clients.”
“That’s not how it is.”
“Yes it is. People are people and all companies are filled with managers that range from amazing to amazingly dysfunctional.”
“I don’t know. Just don’t annoy me with chewing noises.”
“Like you did with that bag of chips last night?” Zack pointed at the ravaged and empty chip bag sitting on the other end table, it’s mouth open and hollow after spewing vomit all night from its abused and post-party crumple.
“Why do you spin every argument around to make it about you?”
“Because you blow up every little irritation into aggravated arguments.”
“You are impossible.”
“I’m going outside.” Zack scooped up his cereal and finished it in the kitchen. He grabbed his hat and coat while shoving his feet into his boots. He went out to the shed.
The shed door creaked open. Zack ducked his head and fished in the corner next to the lawn tractor for the post hole digger. He tossed it out the shed door. Then thought he should have leaned it against the door jamb. He was angry. Lydia got in those arguments with him and she seemed fine within ten minutes of venting while that argument swirled in his head for hours. Maybe doing this job might distract him into a better mood. Why does she get to me like that? He found the spool of galvanized wire. Zack shook out the dirty debris from the five gallon bucket and wiped out the spider webs filling its open top. He put in the fence tool, hammer, small crowbar, and other hardware he expected to use. He sloshed across the soggy ground to the side yard and pulled up the little stake he had put down last fall as his row marker. He gripped the two arms of the post hole digger, raised it up, and slammed it down at the ground. The steel shells sunk into the soil, crackling as the slushy ice still hiding below the surface fractured. He pulled the handles apart cradling the soft earth. He rotated and clanked the digger down so the soil spilled out. Then he raised and thrust the digger again into the soil. He repeated thrusting the shovel into the world.
He took his tape measure from the bucket and extended it down the hole showing two inches deeper than the frost line would reach in Michigan. He walked back to the side of the shed and, using his pocket knife, cut through the banding. The posts relaxed and Zack pulled the first one from the stack. He thrust the pole into the ground then packed dirt around it until it held firm. He used his level and pushed the pole from each side until the post was straight with the world. Then he packed dirt in tight.
“What are you doing?” Lydia startled Zack. She had Zack’s good wing-tip dress-shoes banging around on her bare feet and held her coat around her like a blanket held closed in the front only because her arms crossed over her chest.
“I’m putting the posts in the ground for my vineyard.”
“You’re putting a vineyard in here?” She waved an arm across the yard, “We have to talk about these things.”
“I told you I ordered a few plants. They are getting delivered in a two weeks.”
“How much money did you spend on all this?”
Zack saw the kids coming from the house through the open garage door. He saw their cars sitting in the garage. “How much do we spend on that car of yours compared to mine?”
“I need that for my job.”
“You don’t need it. You wanted it.”
“I have to keep certain appearances for my level of accomplishment in the company.”
“Like wearing my shoes into the yard? Getting my good shoes all muddy?”
Lydia turned, “I’m not sure what to do,” she waved her hands free in the air and stomped back to the house.
“Daddy, can we help?”
“Sure Noah.”
“I have your shovel!” Grace said as she dragged it farther across the lawn. She raised it and struck it into the ground as she had seen her father from the window. Zack went to the next marker and started cutting the hole with a second regular round-nosed
“That’s not how it is.”
“Yes it is. People are people and all companies are filled with managers that range from amazing to amazingly dysfunctional.”
“I don’t know. Just don’t annoy me with chewing noises.”
“Like you did with that bag of chips last night?” Zack pointed at the ravaged and empty chip bag sitting on the other end table, it’s mouth open and hollow after spewing vomit all night from its abused and post-party crumple.
“Why do you spin every argument around to make it about you?”
“Because you blow up every little irritation into aggravated arguments.”
“You are impossible.”
“I’m going outside.” Zack scooped up his cereal and finished it in the kitchen. He grabbed his hat and coat while shoving his feet into his boots. He went out to the shed.
The shed door creaked open. Zack ducked his head and fished in the corner next to the lawn tractor for the post hole digger. He tossed it out the shed door. Then thought he should have leaned it against the door jamb. He was angry. Lydia got in those arguments with him and she seemed fine within ten minutes of venting while that argument swirled in his head for hours. Maybe doing this job might distract him into a better mood. Why does she get to me like that? He found the spool of galvanized wire. Zack shook out the dirty debris from the five gallon bucket and wiped out the spider webs filling its open top. He put in the fence tool, hammer, small crowbar, and other hardware he expected to use. He sloshed across the soggy ground to the side yard and pulled up the little stake he had put down last fall as his row marker. He gripped the two arms of the post hole digger, raised it up, and slammed it down at the ground. The steel shells sunk into the soil, crackling as the slushy ice still hiding below the surface fractured. He pulled the handles apart cradling the soft earth. He rotated and clanked the digger down so the soil spilled out. Then he raised and thrust the digger again into the soil. He repeated thrusting the shovel into the world.
He took his tape measure from the bucket and extended it down the hole showing two inches deeper than the frost line would reach in Michigan. He walked back to the side of the shed and, using his pocket knife, cut through the banding. The posts relaxed and Zack pulled the first one from the stack. He thrust the pole into the ground then packed dirt around it until it held firm. He used his level and pushed the pole from each side until the post was straight with the world. Then he packed dirt in tight.
“What are you doing?” Lydia startled Zack. She had Zack’s good wing-tip dress-shoes banging around on her bare feet and held her coat around her like a blanket held closed in the front only because her arms crossed over her chest.
“I’m putting the posts in the ground for my vineyard.”
“You’re putting a vineyard in here?” She waved an arm across the yard, “We have to talk about these things.”
“I told you I ordered a few plants. They are getting delivered in a two weeks.”
“How much money did you spend on all this?”
Zack saw the kids coming from the house through the open garage door. He saw their cars sitting in the garage. “How much do we spend on that car of yours compared to mine?”
“I need that for my job.”
“You don’t need it. You wanted it.”
“I have to keep certain appearances for my level of accomplishment in the company.”
“Like wearing my shoes into the yard? Getting my good shoes all muddy?”
Lydia turned, “I’m not sure what to do,” she waved her hands free in the air and stomped back to the house.
“Daddy, can we help?”
“Sure Noah.”
“I have your shovel!” Grace said as she dragged it farther across the lawn. She raised it and struck it into the ground as she had seen her father from the window. Zack went to the next marker and started cutting the hole with a second regular round-nosed
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