SOFT LIFE WITH HARD EDGES

Living that soft life, but still need something to yell about.

It’s either too soft, not soft enough, anything but just right.

And that spells hard times in bold letters.

Hard times for a soft life?

My car didn’t start because I left the door open and the interior light killed the battery.

Car: Click, click, click, click.

That kind of dead.

The obvious choices were buy a new car, buy a new battery, or get a jump-start and drive home, which is what I did three years ago.

Still got the same battery.

In the car-centric way things are from driveways to parking lots and every road in between, a car is more than essential.

You need a car, a dependable car, and that comes with a driver’s license, car registration, proof of insurance, and good tires.

I didn’t have a ride after my car-of-a-lifetime got totaled when a driver with Progressive Insurance ran through a stop sign.

They hit me on the front driver’s side hard enough to spin the car, spring the frame, and trap my wife in her seat with a door that wouldn’t open.

We bought the car new. One feature was the safety rating. Very safe.

The airbags didn’t deploy, not because of a minor crash, but because of a recall for a seat sensor.

The car didn’t know I was in the seat. Apparently.

I’m left wondering how Toyota can make their recalls more urgent.

 

2

At this time I’m settling the claim with Progressive, who have been very kind after the crash.

I lost fifteen grand between what I paid for the car and their totaled offered.

But that’s insurance, right?

They are not in the business to buy me a new car after their insured driver smashed my car.

I was a little disappointed to learn that.

In this phase of closing the case, pain and suffering is the final hurdle.

So far: Progressive said they have a pool of money to settle the claim between five people.

However, only four people were in the three car crash from what I remember after getting blasted by the no-stop-sign car.

So far: I’ve seen doctors for injuries.

One of the observations from my Progressive adjuster is that the crash wasn’t hard enough to trigger the safety air bags, which implies a minor crash.

Will Toyota be convincing?

 

Soft Life Takes A Hard Turn

I didn’t have a car for a month, maybe a week. Either way it felt really long.

Sure I could rent one, but why should I pay for the inconvenience I didn’t create?

I had to drive my wife to work, or else be stranded at home, which is a secret goal.

If you don’t have a car, you can’t go anywhere.

We have two cars; we had one when we started dating, hers. I rode a bike.

That was then.

Here we were, a modern suburban couple hamstrung by an auto accident.

At least I felt hamstrung with no car and treatment scheduled for a hip injury that got re-aggravated.

I felt abandoned with no place to limp to.

Now I have to justify myself to the Progressive Insurance adjuster.

They’ve got my medicals; I’ve given up on improving. Case closed?

Things have been harder after the crash, harder standing up and sitting down, harder walking.

What can I expect from Progressive? Stay tuned.

 

Before Calling Someone ‘Soft’

A blue collar worker might call the insurance business and the people in it a soft life.

If it’s a framer, a roofer, or any other construction guy who works above ground, any other job would be soft.

My most hardcore blue collar wasn’t grading 4 X 8 foot sheets of plywood veneer in a Georgia Pacific mill in Coos Bay.

It wasn’t sliming and packing salmon for Hallmark’s Fishery in Charleston, Oregon.

The most down to earth blue collar time was the summer I carried cement foundation blocks and mixed mud for a masonry company building a shopping center in Delaware.

The work was hard and I took to it with a vengeance to be the best hod carrier they’d ever have.

I did the work of two men and asked them to fire the slacker they hired after me and pay me more.

But the slacker was a neighbor’s kid and they couldn’t fire him.

After four months of navigating the dirt mounds left from excavation and footings I was living the hard life with an eye toward the soft life.

The crew worked hard all week and did side jobs all weekend, then drew unemployment all winter.

But they wouldn’t pay their boy what I was worth.

I’d proven myself with the bricks, the cement mixer, driving the deuce and a half truck, but not taken seriously enough to see a future with me on the crew?

Positive, can-do, attitude; no complaining about the work load; eager to learn new things.

Just not worth an extra fifty cents an hour.

Before calling someone out for their soft life, especially if they’re older, remember what you don’t know.

Chances are just the fact you feel good about calling anyone out for anything means you don’t know shit.

The calling out, the finger pointing, the accusations, are all plainly rude.

If you cherish the soft life like I do, why make someone else miserable.

There are better means of communication than public humiliation.

 

The Nine To Five Way

Back in my ‘real job’ days new people got hired in the museum on a limited basis.

It was part-time, full-time, or part full-time.

The money came from grants.

The good workers found their way into the company after a good review period; the bad workers?

Boss: Well it was good having you aboard. Now that your grant is up you’ll be free to pursue your dreams.

Worker 1: Grant? It’s up?

Boss: We procure funding for exhibits that begins months before it opens and months after closing. And it’s been months. Again, we wish you well in your further endeavors.

Worker 1: But . . . I thought . . .

Boss: Next.

 

Door Opens And Shuts

Boss: Welcome aboard. You made the cut. We’ll start you with the exhibits crew and you can work your way into the museum crew, go back to school for your masters, and become a museum administrator and live in the West Hills like me.

Worker 2: Sounds great. Where’s Jim going? He looked sad.

Boss: Today is his last day.

Worker 2: And my first real day on staff.

Boss: You earned it, he didn’t. That’s how it goes.

Worker 2: And I’ll have your job in a few years.

Boss: I had yours a few years ago, fifteen years.

And that’s how a six months of guarding the Soft Gold Exhibit turned into a twenty-year museum career.

Only twenty?

Twenty was plenty.

During that time I saw the sea-change from one generation to the next.

From virtuoso fund-raiser to poor business maneuvering, from hack leadership and lay offs to securing a long-term financial foundation, from a stop on the museum ladder to the next job to a regional jewel, things changed.

Hard life tools of the museum collection manager trade: forklift operator’s license, pallet jack experience, environmental stability monitoring, materials identification training, self confidence, self starter, accurate archivist.

Soft life tools: Call someone.

We can all use a little help once in a while, sometimes more than once in a while.

Before you or your loved ones go full Assisted Living, find a hard edge for best results.