Wide Awake at 2:30

 It cold in SoCal, in the 40’s, when the sun goes down it gets cold fast. I feel the cold more because of the damned warfarin I take every day, blood thinner makes you feel cold. Cold enough to build a fire in the wood stove then warm enough to fall asleep on the sofa a little past ten and wake up at 2 in the morning.

A few minutes ago I read about the big winter storm in the midwest and the northeast. In quick succession I thought about the night in Cambridge when the January wind was blowing so damn hard the hanging traffic signal over Memorial Drive was sticking straight out, the storm when I was a kid when the intersection of highway 2 and 81 was so deep in snow the traffic signal was laying on its side, the buried traffic signal in the Back Bay, it’s lights showing “Walk-Don’t Walk” through the snow bank. Not that anyone in Boston pays attention to traffic signals, buried in snow or not.

When I tell my SoCal friends about winter storms their eyes bug out and jaws go slack, just like mine do when they tell me about the Northridge Earthquake. We’ve all bumped up against some shit a time or two.

Coldest I’ve ever been was a night on a sailboat crossing from Florida to the Bahamas in a Northeast gale, 20-25 foot seas and winds gusting to 55 knots, I don’t know what the air temperature was during the crossing, but I had on fleece longies, a heavy fleece jacket and full foul weather gear and I was still freezing my ass of while driving the boat, it was a long night. It was 33 degrees in West End, coldest it had been in the Bahamas in almost 100 years. You haven't lived until you're served a drink at an out door bar in Freeport by a bartender in a red ski jacket and gloves.Two days later it was in the high 70’s and not a breath of wind. We motored back to Florida.

I went out with the dog a few minutes ago, we both peed up against a tree, usually he likes to sniff around, not tonight. Anze trotted right back to the door while I zipped up. It’s windy outside, maybe 10-15kts, the oaks are moving around pretty good.

I’m going to Topanga in the morning and get a load of stove wood, then I’m going to clear out the washes, move some pots around for Cakes. Moving pots sounds easy, not these, the pots are huge, cast concrete bastards. They were cast years ago for the grounds of the Beverley Hills Hotel and somehow they ended up in our yard. I also need to get a pin for the latch on the front gate and I just noticed we’re out of orange juice.

To hell with this, I’m going to grab my Kindle and try to finish Paul Beatty’s “The Sellout” hopefully I’ll fall back asleep…

Observations from a Blue State

Two guys waiting to pick up their cars from service:

Guy 1: “If a cop arrests you, you’re guilty of something.”

Guy 2. “Shouldn’t waste money on trials, let the cops take care of it right there.”

Guy 1. “It’s the fucking lawyers.”

Guy 2. “When they go to trial they always get off.”

Guy 1. “Trump will take care of that.”

After Tuesday’s election it feels like just under half of Americans would be willing to toss the constitution to allay their perceived fears.

Trump has made it okay to go beyond the normal conservative dog whistles, check out what happened in schools the day after the elections. Jr. High kids taunting Latino kids telling them to go back to where they came from,

Football games now featuring racial chants

“Niggers get out” spray painted in school bathrooms.

Will we have open season on anyone who is perceived as not American and you can read that as white American.

I am sick and tired of hearing about how tough things are in parts of America, no jobs, no money. I get that it’s tough to have a factory move to a non-union state (that’s where most of the jobs have gone) or overseas. I understand that. What I don’t understand is why, the whiny little bitches, don’t do something about it.

Being a coal miner has always sucked, it has been a nasty, dangerous job since the first mine was dug. What I don’t get is why the miners blame the government for their plight. The mine operators are the culprits, google Don Blankenship when you get a moment, he’s a piece of work. If I was a miner in West Virginia I’d burn his hilltop mansion down. The government is trying to protect them from the mine owner who could care if you lived or died.

Coal is not coming back, no matter what Trump says. Do they believe we’ll have steam locomotives and coal burning furnaces again?

Michigan went for Trump, he got the union vote. Do they believe he’d have done the auto industry bailout that President Obama did? GM and Chrysler are alive and thriving today (and they paid back the money) because of the loans. He wouldn’t have.

Check out the great economic miracle in Kansas, slash taxes, slash the budgets on everything that makes life worthwhile…Kansas is a large pile of horseshit and Republicans still believe there is a pony in there somewhere. Sorry it’s just a pile of horseshit.

Compare Republican Wisconsin to Liberal Minnesota, they share a border. Minnesota is on fire economically, Wisconsin is on a downward spiral.

Why don’t these angry voters take a look at their state and compare it to the thriving “Blue” states and note the differences? Do you know what the difference is? The “Blue” states don’t have wingnuts running them. They don’t have politicians play the race card and turning the citizens into them and us adversaries.

Value voters in the south would be amazed at the difference in the divorce rate between Massachusetts and Mississippi. (Mass has the lowest in the nation) The difference in the teen pregnancy rates in states with solid, science based sex education compared to states with mumbo-jumbo sex ed is amazing.

I could go on, but I’m tired of conservatives, evangelicals, right to lifers, trickle-down economics, misogyny, racists and ignorance.

You have your country back for the next for years and whatever happens it’s all on you and we’ll have to fix it again. When we do, I’d like you to shut the fuck up and get to work on yourself.

So little time…

I worked 205 hours in October When I get home and I’m completely burned out, I think about writing, I still have things to say, stories to tell. No time, I  can’t get it done.

My reading has gone to hell. I last 5 minutes with a book before I fall asleep, I nod off during the news, I pass out on the sofa watching a movie. I don’t feel like cooking anymore. I see bits and pieces of football. I almost fell asleep last night during the last inning of the World Series. How did that happen?

I don’t know how I feel about this change in my life? I miss my time with books and words. I miss my time to think and ponder.

Then again, I feel more alive now, I like the BS banter with my co-workers. I like my clients.  I like the transactional aspect of selling. I like choosing my words, I like moving a client towards the right purchase. I like the satisfaction of closing a deal, I like a happy client.

I like the diversity of our clientele, hell I like the diversity of California. One thing I’ve known n it all my life is, you can’t assume anything about anybody. You have to take the time to get to know them. Appearance, skin color, surnames mean nothing. I have black clients, white clients and Latin clients, Asian, Indian and Middle Eastern clients. They are interesting, they have their own stories and they all have unique wants, needs and desires. That said they are all more alike than different. They all want to be treated with respect and honesty. I do that every day.

