The Time Has Come

The great culling of the herd has begun.

The real estate industry is in upheaval the likes of which no one I know can remember. Because of the unprecedented nature of the market, people are left guessing as to how bad it may get, how long it will take and when things might turn around.

I wrote last week that my company's county manager was unexpectedly replaced. Our old county manager was something of an optimist, "Things are going to get better! Hang in there!" as such, he was inclined to hang on to staff as long as possible so as to be ready when the big uptick occurred.

Our new county manager is *ahem* not and optimist. "Things are going to get worse before they get better - best to let the slash-and-burn begin" seems to be his position. I don't blame him - you need both types in business and seeing as how the company has been in the red for the past two months, a little thinning of staff was inevitable.

But this is b.r.u.t.a.l. No one really knows, but it appears that we may lose one-half to two-thirds of our staff in the next week or two. Those on the chopping block have an idea of where they stand and it is like working amongst the un-dead. Those who are relatively safe are just trying to keep their heads down and do their job with diminished staff-support. Then there are those somewhere in the middle - they aren't necessarily on the chopping block but they are close enough to feel like they are. Me, I am probably safe but I feel like I have a front-row seat to the spectacle.

I came home whipped yesterday. The wife had the day off and spent it doing just those things that suited her fancy so she was full of sweetness and light. She let the dawg out as I was getting out of the car and I was welcomed home in a way only a dawg can welcome you.

The wife poured me a beer, remarked how pretty the sun looked as it shone through the glass,

remarked on the sunset,

then baked a sausage and sauerkraut pizza and popped in the original Muppet Movie for our viewing pleasure.

But that was yesterday evening. And now the night-terrors begin. "Maybe I can get a job at another company - We might have to move to another town where business is better - Maybe I can wait tables again - At 37? You're crazy! - Maybe I can . . .Maybe I can . . . Maybe I can . . ."

Never mind what I maybe can do - what I really need to do is get back to the office. With the loss of my assistant, I have a ton of work and no help in sight. This type of situation can lead to a death spiral - you don't have enough help, so the clients get frustrated and take their business elsewhere - which leads to deeper cuts in staffing etc.

So for now, all activities are suspended - no running - no surfing - just WORK. It is a cruel irony that you need to run, surf etc. most during periods that are so difficult that you don't have time to do anything but concentrate on survival - keeping the ol' noggin above the water line. At least I have time to blog, I suppose.

Speaking of time - ugh, I have to get dressed . . .

Man. That beer tonight is going to taste wonderful.