Mango Bob (4 page)

Others were into alcohol.

They'd start the shift with a tall boy, sneak another beer or two at first break, and another two for lunch. Then pop a cold one before they left the parking lot at the end of the day.

No matter how they did it, the goal was to numb themselves from the life on the plant floor.

Fact is, everybody who worked at the plant wanted to be somewhere else. It didn't matter where, as long as it was far away from the plant floor and stamping presses.

Me? I didn't drink or do drugs. Instead, I was a dreamer. I wanted to live on a beach in Florida. Maybe get paid to arrange beach umbrellas for some fancy hotel. Maybe get a job serving rum flavored drinks at a water-front bar.

Four weeks ago, we all got our wish. The announcement came down from corporate headquarters - the plant was closing. All the equipment was being shipped to Mexico.

All employees of the plant, including me, would be given the freedom to do something else. Freedom as in 'everyone was being terminated.'

An interesting term – terminated. Something that would come back to haunt at least one of the corporate managers who made the decision to close the plant.

But that's another story.

9

So I'm living in a tent. By choice.

And going through a quickie divorce, as mandated by the soon to be ex-wife.

And working the final two weeks of my corporate job – without any future job prospects.

And I was one of the
lucky
ones.

See, corporate headquarters wanted a few of the office staff to stay around until the final day of plant closing.

These few people would be needed to make sure office equipment, office records, computers, and miscellaneous items were properly packed and shipped to the new plant.

As the computer manager, I was one of the ones tapped to stay until the very end.

Just me, Molly from human resources, John Colbert, head of plant security, and Allison James, in accounting.

Allison was nearing sixty. She was retiring after this. Said no one was going to hire her anyway, might as well make the best of it. Her husband still worked in town, so they'd get by all right.

John from security had lined up a job in inventory control at the local Walmart – which he was happy about.

Which left me and Molly.

Molly from human resources was about my age, middle thirties, happily married with two young sons. She hadn't even started looking for a new job yet. And wasn't sure she was going to.

Her plan was to take a few months off and be a stay-at-home mom while she worked out her future.

In the final days at the plant, Molly and I spent quite a bit of time together, going through checklists to make sure all the sensitive personnel files were inventoried and shipped to corporate headquarters.

When I told Molly I was living in a tent and why, she was cool about it. She knew I could afford better, but she also understood the emotional challenge of facing divorce and job loss.

She told me that living in a tent for a week or two might be a good experience for me.

According to Molly, “Living in a tent will give you a whole new perspective. And maybe help you discover what's important in your life.”

I don't know if she really believed this or not, but she sounded like she meant it. She said she'd been through some tough times and a divorce herself. And she'd survived.

So maybe her advice was worth listening to.

According to Molly, “A divorce can mean freedom to make better choices and a chance to reboot your life's direction.”

She probably told terminated workers the same thing. “Sure, you're losing your job, but it gives you freedom to make choices, and a chance to find a new life direction.”

Yeah, right. Tell that to the bill collectors when they come knocking on your door.

Still, Molly's line about “freedom and a chance to find a new life direction” sounded pretty good to me.

10

I had been living in a tent for seven days now. And the “
it's like a vacation
” feeling had faded.

Now, it was more like, “I'm living in a tent, sleeping on the ground, don't have running water, and my only company is the ranger who collects my camping fee each morning.”

I don't bother cooking at my campsite. Too much trouble. Easier to just eat out or bring something back at the end of the day.

Breakfast was at the nearest McDonald's. Scrambled eggs and orange juice – breakfast of champions.

After a quick breakfast, I'd head to work, sit in my office, read emails from corporate headquarters and handle any tasks they gave me.

At the end of the day, I'd drive back to the campground, stopping along the way for something to eat for dinner.

Yep, I was living the dream.

On Monday of the final week before the plant officially closed, just about everything had been packed up and shipped out.

For all practical purposes, our jobs were over.

But corporate still wanted us in the building until Friday, when we'd receive our final paychecks and the facility would be locked down forever.

So Molly, Allison, John and I showed up for work, even though the building was empty and there was nothing for us to do.

We spent most of our time reading newspapers, looking for jobs, or surfing the web. Anything to kill time.

On Wednesday, two days before shutdown, Molly walked into my office.

“Walker, something's come up. Corporate has given me a last minute job to take care of. And I might need your help.”

“OK, What can I do?”

“Corporate found an item that wasn't on our original inventory list. Apparently one of the corporate officers had planned to buy the item but the deal fell through.”

“Since it's located here, corporate says I have twenty four hours to get it sold and off the books.”

“It's a large item, and I need your help getting it moved.”

“Molly, I'm glad to help. Show me what it is and where we have to move it.”

She smiled, “Get your coat, it's out in the executive parking lot.”

The executive parking lot is a special parking lot hidden behind eight foot walls, and accessed from the outside via an electronic pass-card gate.

In years past, there'd been instances of plant workers confronting executives in the main parking lot. Wanting to fight or settle a score.

To avoid trouble, the executive lot was built. Giving managers a way to sneak into the plant without being seen - or assaulted.