Our little store is a microcosm of our country, a slice of America. So whenever I get tired, cranky. I reflect that on most days, long as they are, I see the best of us. I see the things we all have in common. Those things are much more important than the things we perceive as our differences.  

My Journey…

"8 and a half by 11"

Kurt Vonnegut (I truly love the brilliant bastard) once wrote “writers focus on an 8 and half by 11 sheet of paper to attempt to make sense out of chaos.”

Writers try contain the chaos on that one sheet, to bring some order to their world, the world. To contain the disorder.

I think therapy is the same as Vonnegut’s sheet of paper, an attempt to bring order to chaos…

A friend of mine told me a week or two ago that I was being too hard on myself, that I was beating myself up. He didn’t understand the chaos in my head. How the hell can you explain it? How can you get anyone to understand anything that is so personal, so hidden inside yourself that it only exposes its self to you and you alone. The fear, the self-doubt, the anger, the frustration, exposing it’s self from time to time in only the most inappropriate ways.

All the sessions with Erica taught me one important thing, “if behavior is inappropriate, you have to stop doing it”. She related it to drinking. The only way a person addicted to alcohol (or drugs) can begin to recover is to stop drinking. Stopping is only the first step on the long road to recovery.

If your behavior causes problems, take a long hard look at the behavior and get rid of your bullshit. Be honest, be true. Get your chaos under control, get it on that 8 and a half by 11 sheet of paper.

When you finally do, it looks pretty damn small in the complete context of your life.

My Journey, a continuing series…

“It’s always about you!” she said. “You always have to be in the spotlight. You’re angry, you lash out. You get up and walk away.”

She’s right, 100% right. The question then is why? I can only find a few desperate parts and I can’t come up with a complete answer. Am I frustrated with my life? I know I am.  But who isn’t? Have I squandered my abilities, sure. Have I made mistakes and done really stupid things and doubled down by doing more stupid actions? Of course I have.

It’s strange, I like my job and I’m good at it. Better than I thought I would be. I like working again; on the other hand it eats me alive in so many ways. I hate getting home at 9:30 at night, never having the time to go anywhere or even have the time to turn around before I’m up and at it again. Is any of this Jan’s fault? No it isn’t.

What I need to do is start reacting to the frustration in a more, positive way. Stop letting the up and downs piss me off, stop acting like an angry little boy about things I can’t control. Stop internalizing and then stop being angry, stop expressing my anger in non-productive ways. I need to jump out of the way and let the shit roll on down the hill, because I can’t stop gravity, so why even try. The trying is what turns a decent person into a dick and believe me I can really be a dick sometimes. Funny thing is I hate being an ass, I hate being a jerk, I don’t like being mean and angry. The answer is right in front of me, I just have to stop the behavior.

How did I lose 58 pounds? I stopped eating so damn much food. I need to stop being a dick from time to time. I’d better stop it, it’s as unhealthy as being a fat guy, right?

Do I have good things in my life, you bet I do. I need to focus on the good things and let the things that suck in my life roll on down the hill.

The good things I have are really good, a loving wife, kids and grandkids, a good strong and healthy family, a bunch of close friends. I have my health, I have energy and in my new career I get to exercise my brain day in and day out.

So why do I get angry and lash out? Am I going to expend energy on the bull shit or am I going to focus on the positive? Ahh, that’s the question, isn’t it?

I like to think I’m a reality based person, time to adjust to the reality. As my wife said to me last night, “You’re not going to live forever are you? Stop wasting the time you have, be positive, be happy, be the person you used to be.”

She’s right and it hit me like a ton of bricks. If a guy who loves to eat and drink can lose 58 pounds, he sure the hell can learn how to appreciate the good things in life and stop being frustrated because he never became a race car driver or sailed around the world.

My Journey…

“How are you Robert?”

“I’m good, in fact I feel really good.”

Erica looked at me from across her office, “What do you attribute that to?”

“I’ve got my confidence back.” I said. “I believe in myself again"

This journey started with a kick in the ass from my doctor last March. Dr. F had said, “What’s happened to you?” We talked and she suggested that I get some help in understanding why I felt like I did, why I was always down in the dumps, defensive, angry and yes, mean.

The diagnosis, MDD:

Major depressive disorder (MDD), also known as simply depression, is a mental disorder. Therapists have connected depression to the lack of both meaning in the present and a vision of the future.

For a year and a half, I was in a black hole; I couldn’t stop digging myself deeper and deeper. I wasn’t involved in anything but myself, I wasn’t interested in anything but my own BS. My life had collapsed and I didn’t even notice things falling apart, I didn’t care. Occasionally I snapped out of it for a few hours, a day sometimes for a few days,. Then I’d jump back my hole and retreat into myself again. It was a terrible place, but I felt safe there.

I was trying to write, I couldn’t finish anything. I wrote almost 25,000 words of a novel and stopped. It was pretty good, I let people I know and respect read parts of it, they liked it, they were helpful, I still stopped writing.

“Why did you stop Robert?” Erica said.

“I think I was afraid to finish it.”

“Why?”

“Because if I couldn’t get a publisher interested in it, I’d be humiliated, hurt…”

That summed up the way I was about everything in my life, I didn’t dare take a chance on anything anymore and I’d convinced myself that I didn’t need to, I quit on everything. I talked all the time and never said anything.

I was pushing people away. Most importantly I was pushing away my wife, I was remote, angry. It go to the point that Cakes had no idea who I was. I realize now, I didn’t know who I was anymore either.

I opened up to a fiend, give him a peek into what I was going through in my head.

“Jesus Bob, I remember when we were kids, I always felt that if we came across a jet airplane and you said “Let’s take it for a ride.” I knew you probably could fly the damn thing and I’d climb in and we’d go.”

The question was, where did that kid disappear to? I had to find him again. That kid was the key to getting out of the hole I’d dug for myself.

More on that and how I found him with a lot of help and understanding from my wife, a few close friends and a couple of dedicated professionals.

The Disinterested Son…

After I delivered the car I sold yesterday afternoon, I decompressed for a few minutes and took a walk around the lot. The receptionist called me and I met a middle aged man and his teenaged son in the show room.

“My son needs a car, his first car.”

Imagine yourself at 17, a high school senior, your dad takes you to a new car dealership and is going to buy you a new damned car, anything you want up to $40,000…how would you act? Excited? Enthusiastic? Would you have a scenario crafted in your head? Not this dude, he was barely responsive, looking at his phone, non-communicative, zero excitement, no interest at all.

