Giving Cab Rides
I hate “titles”. No, really, I hate them and don’t believe in them. Ever since 2001, I’ve never really used whatever “title” I’ve had except on business cards my bosses deemed were necessary. I believe that people will follow you and listen to you from your actions, decisions, and your ability to lead no matter what your “title” is. Just because you have a “title” doesn’t mean you know what you’re doing.
So one of the things that I do is oversee two inter-facility non-emergency passenger vans which we refer to as shuttles. Each van has a route with scheduled stops for both passengers and cargo. For the most part, the routes run themselves as long as the drivers have their correct vehicles, are on their way by a certain time, and as long as the departments in charge of the cargo have it in the pick-up area.
Of course… not everyday goes smoothly as it should… but 99% of the time its not because of my drivers. So this morning, after another fucked up day yesterday, I decided to speak to one of the guys who is making us run late early in the morning by not getting the cargo where its supposed to be. So here is the gist of the conversation:
Me: Good morning, I just want to make sure that you guys have the cargo in the pick-up room before 7:00am.
Him: Well we’ll try.
Me: Well, trying isn’t going to keep us ontime. We have a schedule and need to stick to it, so we really need those items in the room by 7:00am.
Him: And who the hell are you to be telling me what time to have stuff there?
Now at this point, my calm demeanor has changed because at 6:15am… I really don’t need this kind of bullshit.
Me: Who am I? I am the shuttle commander, and you will respect my authority!
Him: Doh.
So yes… I have decided that my new title is Shuttle Commander. I don’t think anyone else has claimed that title in my field… so I am definitely the first. You can call me Commander for short. I might even get business cards again for it.
This is a phone conversation I had last night. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
*PHONE RINGS*
Mr. Smith: Hello?
NYCWD: Hello, is this Mr. Smith?
Mr. Smith: Yes it is.
NYCWD: Mr. Smith, this is EMT NYCWD in New York City. I am sorry to inform you that your 16 year old son John is in the emergency room at Our Lady of Misery Hospital.
Mr. Smith: Oh no! What happened? He was going to see The Smiths @ Hammerstein Ballroom!!! Is he alright???
NYCWD: Well sir, that’s really a matter of opinion at this point.
Mr. Smith: What happened?
NYCWD: He’s drunk sir.
Mr. Smith: Huh?
NYCWD: Sir, he consumed about half a liter of vodka and is intoxicated. He currently states he feels fine, but he also thinks he is Julius Caesar and is insisting that everyone wear togas and call him Emporer.
Mr. Smith: Are you fucking kidding me?
NYCWD: No sir, unfortunately I am not. I have the vomit to prove it.
Mr. Smith: What? Is this a joke? Are you kidding me?
NYCWD: I assure you sir, this is not a joke.
Mr. Smith: Is this Scary?
NYCWD: I’m sorry?
Mr. Smith: Is this Scary Jones from the Z100 morning show? Is this a phone tap??? (Phone Taps are crank call segments on the local radio station)
NYCWD: No sir, I assure you I am not Scary Jones. Your going to need to come down here to be with your 16 year old son, sir.
Mr. Smith: Are you fucking kidding me?
NYCWD: I swear on all that is holy I am not kidding you. Now please put your ass in the car and come down here.
Mr. Smith: Fine. This is fucking crazy. Wait, he was with his brother Jim who is 18 years old! Can’t he just sign the necessary papers?
NYCWD: Under normal circumstances he would with your verbal consent, however these are not normal circumstances.
Mr. Smith: Well where is Jim? I want to speak to him!
NYCWD: Normally that would be possible sir… but unfortunately after we placed John in the back of the ambulance, Jim ran away.
Mr. Smith: He did what? Are you fucking kidding me???
NYCWD: I assure you I am not. He is probably half way to Staten Island by now.
Mr. Smith: Are you sure your not Scary Jones from Z100???
*CLICK*
People wonder why kids do stupid things like drink copious amounts of alcohol before a concert.
I believe the above conversation proves its just poor genetics.
I made mention last week that my co-worker and friend’s mother had passed away.
Today the same co-worker’s brother, at the age of 46, also passed away.
He was shopping with his wife and two children. When they got to the register, he handed her the credit card, said her name, and then had a massive heart attack. He dropped right then and there to the floor, putting a literal hole in his head on the way down which originally misled the first arriving unit into thinking he had been shot.
I know that somewhere in there would normally be a joke about shopping, credit cards, women and whatnot… but I assure you it isn’t a joke.
This year has continued in its consistency of being nightmarish. While I would normally tempt the fates and ask, “Just how much worse can it get?”… well I’d rather not find out. Of course, if the fact that I broke the brand new siren on her brand new truck while driving her to the hospital is any indicator… I better get my haz-mat gear on.
For many years there have been quite a few people who consider me an alpha type personality. Loud, eccentric, bossy, and menacing are all words that have been used to describe me from those who I work closest with. Are those words flattering? Not really, but the DONE and ACCOMPLISHED and SUCCESS red stamps on 99% of my projects are really what matters.
So walking into this temporary assignment, I had to keep in mind that while I am working here… I don’t actually WORK HERE… ya know? It’s more of a consultant and guiding role. Unfortunately, while Wednesday was a rousing improvement, yesterday crashed and burned. Today, well, I have hopes. I have hopes that these people will get on the ball, that they will do what I ask of them, that they listen to what I say before dismissing my suggestions. My alpha personality right now is on vacation while I’m all smiles, hand holding, and positive reinforcing.
My boss however has in no uncertain terms made it clear that this must succeed and to use any and all means necessary at my disposal. This basically means that if I have to drink goat’s blood, slaughter a hundred Spartan warriors, lay waste to the land, and unleash the demons from the nine circles of hell, then that’s what I’ll have to do. This is why they keep me. I make things happen. The thing is… I’m not so sure I can anymore. This is the first real thing I’m being tested on… and the results will undoubtedly determine my future. I need to make this happen.
If today does not go as planned, then someone is going to have to tell them that I’m coming back on Tuesday… and hell’s coming with me. Anyone got a goat I can sacrifice on the cheap?
It is 3:45 in the morning. I am at work. No… I’m not finishing up… I’m actually just starting. One of the things about my newfound flexibility is that I have become a sort of mercenary. Can’t get a system up and running? Send NYCWD. Can’t get a bus started in three feet of water? Send NYCWD. Got 15,000 Rastafarians going to the Island of Misfit Toys for the second biggest East Coast reggae show? Send NYCWD. Encountered a marauding band of pirates who are pillaging your wealth, burning your homes, and raping your women? Obviously, they called NYCWD before you did. Duh.
I like the flexibility, and the changing challenges that occur to keep me occupied… but I really am NOT feeling these hours. Hell, I didn’t even stay up for wrestling last night to watch the return of Triple H. To make things worse, apparently the Dunkin’ Donuts overnight guy died… because after 5 minutes of pounding no one came to the window so I had to settle for a 7-11 latte. It’s not shaping up to be a good day. So for the next 3-4 days I’m working crazy hours… doing stuff I’ve done a trillion times before with a team who I have never heard of, but who apparently have heard of me.
They call me Genghis. ‘nuff said.
