Chapter 3: A Town By the Water, MA

I considered this printing company to be a real improvement from the last. The owner, Gerald, really talked it up during my interview. Gerald was also a salesman, and when I first met him, I thought he was my savior. My previous professional climate was so damaging, I needed a swift rescue. The salesman in Gerald fudged things here and there, but the stuff he fibbed about really had no bearing on my day-to-day life.

Again, I found myself employed as a CSR. The main difference between the places in New Jersey and this place was the quality and timeliness of the product we produced. Here, printing jobs were cradled through by a group of caring individuals. Folks were held accountable and they stayed until their work was done. Of course things got lost in the shuffle, but the bulk of it was done on time, on budget, and mistake-free. This amazed me; I spent the first few months waiting for the other shoe to drop.

One of sales folks I worked for was not only a woman, but she was the highest grossing salesperson. If one of her clients asked her to lie down on the train tracks for a while, Nina would answer back with an resounding “You got it!” She was one of the greatest forces of nature I have ever witnessed. Even while 9 months pregnant, she would plow through the office like a steam roller, reams of paper in her arms. On numerous occasions, she would throw the stacks of job specifications, work orders, or what have you down on our estimator’s desk, regardless of what he might be in the middle of. A very loud, throaty and exhausted-sounding, “Hi!” would signal that she needed his undivided attention right away. She would then fire off, machine-gun style, all the things she required of him. Nina felt entitled to preferential treatment because of the highest grossing sales person thing. She wore it like a World Series Championship ring. Didn’t matter whose job was slated to print first – she would spit fire at the press manager until she or he reluctantly agreed to shuffle around the order in her favor. After she took me on a few sales calls with her, I realized why she was so successful. She promised the world to her customers, she was an unbelievable charmer. When she got back to the plant, though, the bullying and browbeating would begin.

I couldn’t help but admire her for her persistence, even though she irritated the hell out of me on most days. She used to take Fridays off to spend time with her kids and saddle me with the brunt of her work. I could have lived with this arrangement, had it not been for her obsessive “checking in” calls that interrupted my workday. If there was a problem, the f-bombs were released and threats were made to call Gerald. “What do you mean, they haven’t started folding those brochures?! What the fuck are they doing down there in the bindery? That’s it! I’m calling Gerald!”

After a call to Gerald, one of the Meyers brothers might catch hell. They both operated the folding machines. They were related, but oddly, they looked nothing alike. Both David and Peter came from a long line of folding machine operators. I tried to imagine what the holidays were like at the Meyers house. All the conversations about faulty equipment, difficult folding jobs. “One time, I had a gate-fold job, which is a pain in the ass anyway (understanding nods from family members), and this thing, I’m telling you, was soaking wet! Right off the press - no drying time, no nothing! And it was a coated stock, too.” Coated sheets always took longer to dry than uncoated sheets, thus becoming the bane of a folding operator’s existence. I envisioned portraits of famous Meyers Family Folders decorating their walls.

The Meyers brothers were sweet as pie, though. They were perfect targets for a military tank like Nina. Peter, especially, would get so thrown off balance by one of her scoldings, he was pretty useless for the remainder of the day. David might retort by sparking up a joint, doping himself into numbness. Of the two, Dave was the most entertaining. He had a thick Boston accent that was only decipherable by another Bostonian. He would make a wise crack, then throw his hands up in front of him, and wave them back and forth, saying “Nah! Nah! Just kidding! Just fooling!”

Our company had an interesting time off policy. Upon getting hired and up to your first year of employment, you got 5 days off. This was your sick, vacation and personal time, all lumped together. I was truly stunned at the pettiness of this. One day, I approached Gerald and asked him about it. “So, you’re telling me that if I am sick for 5 straight days with something serious, that counts as my vacation?”

“It’s all in the employee handbook. Look it up.” He smiled widely, then made a very abrupt exit.

It was like a scene right out of 60 Minutes. I played Mike Wallace, and he was the crooked bio-tech CEO, spewing some vague management speak and then vanishing. It was also another salesman technique: Smile at you while I am screwing you.

There was some ambiguous corporate incest going on at the plant. Gerald was somehow related (cousins, I think) to a number of folks employed there. First, there was Joe, the guy who ran a giant copier in the “print on demand” department. Joe was a good 7 feet tall and easily weighed 300 pounds. He had a deep laugh and breathed loudly like Darth Vadar, but with a mucousy crackle. You did not want to get on this guy’s bad side. I would, when I had to, visit him to inquire about something that was urgently due. His standard response was: “If you ask me again, it’s not getting done. Now, get off my back.” He wore loud surfer-style shorts to work year-round and heaved an entire grocery bag full of food for lunch.

