More Work than Sleep

Here's a cozy little work station.
Big things come out of that innocent-looking PC.


So, here we are inside of the shop I work for.
And, yes, work it is.
This time of year, I'm typically inside that building for 12 hours with little free time.
None, basically, and I can only get in the occasional wise crack while doing the job, and I'm lucky to have some very good people around me, people that we shall meet one-by-one.
I'll describe that job in a minute, but first, let's have a bit of a look around.



Poking around that innocent-looking work station (officially called Client No. 7) uncovered this Egyptian hieroglyph.
I wonder what it could mean.
I'll have to call Jean-François Champollion for help on this one.
Who's Jean-François Champollion?
Geeeeeeeeezz, people! Look it up - you're on the Internet, ain't 'cha? :)






Another very cozy work station.
It's mine.
Aaaaaaaaaall mine!

Basically, what I do all day long is keep track of, recieve into the store, and distribute all of the products that we order for retail sale, both over the counter upstars in the Parts Dept., and downstairs for the Service Dept. and their repair orders (called R.O.s) and for the Sales Dept. with the products added to the cost of a customer's shiny new motorcycle (known as being billed to a Major Unit. That a funny name, ain't it? I can see where the Space Shuttle is a Major Unit, but a CR-F50F? Who writes this stuff?).

Yes, people, these things ain't just called clutch cables, chain guides, or helmets.
Oh, no.
These are known as "products" by all of the big shots in the industry.
That's right - products.
That shiny new fender you just bought?
That ain't a fender.
That's a product.
If you're on the phone talking to your friendly con-artist sales rep about doing another clothing order and discussing things like payment terms, you're not saying words like T-shirt or bell-bottom pants.
Uh-uh.
You're discussing product.
Don't you ever, ever, EVER forget it, lest you be out of the loop and relegated to has-been status.





This delinquent...I mean young man...is named Noel.
That's pronounced like "hole", not like "no-el" as you would say around Christmas time, something that he made very clear to me when he threatened to kick my ass for doing so unintentionally.
The thought of that was so profound to me that I never forgot it to this very day, even though it's only been about three weeks.

Noel's a good guy who does odd jobs around the place that nobody else will do.
Jobs like emptying the trash cans that the official janitor doesn't and running the 1/10 mile to the Shell gas station/convenience store out in front of the place.
Noel is a good-natured fella who always seems to have a smile on his face.
I think he carries a gun.



Baby gas cans. Extremely popular, or so I'm led to believe.
These will later grow up and become bigger gas cans after they eat all of their veggies.
It's having hot-selling products like these that make or break your motorcycle shop.

You see, not only do you need to have the products that everyone is clammoring for, but you also need to have that product knowledge to go along with it, and those two very important qualities are captioned in the below pic:


Aaaahh. I just LOVE new grips!

See?

-John