In my previous life as a marketing manager with long hours, deliverables, and accountability; and during our time as small business owners, with demanding clients, overhead and even longer hours; I often told myself – and others – that I sometimes wished I could just go dig a ditch. The opportunity recently arose, in a big way, and will again soon.

This is no ordinary ditch mind you, and it’s just one of a few that will help divert water from our roof away from our house via the new gutters we recently had installed.

Honey-do projects are one thing, but installing gutters are another. Yes, we could have easily hung DIY rain gutters. But going seamless is not just about aesthetics, it’s the smart choice up here in the mountains.

The issue is not so much that snow will pile up and tear off gutter sections – it can, and does as we’ve seen happen down the road. It’s more about what happens as snow thaws in them, freezes and repeats. Seams simply can’t take it.

Back to that ditch. As illegal as it is to collect water off our roof according to our subdivision’s augmentation plan, René wanted to try. Apparently I’m building a box garden when we get back to Jerry’s Acres next Spring. But there I go digressing.

I obliged by inquiring about nonperforated drainage pipe at Home Cheapo. Thus we learned why using such a thing for the amount of ditch I was digging is a bad idea. Stagnant water sitting in solid pipe stinks. Quite literally. I for one am very happy to discover this before burying all the pipe I did.

About ten inches deep by 40 feet long in less than six hours. That’s how I spent last Saturday. An impressive feat if I don’t say so myself, but then, I just did. This weekend calls for another 30 feet, easy. Well, not exactly easy. Remember my Colorado geology lesson from the ranch?

There’s a reason they call these the rocky mountains, and I encountered more than a few Leaverites. Ya know, those rocks that you hit and realize … you better leave ‘er right there.

How to Dig a Ditch

The right tools make any job easier. But if you must dig a trench by hand, here are a few pointers:

• Know your terrain. Unless you’re digging up a soft lawn, recommended tools include a pick axe, pointed shovel, square shovel, and rake hoe.
• Don’t bend the blade on your pick like I did. See Leaverite above.
• Keep drainage pipe ditches at least 8-10 inches deep. See Stink.
• Loosen ground with pick by swinging big and letting gravity do the job
• Square off legs and shoulders, holding pick handle low.
• Use your legs, not your back.
• Use hoe to remove movable rocks before digging.
• Switch tools often to avoid burnout and work all muscle groups.
• Avoid buried gas, water and electric lines at all costs.
• Stretch and stay hydrated.
• Don’t dread what remains to be done, keep your eye on the goal.
• Wear eye protection and listen to rockin’ tunes, or railroad work songs.
• Never, ever, try to dig a 40′ ditch in one day.

Whenever I go MIA around here, it usually means I’ve been wrapped up is some major project – one that probably has something to do with three legged dogs. This time is no different.

I haven’t written since that silly Valentine’s Day post because I have been busy launching the all new and much improved Tripawds Gift Shop. This required dusting off the old right brain bits and lubricating my creative gears to come up with loads of new graphic designs for inspawrational three legged dog t-shirts, cards, stickers, mugs and other gift items.

It was fun designing all these new graphics, and it felt good doing it for something I am passionate about, without some client breathing down my neck telling me to make the text bold and red.

Oh, wait … the type on our new Tripawd Power design is bold and red! Well, not really… it’s Cooper Black actually, and more of a crimson. But there I go digressing, here’s the link if you want to talk about typefaces.

I would like to think this represents some of my best work. But that’s not saying much considering I haven’t done any real graphic design work since we sold our business nearly three years ago. But it is a nice feeling knowing that I still got it – if I ever really had it, that is. And it goes to prove that graphic design is like riding a bike, in more ways than one.

If you think you may have lost the touch, just jump back into your favorite Adobe product and start pedaling. And if your chain falls off and you just can’t get it to work right, call a professional. Anyone need a logo?

It wasn’t the work that did me in. It was the fact that I cannot be part of an organization that does not value the Individual.

From high school to my first office job at an insurance company, large impersonal institutions and I just never got along. Had I remembered this before I decided to work at Satan’s Castle, I could have spared myself some grief (and been in a warmer climate by now).

Last week we were supposed to start 12 hour shifts, but instead, almost every day, we got sent home after just a few hours of work. “The volume isn’t there,” said the outbound shipping department manager. Soon it became clear that the long hours and overtime Satan used as bait wasn’t going to materialize. His cheerleaders have been hitting the airwaves on NPR and CNBC, yet things have been very, very slow for us here at the Nevada warehouse.

With each shift cut short, I wondered if I was going to be able to cover the cost of December’s rent at the RV park. My patience was wearing thin.

Even more frustrating was that I just learned via Workamper that the lower-paid cogs in Kansas are getting more hours than we are. My theory is that Satan is cutting costs by shifting the bulk of the work to locations that pay less.

