifty current and former employees retired to the Tunnel Top on Bush Street to lament the demise of a fine enterprise.
Well, some of us lamented. Those of us still involved in the company couldn't wait to see that puppy die. Yes, for years it had been a wonderful place to work, where creative juices flowed as if from inexhaustible springs, through fields of inspiration, yadda yadda yadda.
But in truth, the last three years had seen diminishing returns. For over a year it had been a hellish hostel between Sheol and the river Styx.
Heck, for the last four or five months, a madhouse.
Since mid-October, insanity squared.

But it's all over now.
Boruch Hashem.

I started working there in Spring of 2001. My immediate predecessor had spent three weeks begging his agency to put him elsewhere, good lord the place gave him nightmares! The person he had replaced left for lunch one day and never returned, after making such a mess of the Credit and Collections side that heads or tails could not be found. There were corpses in the filing cabinets that were not discovered for months afterwards.

By 2003 there were three of us staffing credit and collections: my boss, who dealt with the medium-sized chains and the internationals, a brilliant ex-seminarian who handled the big boxes and their ridiculous nickle-and-diming deductions and penalty fees that ate away at every single invoice, and myself.
My portfolio consisted of over fifteen hundred small retailers across the entire country, plus the franchises.
I also did research on the internationals and big distributors, as well as due diligence regarding banks and payment methodologies.
Over a year ago the big box man's accounts were split between me and my boss.
At the end of March I got all of them, plus her accounts.
By May I was having kittens.

The company had started spiralling down a few years ago. I shall not blame anyone for the decisions that made the demise increasingly inevitable over the past forty months, as it is both hard and pointless to assign blame.
The fracturing of the American economy is as responsible as anything.
And, and this is crucial, hindsight tars everyone unfairly.

I like the people I've worked with over the years, and admired quite a number of them for their qualities and their intelligence. There are very few whom I consider not up to snuff - shan't mention any names, nor enumerate what, how many, or how.
We had a habit of hiring good people.
More than in the law offices or computer companies where I've worked, my coworkers were characters, and people of strong character.

The sale was slated for end of October. Then the final date was postponed to the second of November, postponed again to the fifth, the eighth, the fifteenth.......
It was finally inked on the twenty first.
The buyers, who hail from a more innocent and silly part of the world, probably have no clue what they bought. It was evident from the get-go that they did not understand our supply chain, freight and import structures, manufacturing methods, or even the creative insanity which kept an impossible company orbiting the earth for nearly two decades.

I'm glad it's finally over. The others who stayed on to the last day are no doubt equally chipper.
We saw it through, and can finally close the book on it.
Time to start a new chapter.

I wish all of them well. They deserve it.
Guys, we very nearly did the impossible.
But what we did do was pretty damned good, and all in all well worth doing.


*   *   *   *   *   *


What am I going to do now?
I'm going to catch up on my sleep. For far too long I've been getting up before five A.M., spending over ten hours a day in Hayward, then getting to bad no earlier than eleven thirty.
I'm also going to catch up on my reading. There are a few foreign-language dictionaries I need to revisit, as well as the Aṣṭādhyāyī of Panini, translated by Sumitra M. Katre, and published by the University of Texas Press. Eight chapters on Vedic grammar written nearly two and a half millennia ago.
Eight very long chapters.
Densely textured.


Plus smut, of course. All good libraries should have a fine selection of smut, and all well-rounded readers should be familiar with it.


Starting, quite naturally, with the classic Song of Songs.
Which is about an innocent lusty maiden.
And her loving swain.

Vineyards. Pillars of Lebanon. Little foxes. Mounds of golden wheat. Winecups. Gazelles. Fragrances. Apples (actually probably apricots, but there has been a shift of meaning in some words since then). Honey. Dripping nectars. Cloth textures.
And suntans.


All of that should keep me occupied for a few months.
I also intend to lunch in C'town more often.
And to become normal again.
Whole.




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