Molly and I walked to the empty executive wing, and then through the back doorway leading to the private parking lot.

During the heyday of the plant, this special lot would be filled with Mercedes and BMW's, but today there was only one vehicle parked in the lot.

Molly pointed, “There it is. The inventory item I need to move. The Love Bus.”

11

It really wasn't a bus. It was a motorhome.

But not a big one like those owned by the rich and famous. This one was more like a small U-haul truck. Basically a Ford passenger van front with a streamlined box on the back.

According to Molly, the official reason for the company owning the Love Bus was so executives could work while traveling to business meetings.

The 'unofficial' reason had to do with the Love Bus being a safe place for executives to travel with secret girlfriends. Hence, the 'Love Bus' name.

Molly said the company bought this model because it was easy to drive and park, and had plenty of room for extended road trips. As a bonus, it had a private bedroom and bath in the back.

Most of the time, the Love Bus had been hidden away in the executive parking lot, regularly serviced and maintained just waiting for one of the corporate officers to reserve it and take it on the road.

But shortly after its purchase, company executives discovered flying on the corporate jet was a lot easier than driving a motorhome.

She had learned this morning that a corporate executive had made a deal to buy the Love Bus but that deal had fallen through. The executive was no longer with the company, and couldn't be reached by phone.

So the task of selling the Love Bus had been given to Molly. Corporate said she had to get it sold before the plant closed on Friday.

She had called three local RV dealers to see if any of them were interested. All told her the same story. Their lots were already filled with too many unsold motorhomes. They didn't need another one taking up space, especially one they had to pay cash for.

So with just two days left to get it sold, Molly was thinking I might be interested in it.

“So Walker, you're living in a tent. The Love Bus would give you a roof over your head. A home on wheels you could take anywhere.”

“Molly, I don't need a motorhome.”

“Walker, hear me out. The company has authorized me to sell the Love Bus to you for the fully depreciated value.

“That means a 'once in a lifetime' kind of deal.”

I shook my head, “Molly, I don't need or want a motorhome. You need to find someone older, a retiree who wants to go south for the winter.

“Find me a Porsche. I might be interested. But not a motorhome.”

Molly persisted, “Walker, this would be perfect for you. It'd give you a place to live and freedom to travel while you decided what to do with the rest of your life.

“And you wouldn't be sleeping in a tent.”

She had me there. Living in a tent was getting old. And with winter coming, I'd soon have to find something better.

“Molly, not sleeping in a tent sounds good. But there's no way I can buy something like this. My only source of income is ending in two days and I can't afford to spend a big part of my savings on a motorhome.”

“Don't worry about the price. Corporate told me they've fully depreciated it on their books. The residual asset value is what they'll sell it to you for. If they sell it for more than that, they have to pay taxes on it.

“As far as corporate is concerned, it's less hassle to let it go for residual value, especially if they can sell it to an employee and show it as a termination benefit.

“So don't worry about the price. You'll be able to afford it. And aren't you the least bit curious about what's inside the Love Bus?”

I admit, I was a little curious. Never been inside a motorhome before.

“OK, I'll take a look. But I'm not buying it.”

Molly smiled, “I'll get the keys. Be right back.”

As I stood in the parking lot waiting for Molly's return, I checked out the Love Bus. From a distance, it looked pretty good. Nice lines, not too big, attractive color scheme.

The paint was slightly faded, the tires a little low, and there was a layer of parking lot grime over the whole rig. But nothing a good cleaning wouldn't remedy.

Still, I was pretty sure this wasn't for me. I had no use for a motorhome.

On the other hand, thinking about the snowbirds I'd seen back in the campground and how they traveled around the country in their motorhomes, it did sound like a pretty nice way to live.

And as Molly pointed out, living in the Love Bus would be a step up from living in a tent.

If it were mechanically sound, I could drive it to Florida, park somewhere near the water, and live pretty inexpensively

It'd give me a roof over my head. A place to eat and sleep. A shower and toilet. My own private hide-away where I could relax, watch TV, and use my computer to keep track of the rest of the world.

It just might be the thing to get me close to my dream of living on a beach in Florida. And right now, that sounded pretty good.

12

Molly came back and handed me a key ring. Six keys on it, all different.

“Wonder which one of these opens the side door?”

“No idea, might have to try them all.”

The first three keys didn't fit. But the fourth one slipped into the lock.

As I started to unlock the door, Molly stopped me. “Before you open the door, you need to know it might be a mess inside. It hasn't been cleaned since the last time it was used.”

Opening the door, it was clear she was right. A wave of stale air, mixed with the smell of alcohol and dirty laundry rolled over us.

We stepped back – both of us gasping and laughing.

Waving her hands to clear away the smell, Molly said, “That must have been some party! Let's let it air out for a few minutes.”

As we stood outside waiting for fresh air to replace the stale inside air, Molly asked, “So how's life in the tent?”

I shook my head, “It was OK at first. But not something I want to do for much longer.”

She nodded toward the motorhome, “This could be what you need. A real roof over your head.”

She extended her arm toward the door, “You ready to go in?”