“I was thinking about a Jeep.” The father said.

We walked to a new Wrangler, a white Sport two door. I said to the kid, “Can you drive a stick?”

“No.”

“Do you want to learn? It’s not hard.”

“No.” He went back to his phone. I tossed a change up, “The red one is an automatic, you want to look at it?”

“I suppose.”

I showed them the car, the kid showed no interest, the father did. “We should drive it, I’ll need a copy of your license.”

“I didn’t bring it.”

“You didn’t bring your license?” His father said. “Why not?”

“I never carry it.”

“What?”

“I haven’t driven for almost a month, why should I?”

“Your mother says you’re a good driver.”

“How would she know, she’s only ridden with me once and we just went to the store and back.” He went back to his phone.

The father said, “Show me something that might catch his interest.” He and I walked to the used car line, sonny boy tagged along behind us. I pointed out a Subaru WRX, kid shook his head no, I suggested a Mini-Cooper, the kid shook his head no again. I stopped at a black 2013 Camaro convertible, “This is a very nice, low mileage Camaro, V6, automatic.” The kid looked up for a minute from his phone and shook his head no again.”

The father looked at me, “Sorry for wasting your time, Josh doesn’t seem to interested in getting a car.” We shook hands and watched them walk off, get in the dad’s Mercedes S Class and drive away. Young Josh never looked up from his phone.

Two guys from Boston start “tawkin”…

I haven’t done a post like this for a while.

I greeted a guy at work last week. He was on a mission to find a used 9 passenger SUV, 4 wheel drive. This guy was driving a Bentley and had a heavy Boston accent. He was wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, baggy cargo shorts and a Bentley ball cap. He looked a little like Michael Moore. We talked for a few minutes and I said, “You’re from Boston, right?”

“You got that right, pal.”

I told him I’d spent most of my life in Boston, instantly he switched in to full Boston mode. Examples:

“Fuckin Sox man, you believe how fucking tight the AL East is…Jesus.”

“Me and my cousin Billy come out here in the early 70’s to fuck around and I never went back, that rat bastid left and went back to Dorchestah afta a month or two, me I got a fuckin job inna gas station in Brentwood and just fuckin stayed, know what I mean?”

“I own that station now, gotta deli in the son of bitch, ‘nother one in Beverley Hills, Moorpark, 8 of the fuckahs. Don’t make any god damn money on gas, make it sellin other shit and cah washes.”

“The old lady and I just bought a place up in Montana, need the 9 passenger son of bitch to leave up at the airport, there in Missoula, just paak the piece of shit in my hanger, when we aint theyah. Load the fuckin grandkids innit and drive uptah our place. Fucking snow up the ass in the wintah. Evah been theyah?”

“Evah go tah Nantucket before them rich fucks from New York fucked it all up? It was fuckin paradise befoah they fuckin bought the whole fuckin place, bunch of assholes.”

“Know something, Bawbby? (I became Bwabby instantly) Ida nevah come out here if fuckin Jimmy Catah hadn’t gotten rid of the fuckin draft, Ida been in the fucking jungle, know what I mean?”

“I got this Bentley for the old lady, she don’t like the fuckin thing, make her feel guilty for some goddamn reason, I think the fuckin nuns got to her.”

“Belichik is kinda an asshole, but I love the fuckin guy.”

“I hate the fuckin Jets.”

“Know what I miss? A decent bowl of clam chowdah. Can’t get that shit out heah.”

“Fuckin Mexicans work theyah asses off, good fuckin people, got two of the fuckahs running stations foah me, got my eye onna another couple of the bastids, honest and smaat little bastids.”

“I worked haad, but I got lucky, know what I mean?”

“Grew up withoutta pot tah piss in, now I aint got enough piss foah all ah pots.”

“The old lady said to me, “Yah know I liked it bettah when we had that little house when we first was married, now there’s too much shit to keep track of.” I told her I’d sell it all and buy her a triple deckah in Dorchestah, buy her a rusty fuckin Toyota if that’s what she wants. She passed on my offah.”

And that ain’t the half of it…now if I had the right cah, I’d call the fat pant bastid up and sell it to him.

My Journey….”The Exploration”

I spent an hour yesterday with Erica. I’m on an every other week schedule.

She had given me homework. I read it and reviewed it yesterday before our session. I’m at the point in my therapy where we are beginning to search for the source of my bout with depression.

It’s strange that I spent so many years, almost 50, in the communication business and in so many ways I’m a poor communicator. When you step back from yourself and are forced to think clearly about how you behave, how you react to situations, how you respond to others. Certain patterns emerge and I found myself yesterday thinking, “Holy shit, that’s why that happened.”

An example, Erica asked me, “Have you ever told Jan how you want to be loved?”

I thought about it and said, “No, not exactly.” She said, “Why not?” I didn’t have an answer. That’s certainly something to think about isn’t it?

On the other side of the coin, I haven’t ever asked her how she wants to be loved, either. It’s pretty dumb to stumble around mentally, when all you have to do is ask, listen and respond in an appropriate way.

When I was a kid the people around me didn’t or seldom ever expressed the way they really felt about things, we all suppressed our feelings. I know my Dad was very frustrated much of his life, but he seldom talked openly about it. I watched him take a 180 after his heart attack at 39. He was angry, depressed and pretty much a changed man. It was painful to watch and experience, but Dad never said anything about how he felt. He just acted pissed off all the time. My Mom was hurt, worried and would sit up most of the night doing ceramics to take her mind off all of the crap that was going on in our lives. What did I do? Nothing, I never asked my Mom how she felt, never asked Dad either. Did I tell any of my friends? No. We all just kept our mouths shut and suppressed it. We enabled each other’s behavior. It took years for my Mother to let it out, all of her hurt and anger and pain came out 25 years later.

I talk all the time, most of the time without actually communicating. I think it began when I walked around in 9^th and 10^th grade never telling anyone how I felt or what was going on in my life. I’ve never stopped and I’ve made people close to me very puzzled from time to time because of it. Erica didn’t say it, but all these years later it all caved in on me and I sat on my ass at the bottom of that deep dark hole for a year and a half.

Insight is a wonderful thing…

More to come.

My Journey…

I haven’t posted for a while. Not that this adventure is over, it’s because my work schedule creates scheduling problems since my only reliable day off is Thursday. (Imagine that!)

I did sit down today with Erica for an hour, my first session in a month. Her first question was, “So Robert, how are you doing?”

