by: Lloyd Tackitt 6/29/2013
It had been an ugly day at work. The kind where I seethed inside so much that being productive was impossible. My boss, a young guy promoted above his ability because of connections, had decided he was going to change the way we performed our work - but in an unproductive kind of way. He'd not come up through the ranks, didn't understand that the ultimate objective, the only objective that really counted, was getting bricks and mortar put into place. He'd devised a new system that was all shiny and pretty, but actually hindered the real work.
He didn't understand that the dollars that came in the door were a result of work put in place, real work like concrete being placed. He didn't understand that our clients didn't care about our internal paperwork - they paid us to build buildings, not create paperwork processes. So I got into an argument with him in his announcement meeting, right in front of everybody - and those cowards just sat there not helping.
Driving home from work I kept thinking over and over what I had said, wishing I had said it better and with less heat. Round and round those thoughts went. I was in a posionous mood. I didn't want to go home in that mood, take that poison into my home, expose my wife to it. Stopping at a bar for a few drinks had a very high appeal, and there was a country tavern coming up in a few miles. Grimly I drove on towards it, still recycling that argument with that useless appendage I had to deal with.
Before I got to the tavern I passed a small lake just off the highway. One I had been passing twice every day for years and always with an eye to fishing it someday. My hands seemed to take on a life of their own, I swear I didn't tell them to take the next exit and circle back, but they did anyway. I pulled off the access road and bumped down a short dirt lane through tall grass to the edge of the water. In my trunk I keep a small tacklbe box, a zebco rod and reel, and a folding camp chair- just in case of a fishing attack, and this was one.
It didn't take long to catch a handful of grasshoppers, bait up and cast out. I sat there, tense and still recycling the things I wish I had said, steam might have been coming off my head. Then the bobber started jerking around. I waited until it took off under water and reared back setting the hook into something substantial down there, and the fight was on. A bass about six pounds finally came to my grip. I threw it back, put on another grasshopper and cast back out again. I sat there peacefully, just barely simmering now, and caught another one.
After an hour or so I was as peaceful and happy as if I'd had a really good day behind me. In fact I did. I packed up and went home to my sweet wife. She met me at the door with a martini she'd been chilling in the freezer. "A little late? How was your day honey?"
"Awesome, as good as they come."
I'll deal with that prick tomorrow, on company time.
Blog content © Lloyd Tackitt
Dave Mauldin, TX 6/30/2013 7:08:49 PM
Ah, fishing, a sweet wife, and a cold drink. All good.
Coyute, CO 7/1/2013 1:19:34 PM
IceFishingFool, CO 7/1/2013 5:13:28 PM
Good approach, reminds me of a new foeman I had. That was going to make his mark, 24 hrs later, the plant super, came out on the floor, an told him if he wanted to change anything he had to clear it with me first, or pick up his last pay check *-) seems like it was at least a month before he didnt have a corn cobb stuck you know where !
JKaboom, CO 7/1/2013 6:58:11 PM
Sometimes it seems like the only thing keeping me sane and employed. Even if I can't go fishing, reading, watching, studying fishing helps too though not as much. I am sure you will straighten things out one way or another.