The Final Ingredients

Sunday morning, one of Satan’s minions walked up to me with a clipboard in hand. She was one of the nicer ones, who actually tried to remember workers’ names. The first thing she said when she saw me was “Rene, you’re going to hate me.”

She put her clipboard on my workstation, and showed me a warning notice that said I wasn’t “making the numbers,” one week into another outbound shipping job I was put on. The warning was based on the volume I processed, just two days into the new job.

I was stunned, because the Agency’s rules state that we have four weeks to get numbers up to that level. Yeah, I knew I was slow during my first few days, but for the last three days, I had consistently “made the numbers.” I couldn’t understand why I was getting a warning based on week-old volume.

The notice stated it was a “Final Warning,” but this was technically my second, because I had been kicked out of my first job for not being a “team player.” Every employee is supposed to receive three warnings before getting fired.

As a final insult, my name was misspelled on the warning.

Satan’s Minion was asking for my signature to acknowledge the warning. But I didn’t, and instead I said to her “They’re full of crap. This is only my second warning, and I was told I have four weeks to get to that production level. Why aren’t they following their own rules?”

The Minion got a distressed look on her face, and then out of nowhere, she started crying.

“I’m so sorry Rene! I hate this job! This is all I do all day long, and I only get fifty cents an hour more than you do! Yesterday I had to fire a 70 year old lady with Parkinson’s because she couldn’t make the numbers. They’re having me fire people after just a few days into training. This place is horrible! I just put in my two week notice because I can’t take it anymore!”

She stood there crying, while I looked on, stunned. She was very pregnant, and said she really needed the money, but she just couldn’t work for a place that treated people like crap.

I felt badly for her, but I was going to stand my ground.

I refused to sign it. I told her “I’m sorry, but I want them to tell me why this is a ‘Final Warning,’ and why I’m being expected to meet Week Four quotas. They’re ignoring their own rules. I won’t sign it, I can’t.”

She agreed it was wrong, and she said she would look into it, but couldn’t promise anything. Then she left, and five minutes later, another minion came by to announce that we all had to go home, two hours into our shift. There wasn’t enough work. “Come back tomorrow,” she yelled to us.

What’s It Worth?

As I clocked out and walked through the metal detector exit, my head was spinning. Could I stand working there for just four more weeks? Could I live with the uncertainty of the hours I was getting, or of being fired any minute without just cause? What if all this agony doesn’t even cover the $400 in rent I had just paid for December?

On my way home, I remembered that the RV park owner had said that if things didn’t work out during the first four days of the month, she would refund the rent and charge me a daily rate. That’s when I knew what I had to do.

I pulled into the park and stopped at the office. I asked the manager if I could take her up on that offer. Thankfully, she did.

I went to the rig, and told Jim what happened.

I won’t work for a company that relies on fear tactics and bullying. Maybe some people can tolerate that kind of environment, but I won’t. I have my self-respect, and cash-crunch or not, know I am worthy of better treatment. Life is too short.

Then I picked up the phone, and made my stand. I called Satan’s Agency to tell them I quit.

Jim is thrilled, and now I feel like a huge anvil has been lifted off my head.

Looking back, I realize that I took this job because I was letting fear rule my life. Almost three years into our sabbatical, our dwindling savings account is telling me that we have to get serious about making money. But instead of buckling down and earnestly working to make our new business venture happen, I opted for what I thought was the quick and easy way out; the false sense of security one gets with a paycheck. What a sham.

Instead of following our dream, I took the paved road to hell, and paid dearly for it.

I’m proud of my little warehouse worker. Just yesterday she vowed not to let it get to her, that she would just do her job the best she could and punch her clock like a good worker bee would.

This morning she apparently stood her ground and told them something completely different, and was then sent home early yet again. We got to walk Wyatt together, and now she’s taking a much deserved nap. It’s good to have Margie home again, but I’ll let her tell the rest of the story.

It sure would be nice to know what happened to all those lucrative overtime hours we heard about though. But then again, I also heard that consumer sales for this Black Friday weekend were up a whopping 0.5% from last year too.

First off, my apologies to anyone who is put off by the last few posts I’ve written. Yes, I know I’ve taken on a negative tone, but this blog been one of my main outlets after being treated like a subhuman at Satan’s Castle. Sorry to be a downer, I’m not usually like this. When this gig is over at Christmas, we’ll be back on the road traveling around, and living the Dream part we enjoy so much more.

This Friday, Black Friday, I start 12 hour shifts. This is where the money is, this is why I’m here, and I’m not going to have the energy to write. So you’ll be hearing more from Jim and less from me, except maybe my occasional reports about silly and suprising items I see coming down the conveyor belt. Like these. . . .