I told her my bouts with depression are still showing up, but they are sometimes weeks apart and not as debilitated as they were in the past, so my life is much better. I’m sleeping more and I’m not as anxious as I was. I told her that I believe I have it under control at least to the point where it’s not totally kicking my ass day in and day out.

Erica then said, “I think we need to start looking for the sources of your depression. By doing that we can find where it started and why it started.” She floated some ideas she had from her study of my records and from our conversations. She went on to say that “I might be surprised how and when the groundwork was laid for the deep hole I fell into.”

She gave me some ideas to think about and better ways to communicate my feelings to Cakes and in general communicate in a better, more openly, with not only my wife, but others too.

Plenty to think about, lots to work on. She did say that my job has given a big dose of self-esteem and she can see the physical change in me and not just how much better my attitude is too. So I did get a pat on the back today.

We meet again on the 18^th. I have a ton of homework to do, we’ll see how it goes.

Self-examination isn’t for weaklings…

A Father and Son

The other day at work at shiny Granite grey Ram 2500 pickup drove up, parked. A full Crew cab model, when the doors opened a handsome, muscular Hispanic guy in his 30's hopped out, with him his pretty wife and two kids, a little dark eyed girl of 10 or so and a small shy boy around six. On the door was the name of his business, Hernandez and Son Masonry Contractors.

I walked over to him, introduced myself and he told me it was time to give himself a reward. He wanted to look at a Challenger SRT. His first question he needed answered was would he fit inside. I walked with the family up on the veranda of our store. We have a black SRT, with suede and leather Recaro style interior. I went in the store and got the keys, unlocked the car and started it up to turn the AC on full blast to cool it down.

The SRT has a 448 hp, 392 Hemi V8 and comes with a nasty set of pipes. When it started it barked. The wife and daughter jumped back. Hernandez and his little boy got huge grins on their faces. I got out and lowered the seat and put it back as far as it would go. Hernandez got in the car. He fit. I stood back and watched him. He hit the gas pedal, the SRT snarled. His wife rolled her eyes. His son climbed on his lap with a huge grin on his face.

They are coming back on Friday. I'm assuming they'll arrive after a long and difficult family discussion. If Hernandez prevails, he and his son will bond even more than they already have and the SRT will be the beginning of a new phase in their father-son relationship that will last a lifetime for the two of them.

I can imagine the black SRT, in perfect condition 40 years from now and Hernandez the son saying, "I remember being with my father the day he bought this car..."

I love being part of moments like this.

My Journey

Part 5 “Day of Insight”

I had a session with Erica today. I have gone from 2 a week, to one. Then she moved me to every other week and now once every three. “You’ve made remarkable progress.” She said.

I had just finished telling her about the Sunday morning after my birthday while driving to work I felt all my anger, anxiety and fear wash out of me. I had just pulled out of the garage, shut the door and drove only a few hundred feet, it felt like a drain had opened and it all ran out and evaporated-disappeared. Not a trace was left. I felt liberated, I felt free for the first time in months. I felt good, happy. I felt like myself again.

“What do you think happened?”

“I think I started my motor again.”

Erica looked puzzled, “What do you mean, Robert?”

“There’s a phrase used to describe some athletes, the sport doesn’t make any difference, it’s said they have a big motor, they keep going under all circumstances, win, lose, impossible odds. I’ve always had a big motor and suddenly mine stopped. Maybe I stopped maintaining it, maybe I just shut it off and got used to not hearing it run anymore. What ever happened, for a long time it wasn’t there anymore! The motor, my motor, always kept me going even in the worst of circumstances. I needed to turn it back on and let it do its work. Without it, I lost confidence in myself. I stopped looking for solutions, I saw only problems. Without its power inside of me, I rolled to a stop. I was dead alongside the road. I was watching the rest of the world roll by without me. My non-participation was what was making me crazy, making me lash out whenever someone came near. This, these sessions helped me get it running again, at least motivated me to try. The funny thing is, I’ve know this is what I needed to do and for the longest time I was afraid to push the button marked start. When I finally decided to risk pushing the button, my motor sounded fresh and new and better than ever, I eased forward and there it was, working for me like it always has. On that morning on the way to work I let it run hard and fast and that’s when it happened, I was away from the black hole after all that time.”

Erica smiled, “Whatever turns your crank. Have you felt any regression or that you’ve slipped backwards at all?”

“Off and on, but nothing like before. I feel so much better I can’t allow it.”

“I want you to keep this up, I’ll see you three weeks from today. Can you keep a journal of your feelings?”

“I do already, no great detail, but I keep track of what’s happening.”

“Good, if you’d like to share it next time, we can talk about it.”

“I’d like that.”

“Are you eating?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“How much are you drinking?”

“About a third of what I was a month or two ago.”

“You feel better?”

“I do.”

“You’ve worked hard. I see you are better in your eyes.”

“Does this mean I’ll make your book?”

“What book?”

“The one you’ll write when you retire.”

There is a term in the car business, “the third baseman”. Defined as a person who is not involved directly in the transaction advising or commented on the process, usually in a negative or derogatory manner.

Yesterday I ran into a “third baseman”. The buyer, a motorhead, in his mid-40s  interested in a Challenger SRT. The car has a sticker price of just under $60,000 dollars. $59,945. The only add-on is the California Protection Package for $995. Less the CPP the car is $58950. The mark up on a Challenger is only 8.2%. We paid $54,611. for the SRT.

We drove the car, the buyer loved it. We sat down at my desk. Cash deal. Write a check for the car. I start the process. The “third baseman says “What is the bottom line price?” I looked up and said, “I don’t know I know yet, I have to check the numbers on the car, our invoice from Dodge. Let me get Kevin’s info down and I’ll do that, okay?” The buyer isn’t saying anything at the moment.

Checking the numbers on a car is a process; you run the stock number, pull the invoice and see the pricing. Put it in front of the sales manager. He checks it, and tells me sell it for $56,000. This means we will make less than a grand on the car  on the car until the end of the year, when we receive checks from Chrysler on all the units we sell. Those checks are based on the total sales volume of the store, brand and model volume and on our customer satisfaction index. (a 10 point scale where a 10 is an A and a 9 is a D) I go back to my client, thinking this is a very good deal for him.. I sit down and the third baseman says, “He’ll give you $50,000 plus tax and license for the car out the door.” I look at him and said “Impossible”. Then the  damned third baseman says, “They have 6 SRTs in Van Nuys and he can buy one there for 50k.” I looked at the buyer and asked, “I thought you were buying the car? I know what the mark up is on a Challenger and we are selling you this one for a few dollars over our cost.”

