My current employment situation sucks, but sometimes it takes a phone call to a longtime friend to get me out of my own head long enough to actually put it all in perspective. After speaking at length with my dear friend Cindy the other night, I realized that the emotionally toxic work environment I currently find myself in is merely a bump in the road—that I need to remember that I have had these bumps before, and that "this too shall pass." I need to remember the incredible sense of liberation that I will feel when I finally find something else and break free of this place. I also need to remember that I have worked for some truly outstanding people during my career and that I will find that magic again.
"I am open and receptive to the abundance of the universe."
The one company that immediately comes to mind in that magic category was the small architectural firm that I worked for in San Francisco for nearly a decade—until in what can only be described as a fit of utter madness I decided to throw my entire life into complete chaos and move back to Arizona the first time.
(Of course, if I had not done that, it would not have led me on the path to Ben, and as I've said that many times before, I wouldn't change that for the world.)
My interview at H&M (no, not that H&M) was the result of having sent out a hundred blind resumes seeking work as an architectural drafter (my profession before getting suckered into giving it up for full time PC support).
The funny thing is, when I first arrived for my interview, I almost turned around and left before even going in. The office was in a decrepit building on the southeast corner of Mission and 2nd, above a perpetually going-out-of business men's clothing retailer. The first thing that greeted me when I got off the elevator was a locked metal gate preventing further access. But for once in my life I actually listened to that little voice in my head that told me if I turned around and left I would be making a horrible mistake.
I rang the buzzer and was greeted by one of the two principals.
As expected, it was a small, rather dingy office, about 20 feet wide by 40 feet long. Along one side were four drafting tables perpendicular to the wall. On the opposite wall was a row of bookcases holding product catalogs. Between them was a folding conference table.
Despite my initial misgivings, I had an excellent interview. It was one of only three such interviews I've had in my life that even during the interview itself I knew was kismet. And at the end of the interview, Jack and Nick looked at each other and said, "We like you. Would you like to come to work for us?"
And so began my 8 year journey and the birth of my second family.
Shortly after I started work, the fourth member of the firm returned from an extended absence. Neill was a couple years younger than I, but we had so much in common in the way of music, film, and our overall design aesthetic we immediately hit it off. (I remember one afternoon we were off to measure some building and he said something about cock suckers. I looked at him and said, "Excuse me, but I'm a cock sucker!" He looked at me, and smiling, said, "Some of my best friends are cock suckers!" Neill wasn't gay, but having grown up in the bay area, was certainly unfazed by my announcement, and thus began our friendship.)
Jack was the company's sales division. Nick was the main designer and ran the office, handling the day-to-day coordination with clients. Neill and I were production, although as the years went by each of our respective roles branched out significantly.
A couple months after I started, I arrived at work one morning to discover an IBM computer sitting on the conference table. I remember asking, "What's this for?" and was told, "We're not exactly sure. We hope you can do something with it."
And so began my obsession.
I'd never touched a PC in my life (other than a brief stint playing with a Commodore VIC-20 years earlier), but I took to it like a fish to water. As the months progressed I began learning everything I could about this new piece of technology. Little did I know where this would ultimately lead me, or how it would result in a life-long friendship with Jack's wife, Lei.
I got a copy of WordPerfect from my ex, who was working for a law firm at the time, and—having attended a sales presentation for AutoCAD at my last job in Tucson and knew that this was the way the architectural profession was headed—"acquired" a copy of that as well. I remember AutoCAD being the most difficult thing I had ever set out to learn. At one point I was literally moving things in my dreams by applying cartesian coordinates.
While they kicked and screamed the entire way, I dragged the firm legally into CAD, and as time passed we bought several new PCs and created a network. Then, after realizing the money being wasted by having all our CAD drawings printed offsite, the firm invested in a plotter.
Nick was one of those amazing employers who basically gave me free reign to do whatever was needed to grow professionally as well as personally while I was there. Only once did I take advantage of his generosity, and it's something I regret to this day.
The office moved after the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake (not surprisingly, the building was condemned) to nicer digs at Fremont and Folsom where it remained until the late 90s.
Like any family, the one at H&M had its difficult moments. Both the owners were fond of spending an afternoon at the local pub, and when Nick and Jack fought, it was like parents going at it. But also like a family, in difficult times, we hung together. When business turned down in the early 90s, instead of laying anyone off, we all voluntarily went to a 32 hour work week until things rebounded. And when things were good, they were very good. One day after the weather had warmed up after a particularly wet and nasty winter, Nick turned to us and said, "Take the rest of the day off. Go to the beach."
For the Christmas holiday, Jack and Nick never failed to go above and beyond. Of course, there were the year-end bonuses and profit-sharing, but in addition there would always be something else. One year it was a trip on the ferry to Sausalito and an expensive lunch followed by an afternoon of playing tourist…
Another year it was fishing on the Bay for the day (worst weather ever, and after catching and killing the fish—a sturgeon—Neill took up permanent vegetarianism, but it was the thought that counted)…
Yet another year they rented a house at Sea Ranch for a weekend and we all brought our families/significant others…
While working for H&M, I remember days where I was irritated, or frustrated or pissed off at something Nick or Jack or Neill did (Neill got pretty pissy too at times), but never do I remember waking up in the morning and thinking, "I just can't deal with the bullshit today," like I often do now.
This was also the only place I have ever worked where I was regularly invited to break bread at the owners' homes with their families as well as having them in my home to do the same.
And as a testament to the fact that we were more than just employers and employees, Nick openly wept as I said my final goodbyes at my farewell lunch.
While I have since lost contact with Nick and Neill, I still regularly call and write Jack's wife, who often referred to me as her second son and with whom I still share a deep and abiding love for all things tech.