Another cousin was Mike, the bindery manager. Always cracking jokes, always boisterous and always helpful. He had cute names for me like “Needle Nits” and “Slipper Face.” I’d come over to see him and he would give a hearty greeting, “What’s up, theeeeeeeeeeere, Nits?” He had all the charisma of Quint, the shark hunter in Jaws, leading the bindery folks through their busy word day. I loved him. Not just because of his unwavering jovialness, but also because he wasn’t afraid to stand toe-to-toe with Nina. Mike knew his business and when he said something was so, it was so. And if anything went wrong in the bindery, Mike was the first guy to apologize and make it right.

Our press manager was another lovable man named Kip. Kip was openly gay and acted more or less like our press mother. Workers flocked to him for protection from upper management and he sure as hell went to bat for you. He stuck his neck out for guys on a daily basis. But he also aimed to please the demanding sales staff, forcing him to cram 15 hours of press time into 5. At the end of the day, no one was more exhausted than Kip. On especially frustrating days, the tattoo-clad press manager would dash out of the press room, facetiously screaming “We LOOOVE printing!” He also pacified rabid sales folks, clients and CSRs by promising to put “dryers in the inks” to speed up the process. I still have no idea what this meant or if it was even possible, but it placated us. He must have lifted it from the book.

The only other openly gay employee was the head of the sales staff, Fred. Fred was not really one for pushing himself too hard. When he went on sales calls, we would tease him by saying, “Enjoy the matinee!” Fred would smirk and pop out the door, sans briefcase or any other necessary sales tool.

Fred and others became fodder for a number of practical jokes performed by a fellow CSR named Lenny. Lenny was the ultimate prankster. Often, he would disguise his voice and call Fred to the front desk via the intercom. Fred, time and time again, would get up and walk over to a front desk, see no one, shrug his shoulders and walk back to the sales department. Lenny would call the receptionist and in the most demanding of tones, ask to speak to the estimator. His unprovoked anger would send her to the estimator’s desk, “Some asshole is on the phone for you!” she would say, visibly shaken from the experience.

Lenny’s masterpiece was crafted the evening we were treated to a plant tour and fancy dinner by a large paper distributor. There were about 5 of us, altogether. A stretch limo picked us up from the plant, which was a major mistake. There were 5 empty stomachs, and 1 mini bar. It wasn’t long before we were all half in the bag. We were having such a good time, we hardly noticed that the limo driver was seriously lost. Once this came into our collected consciousness, we were merciless. “Where the hell is this moron taking us?” we shouted. While this banter continued, Lenny found the button that controlled the window between the confused driver and us. He quietly pushed the button, the window came down and we all zipped up, except for Bob, who, while gesturing to the driver with his thumb, emphatically stated, ‘This fucking guy doesn’t know where the fuck he’s going!” It’s important to note that Bob was the only one who was sitting with his back to the window at the time the button was pushed.

The corporate “kiss up” was one of the pre-press managers, Rich. He had what can only be described as a frizz mullet: a poofed out, but carefully shaped coif. He had enormous gums with little baby teeth. Rich’s most distinguished characteristic, though, was his speech impediment. You might ask Rich about the ETA on a blueline proof from the prepress department and he would likely respond (whether it was true or not), “Oh, yeah, it’s being pwoofed wight now. Fwee minutes, tops!” Rich jumped at any opportunity to rearrange the truth for upper management as to paint himself the hero while pointing the finger at everyone else. He was always wight and every else was always wong. Strangely, his version of things was very convincing to the company V.P. and, like Howard the Informant from New Jersey, he always managed to get off scott-free. Needless to say, he was not popular among the masses.

Our receptionist, Alicia, was, inarguably, the most dim-witted individual I had ever known to that point. Comments like “Don’t you think my boobs are HUGE?” were fired off, no matter who might be standing around. She was without boundaries and my sympathies went out to the typesetter who sat close by. Poor Donna was forced to endure all the uncensored details of Alicia’s sex life – stories she would iterate in between fielding phone calls. Alicia had a habit, too, of not knowing when to end a conversation. All the obvious signals meant nothing to her. Whether you tried quick get-aways or slow-getaways, she would continue to talk and talk long after you walked away. She clung to people during lunch breaks and could never figure out why folks would politely excuse themselves. You felt bad for her, but never bad enough to put up with her.

Not long before I left this place, we were informed that Gerald had sold the company to a large corporation. My last few months were spent in a haze, new folks stepping in, old folks stepping out. A friend of mine informed me of a job opportunity at an impressive non-profit publisher. After 2 interviews, the offer was made and I was out the door. Gerald staged a very dramatic scene when I gave my notice. In addition a bridge burning accusation, I was also told (I am not kidding) that I would be sorry someday.