“Bullshit.” The third baseman said. I didn’t say anything. “We’re going to Van Nuys. You’ve got until we get to the car to make the same deal.” I let them walk.

After they left, I took a walk outside in the 97 degree heat. I wouldn’t have made any money on the deal, but I don’t like to lose and this was a win for my customer if not for me. I talked to the sales manager about it, Mack said, ”You did everything you could. Tough situation.”

Later in the day, Mack called the Van Nuys store. They didn’t sell him a Challenger SRT either. The GSM in Van Nuys said. “The crazy bastard offered us 50k, we can’t sell him a car for almost 5 grand less than we paid for it.”

I’m calling him this afternoon and telling him our deal is valid until 9 tonight.

My Journey
Part 4 “Thoughts”


I read an interesting line in a novel the other day…


“Finding a way to treat a need is not as satisfactory as finding the answer to the need.”


I remember going to “Family Week” with my mother when she was going through alcohol rehabilitation (it worked for her, magnificently) Mom had been covering up and stuffing her feelings over the death of my Dad. Dad died at 59. Mom was only 54 at the time. Dad suffered from heart problems for years, but for over a year he felt better than he’d felt for almost 20 years, he was walking every day. He lost weight and looked good. Then one night he dropped dead. Mom went into a tailspin. The madness stopped when she went to rehab.

Mom was covering her anguish by drowning the pain in alcohol…it was her way to “treat her need”. Because of the drinking, on her own she never found the answer. She’d drink half the night and when she woke up the need was still there. There was no “answer to the need” in a bottle of Absolute. She didn’t find her way back and her answer until she put the Absolute down.
(By the way, during Family Week my brother and my sisters and I found out Dad’s death wasn’t the only thing that bothered our Mother! But that is another story for another time.)
Without the anesthetic of alcohol to cover her real feelings Mom began to address the things that were bothering her, one by one, day by day and she began to find the answers she needed. It was a smashing success. She never drank again, never “fell off the wagon”. Not once. She had her old energy back, she took classes, she read again and she was a superstar in the dress business, she was our Mother again, smiling and happy. She found her answer and we got the gift of having her back in our lives. We had our “Mom” in our lives again. It was a beautiful thing.

As I moved through my treatment for depression I’ve often thought about my Mother’s Journey. I’ve been slowly but surely finding the reasons why I dropped into such a cold dark place for so long. I’m finding the answers to my needs. I believe that is why Erica has insisted I “stay on me” during our sessions. No one has a quick fix to my problems. The answers are inside me, inside my head. What I have done during this time is to modify my behavior. I may think something and want to react but I hold it in so I don’t say something hurtful. My job has given me confidence in myself again. My self-esteem is up. I feel valued again. I make my clients comfortable and make them happy. It feels good.
My journey is far from over. I know people care about me. My wife loves me and I love her. My sisters have been wonderful, my grandkids, my kids and my nieces and nephews. Thanks for moving to San Diego Suzie, nice to have you so close.

I’ve had personal e-mails saying thank you for writing your story. Several are going to get help because of what they’ve read. That’s satisfying to know.
I’ll keep you all posted, I have a session with Erica next week!

My Journey

Part 4 “Thoughts”

I read an interesting line in a novel the other day…

“Finding a way to treat a need is not as satisfactory as finding the answer to the need.”

I remember going to “Family Week”   with my mother when she was going through alcohol rehabilitation (it worked for her, magnificently) Mom had been covering up and stuffing her feelings over the death of my Dad. Dad died at 59. Mom was only 54 at the time. Dad suffered from heart problems for years, but for over a year he felt better than he’d felt for almost 20 years, he was walking every day. He lost weight and looked good. Then one night he dropped dead. Mom went into a tailspin. The madness stopped when she went to rehab.

Mom was covering her anguish by drowning the pain in alcohol…it was her way to “treat her need”. Because of the drinking, on her own she never found the answer. She’d drink half the night and when she woke up the need was still there. There was no “answer to the need” in a bottle of Absolute. She didn’t find her way back and her answer until she put the Absolute down.

(By the way, during Family Week my brother and my sisters and I found out Dad’s death wasn’t the only thing that bothered our Mother! But that is another story for another time.)

Without the anesthetic of alcohol to cover her real feelings Mom began to address the things that were bothering her, one by one day by day and she began to find the answers she needed to find. It was a smashing success. She never drank again, never “fell off the wagon”. Not once. She had her old energy back, she took classes, she read again and she was a superstar in the dress business, she was our Mother again, smiling and happy. She found her answer and we got the gift of having her back in our lives. We had our “Mom” in our lives again. It was a beautiful thing.

As I moved through my treatment for depression I’ve often thought about my Mother’s Journey. I’ve been slowly but surely finding the reasons why I dropped into such a cold dark place for so long. I’m finding the answers to my needs. I believe that is why Erica has insisted I “stay on me” during our sessions. No one has a quick fix to my problems. The answers are inside me, inside my head. What I have done during this time is to modify my behavior. I may think something and want to react but I hold it in so I don’t say something hurtful. My job has given me confidence in myself again. My self-esteem is up. I feel valued again. I make my clients comfortable and make them happy. It feels good.

My journey is far from over. I know people care about me, my wife loves me and I love her. My sisters have been wonderful, my grandkids, my kids and my nieces and nephews. Thanks for moving to San Diego Suzie, nice to have you so close.

I’ve had personal e-mails saying thank you for writing your story. Several are going to get help because of what they’ve read. That’s satisfying to know.

I’ll keep you all posted, I have a session with Erica next week!

My Journey

Part 4 “Thoughts”

I read an interesting line in a novel the other day…

“Finding a way to treat a need is not as satisfactory as finding the answer to the need.”

I remember going to “Family Week”   with my mother when she was going through alcohol rehabilitation (it worked for her, magnificently) Mom had been covering up and stuffing her feelings over the death of my Dad. Dad died at 59. Mom was only 54 at the time. Dad suffered from heart problems for years, but for over a year he felt better than he’d felt for almost 20 years, he was walking every day. He lost weight and looked good. Then one night he dropped dead. Mom went into a tailspin. The madness stopped when she went to rehab.

Mom was covering her anguish by drowning the pain in alcohol…it was her way to “treat her need”. Because of the drinking, on her own she never found the answer. She’d drink half the night and when she woke up the need was still there. There was no “answer to the need” in a bottle of Absolute. She didn’t find her way back and her answer until she put the Absolute down.

(By the way, during Family Week my brother and my sisters and I found out Dad’s death wasn’t the only thing that bothered our Mother! But that is an another story for another time.)

Without the anesthetic of alcohol to cover her real feelings Mom began to address the things that were bothering her, one by one day by day and she began to find the answers she needed to find. It was a smashing success, she never drank again, never “fell off the wagon”. Not once. She had her old energy back, she took classes, she read again and she was a superstar in the dress business, she was our Mother again, smiling and happy. She found her answer and we got the gift of having her back in our lives. We had our “Mom” in our lives again. It was a beautiful thing.

As I moved through my treatment for depression I’ve often thought about my Mother’s Journey. I’ve been slowly but surely finding the reasons why I dropped into such a cold dark place for so long. I’m finding the answers to my needs. I believe that is why Erica has insisted I “stay on me” during our sessions. No one has a quick fix to my problems. The answers are inside me, inside my head. What I have done during this time is to modify my behavior. I may think something and want to react but I hold it in so I don’t say something hurtful.

My job has given me confidence in myself again. My self-esteem is up. I feel valued again. I make my clients comfortable and make them happy. It feels good.

My journey is far from over. I know people care about me, my wife loves me and I love her. My sisters have been wonderful, my grandkids, my kids and my nieces and nephews. (Thanks for moving to San Diego Suzie, nice to have you so close to me.)

I’ve had personal e-mails saying thank you for writing you story. Several people are going to get help because of what they’ve read. Damn that’s satisfying to know.

All of that and I feel safe again. And like Mom I'm finding myself. Her Journey has giving me strength. Another gift from Mom.

I’ll keep you all posted, I have a session with Erica next week!

My Journey

Part 3 “Erica”

The Kaiser Behavioral Science building is a few blocks north of the Kaiser Hills hospital complex off Desoto Avenue in Woodland Hills. It’s a large one story, modern building. You check in at the front desk and then to the waiting room. Every time you attend a session, they give you an IPad and you take a 25 question assessment. The results are immediately sent to your therapist. The interior of the building is austere, institutional. It is very quiet. There is plenty of security.

On time at 3:25, a tall, thin woman opens the waiting room door and said  my name, I get up, introductions are made, we walk down a series of hallways. She unlocks the door to her office and motions to me to go inside. The room is small, decorated like a comfortable den. There is a computer, key board and screen at a home style desk in one corner, a sofa, a love seat and a comfortable chair, rugs on the floor. Erica has me sit on the love seat. She is across the room from me in the chair.

“So, Robert, what’s going on with you?” She said.

I begin…Erica stops me. “Let’s not talk about your wife for the moment. Stay with yourself. I know you feel guilty about what’s happened and how you feel you’ve treated her. I understand that. But we need to start with you. Okay?”

“Yes, yes.” So I began my story. Every time I’d try to shift the narrative, try to get the spotlight off myself, Erica would gently move me back on track. For the next 45 minutes, I talked to her about what has happened to me. Not the people around me, not Jan. Me. I told her my story. Erica would ask questions, soft sounding, but hard to answer. She was patient as I worked out my thoughts. It was painful to tell someone what had been going on in my head. About 15 minutes into the session, it became easier. I unburdened myself, for the first time in a long time. I told her the truth. If I didn’t she quietly called me on my bullshit.

She walked me out, shook my hand and said, “Next Tuesday, 8:30AM.”

I thanked her, shook her hand, I left. I walked to my car feeling lighter than I had in a long time.

My Journey

Part 2. “The Group”

A week after Dr. F gave me her gentle, but firm push. I had an appointment for the next Wednesday with my new therapist. It was suggested during the “intake” session there was a group meeting I could attend on Thursday at Kaiser’s Woodland Hills Behavioral Science Center. It wasn’t mandatory but I went.

There were six men in the group. All former business guys, all upper management types. They ranged in age from 66 to 73, I was in the middle. I was welcomed and I told my story. 47 years in the broadcast business, in management at 24. When my last stations were sold, I walked out the door with high hopes of getting into ownership. I spent time, money and effort trying to get it done. It didn’t happen. I did a consulting project and didn’t get paid, more time, money and effort wasted. I looked for jobs in radio. I shortened my resume and applied and applied and applied. Nothing, I was puzzled, then I got mad, then I got angry. They all nodded their heads, smiled and almost in unison said “Been there pal.”

The group leader, an older psychologist said. “It’s a bitch to go from an Alpha male to an Omega, isn’t it?” I hadn’t thought of it like that, but it was. It was hard, the rejection was harder. He said, “Nobody knew your name, right?”

“And nobody returned my calls either. All my mentors are dead or retired.” I said.

“Let me guess, you kept on trying didn’t you? How long did it take you to stop beating your head against the wall?’”

“A year. It took a year.”

“Then you stopped?”

“I didn’t stop. Not for a while and I did get a job offer in New Hampshire. I seriously thought about taking it, but at the time my wife just started a new job, she loved it and it wouldn’t have been fair of me to drag her all the way across the country. So no, I didn’t take it.”

“How do you feel about it now?”

“I’m glad I didn’t accept it, it was really a lousy job. We both would have been miserable.”

  The oldest guy in the room asked me, “How do you feel about your old business now?”

“I don’t give a shit anymore.”

They all laughed and agreed they felt the same way about their former careers.

“You can only get kicked in the nuts so many times.” One of the guys said. He’s absolutely right.

We BSed for a half hour after the session ended. I left Woodland Hills feeling better. For the first time in a long time I didn’t feel alone. I felt stronger. The piece of the blue was a little wider, not much, but I could see the difference.

I went home and cooked a great dinner, I still couldn’t eat, but what I did taste tasted good and my wife cleaned her plate. We went to bed at ten. I woke up at 3 and couldn’t go back to sleep. I guess momentarily feeling better and getting better are two completely different things.

“Male depression is a serious medical condition, but many men try to ignore it or refuse treatment.”- Mayo Clinic.

Next “Sitting down with Erica”

My Journey

Part 1 “The wise Doctor”

Doctor F sat on her stool directly in front of me. I was sitting on the examination table. The nurse had already taken my blood pressure, heart rate and temperature. Patrice noted them on her computer. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.”

She looked in my eyes and said, “How are you feeling Robert?”

“I’m okay, but…”

“You aren’t the same person that you were when we first met. What’s going on? Physically you’re fine, but you’re not okay are you?”

I said, “No, I don’t know what has happened to me. You’re right I have changed, I don’t like what I’ve become.” Then I told her, “I took the Kaiser Depression Index and..”

“What did it tell you?”

“That I was severely depressed.”

“Tell me how you think you’ve changed and why.” She asked.

“I don’t sleep anymore, I wake up after a few hours and can’t go back to sleep again, so I stay up, by the middle of the afternoon, I’m exhausted to the point I start to nod off, I usually nap for an hour or two.”

“Yes. What else is happening?”

“Some days I don’t shower or shave, in fact I’ve gone two or three days several times and haven’t gotten cleaned up. My wife will leave in the morning and when she comes home, there I am in an old t-shirt with bed head at 5 in the afternoon. I think she thinks I’m disgusting.”

‘Are you?”

“Yes and that’s not all.”

“What else is happening?”

“I’ve turned into a total dick with Jan, I argue, I cut her off. I yell. I’m angry even when I have nothing to be angry about. My daughter has noticed it and brought it up with Jan and with me.”

“Were you surprised at that?”

“No because it’s true. I know I’m an asshole with her. When I’m being harsh and angry, making mountains out of nothing, I know I’m doing it but I can’t stop it. It’s like I'm watching it happen, I want to stop but I can’t, part of it won’t let me stop.”

Are you mad at Jan about something?”

“No, I’m not mad at her.”

“They why do you verbally abuse her?”

“I think I’m mad at me, myself…she is my outlet.”

“You think that’s fair of you to do?”

“God no, it isn’t fair or right, it’s a terrible thing to do.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“A long, long time. It’s gotten really bad over the past year, year and a half. I’ve done some reading about depression and I’m a classic older male example.”

“Have you ever thought about killing yourself?”

“I have.”

“Have gotten to the point of planning it?”

“Yes.”

“Is that what you want?”

“No, it’s not, but when things are hard it’s easy to think about-it seems to be a solution for a moment or two anyway.”

Doctor Patrice F rolled her stool back, looked me in the eyes and said very softly, “Let me help you. Will you do that for yourself?” she waited for my answer.

I took a long time to answer and finally said “Yes, I will.”

Patrice smiled, “Good. You have too much to live for Robert, a good wife, children, grandchildren and friends. You’ve gotten your health together over the past couple of years. You’ve been one of my few patients that seldom frustrates me. Remember when we talked about the people you see in the waiting room?”

“Sure I do.”

“You told me that you didn’t want to end up like that, you didn’t want to be another sick old man didn’t you?”

“Uh huh, I did.”

“I believe if you don’t get some help you are headed in a direction that doesn’t have a healthy ending, a good ending for you and you need to fix it now. It isn’t going to be easy. It’s going to take a lot of hard work and honesty on your part. I’ll get things set up for you. When I do the office will call you and give you a number to call to set up your intake interview.” Patrice smiled and said. “Do it Robert, I know you can.”

“I’ll do it because I hate what I’ve become.”

“When you go home tonight, apologize to your wife and tell her what we’ve talked about today, okay?”

“I will.”

Driving home I thought about what she said. When I got home I rubbed the dog’s ears and looked into his eyes. I made myself a Jack on the rocks with a splash. I sipped it on the porch. I thought I’d better put down my shovel and stop digging. I finally looked up and a long way off was a touch of blue sky. I hadn’t seen it for a long, long time.

Major depression. Type: Term. Definitions: 1. a mental disorder characterized by sustained depression of mood, anhedonia, sleep and appetite disturbances, and feelings of worthlessness, guilt, and hopelessness

I need to make a call, someplace quiet...

It was a luncheon in the conference room. Sandwiches, beef, turkey, ham. You know the kind. Shrimp on ice, big cheese tray. Typical catered lunch to kick off a promotional event for the fall television season. A welcoming talk, responses by the guests.

I was seated across from a guy, one of the guests, he was wearing muted plaid sport coat, looked like silk. His shirt was a tattersall button down, he wore a knit tie. The tie picked up the color of his jacket and the shirt. He was telling stories and asking questions while we ate.

When the luncheon finished, the talks given. He said to me, "I have to make a phone call, someplace quiet." There was another conference room, a small one. He motioned to one of his co-workers and I led them both to the small room. He said this won't take long."  The three of us went in to the room. He took a folded piece of paper out of his inside coat pocket. "How do I get an outside line?" I told him the 3 digit code. He dialed and spent 4 minutes on the phone. I know how long the call lasted. I was facing a wall clock. He finished his call and the other man took the phone and read off his sheet of paper to whoever was on the other end.

The three of us talked about many things for the next 20 minutes, then it was time to go. We shook hands and they left.

The men were betting football, the call was to a bookie in New York. The tall, dark man was Ed Bradley. The man who sat across from me at lunch was Morely Safer.

Now they are both in the cosmos.

AMERICAN MADE?

Helping my wife with a project for her  start-up"All American Fair" ecommerce business. I found some interesting things doing my research...I sent her this an hour ago.

“American Made” or “Manufactured in America” what do those little flag labels really mean?

Not as much as one may think. Our focus at All American Fair is the 100 billion dollar furniture and accessories business.

Is a lounge chair with the flag label on the underside of the cushion an American chair? Not really, chances are the fabric was woven in Asia. Other parts of the chair, the framing, the foam stuffing are in many, if not all foreign sourced. It’s cheaper to manufacture and in many cases in the medium and high furniture market the pricing is no lower than a piece of furniture or an accessory that is 100% sourced and manufactured in the USA. There are American designer furniture brands selling sofas in the $10,000 price range, their pieces are either manufactured in Asia or almost completely sourced there.  

Why is the American Made or Manufactured label valuable?

The reason is marketing. “American Made” makes the consumer feel good about themselves and their purchase. “American Made” also makes them feel safe.

“American Made” is a strong selling point. The label has so much value that manufacturers and retailers are turning themselves inside out to attain the “American Made” cachet, without their products actually being made in the USA.

What are the Dangers of “off-shore” manufacturing and sourcing?

To start with, formaldehyde is used in paint, varnish and stain used by foreign manufacturers. Many importers offer “off gas” services to their customers.

The controls on lead based paints and other finishes are non-existent.

Another problem is mold. Molds of all kinds arrive in the fabric of pieces shipped in containers from Asia to the US. Here’s, a none too rare example, an entire container of silk pillows manufactured in China arrived at a US retailer’s warehouse, put into stock and over 80% were returned, because of the “moldy smell”. The retailer’s cost on the pillows was so low, they still made a profit.

Insects of all shapes and sizes often infest the furniture and the containers. Some are immediately noticed and the container is sprayed with powerful insecticides. The insecticide adds another layer to existing problems. Other insects slip by unnoticed and make it into the store and then into the consumer’s home.

The US standards are not followed and the rules American manufacturers are required to follow are not enforced on imported furniture and accessories. This covers the manufacture and importing of kitchen ware, dishes and utensils. Ask yourself this question, “are you comfortable eating a meal off a plate, glazed with a lead based glaze or boiling water in a teapot or cooking in a pan with a high lead content?” If you buy any of these items that are foreign made, you’re ingesting lead.

Foreign manufacturing has devastated the US furniture business, less than 15% of the 100 billion dollar furniture and accessory market in the US is made in the USA. Surveys of consumers on the direct retail level show that Americans want to buy product that are made and manufactured here. That’s the biggest reason for all the subterfuge on the labeling issue. One of the largest US retailers has a line of “America Manufactured” appliances. The appliances are made in Mexico, shipped here and one essential piece of the operating system is installed in the US. On the label of these ‘American” appliances a small notification is printed, “Assembled in the USA”. One part out of hundreds, installed after import, qualifies the appliance as “assembled” in the USA.

What are Dangers?

In addition of the danger of chemical and lead poisoning, bug infestation and mold there is also the economic danger.

The biggest and most harmful is the loss of good paying jobs with benefits on every level. A dollar earned in the local economy, circulates throughout the community and eventually has a huge effect on the national economy, depending on the level each one of those dollars multiplies over and over.

Buy American, just make sure it is really American made.

Free Air for politicans

When Scott Brown was running for the balance of Ted Kennedy's senate term in Massachusetts in 2010. I was in Boston on business. I arrived on the red eye from LA early on Sunday morning, killed some time, checked into my hotel and caught a nap. I went out had a nice dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, ran into a few people I knew, had a nice time.

Monday morning the day before the election I had to drive out of the city for 35 or 40 minutes for a meeting. I turned on WEEI Sports radio. Scott Brown was on the Dennis and Callaghan Morning Show, for my entire drive, the morning show on a sports talk radio station was all politics. I mentioned it to the guy I was meeting with and he said, "He's on WEEI almost everyday and has been for months, if he's not live, he's on the phone."

The meeting wrapped up and I got in the car to head for my next meeting, WEEI was on, there was Scott Brown on the phone with the hosts, I had to drive for 45 minutes, he was on when I got in the car and he was still on when I parked for my next meeting.

The second meeting was longer and included a nice lunch at an old line steak house (I had Boston Scrod) by the time everything wrapped up it was after 3. I got in the car to head back to the city and WEEI was talking about the Pats. I hadn't been in the car for 10 minutes and guess who showed up live in the studio? Scott Brown.

WEEI at the time was the number one station in 25-54 year old male listeners in Boston.

Brown nipped Martha Coakley in that special election by less than a 100,000 votes. Brown's winning percentage of 3% came from white suburban males, 25-54 years old. Or the WEEI listener.

Coakley spent more money than Brown, but Brown had all that free radio time, for months. He got it not just on sports radio, he was on WRKO the conservative talk station in Boston virtually everyday as well.

The same scenario unfolded in Brown's reelection campaign against Elizabeth Warren, Brown raised more money, had all that free air time but lost by 6.7 percentage points.

My point? It has been calculated that Donald J. Trump has gotten close to a BILLION dollars in free TV and cable coverage since announcing his campaign last year, that's not counting his endless hours of chat time with conservative local and national radio talk hosts. Many of those radio hosts have larger audiences than the political cable shows.

Just sayin...

Shared Experience...old guys at the table....

I attended a group session yesterday afternoon. 6 retired business guys ranging in age from 65 to 73. All married and half of us have wives that are still working.

We all have common problems, first and foremost is a profound loss of self worth. All of us have spent our working lives defined by our work. Now with the work gone, we are all wondering, who the hell am I?

One of the group, the oldest at 73, was a guy who ran a large manufacturing operation in LA. Bored, he decided to get a job at Home Depot. He knows tools, he know how things work and he knows how to work with his hands. He lasted two shifts, at the end of his 2nd shift, he walked out and didn't bother collect his pay check. The moderator asked him why he quit. His answer, "I knew within an hour of working there, I knew more about the department I was assigned to than my supervisor did. I pointed out several ways we could save time, effort and not inconvenience our customers by blocking off aisles to restock or move displays during prime shopping hours. He said the supervisor looked at him like he was crazy.

We've all been to big stores like Home Depot in the middle of the day and seen an aisle blocked off with signs and a fork lift moving around in the aisle. When I was buying stain for my porch project at Lowes, the paint counter was blocked for a half hour while they restocked a paint display at 2 in the afternoon.

Here's the story I told the group:

When we got our Volt a couple of years ago, I spent time on line and on the owner forums before we ever physically looked at the car. We decided what we wanted and off we went to a local dealer to talk to the "Volt Specialist". I knew more about the car than he did. It was a miserable experience.

With this in mind I arranged a meeting last year with the GM of a big auto group, I've done business with him in the past and know him slightly on a social level. I pitched him on becoming his Electric Car Guy. Both Chevy and Cadillac sell hybrid electrics, the stores are next door to each other, the technology in both cars is exactly the same. I wanted to field all inquiries of the electrics for both brands, I'd make appointments with the prospective customers, meet them, demonstrate the car, answer their questions and close the deals.

I told him I'd work on straight commission, I didn't require any benefits and I'd work whenever I was needed. I mentioned that as a former Corvette owner, I might be a big help in that department as well. I'd researched the business enough at that point and learned salesmen don't like to sell low volume models like Volts, ELRs and Corvettes. All those cars take a lot of time to sell and the customers are usually well informed and more difficult to deal with. It takes well over three hours to sell a Volt and the money the salesman gets is rather short compared to a standard car, pickup,an SUV or a used car.

The Corporate car guy thought my concept was a very good idea, he said he'd bring it up in the management meeting the following week. He did. The sales managers and the Caddy and Chevy GMs turned it down. Why? They didn't want a guy they couldn't have sitting at a desk 6 days a week and a 'lack of control".

There were plenty of stories in the room yesterday, different in some respects, but in many ways the same story. I'm going back next week for another 55 minute meeting.