A few things learned in 2002

While the days of 2003 are still in single digits, there remains time to reflect on the year we just kicked out. As far as I'm concerned, a good kicking out was just what the year 2002 deserved.

In case you haven't guessed, it wasn't much of a year for yours truly.

2002 was the year I discovered stress, mostly because it was the year I entered the world of small business and came to wonder just how a small business ever becomes a big business. It was the year I turned 49 and came to the sad realization that the warning my folks issued about my staying out to all hours in the morning was one I should have heeded.

"It will catch up with you later," they declared. In 2002, whatever " it" is caught up. "It" didn't just catch up, "it" ran slap over me.

Up until last year, I got up every morning feeling pretty good. Granted, I was never a morning person but at least for the first 48 years of my life I didn't get out of bed looking like Danny Devito and feeling like the Coyote after a hard night of chasing the Roadrunner. I normally rise around 6 a.m. and head down stairs for my first cup of coffee, which I mostly use for dunking my morning Tylenol.

"You look awful this morning, dear," the wife observes. She doesn't look much like Lana Turner at 6 a.m. in the morning either but I keep that to myself. After 27 years of marriage, you learn when to avoid cuteness and opt for silence.

At 7 a.m., I'm usually out the door to enjoy the only three hours of my life that isn't filled with the aforementioned stress. That would be the time I spend every morning with the Gravy Gang. I call it my daily, two- to three-hour vacation. No worries. No stress. Just fun with good company and good gravy. Without these morning sabbaticals, I would have a nervous tear-up and by Thursday, I would be found in a corner somewhere, rolled into a fetal position begging for unemployment benefits.

And as my luck would have it, I chose to get into business just when the economy is sinking faster than a duck with the bumper off a Buick stuck in its beak. For eight years, the economy went up like Jack's beanstalk on Miracle Grow. Then boom, I go into business and as a bonus, get myself a ticket on the Titanic. Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle.

At 10 a.m., my work day begins. Well, that's not true. When you own a small business, you never stop thinking about it. Never. Hence the stress. As a brief aside, if you're ever tempted to buy or open your own business, it would behoove you to run as hard and fast as you can in the opposite direction. You'll have more money, be happier, won't be bothered by those annoying ulcers, and you'll probably live a sight longer. It's much more stress-free to punch someone else's clock than to punch one you paid for yourself.

Just a few months ago, I would go into my bank and all the girls behind that big old counter would say, "Hi Benjie honey, you're looking great today." Now, when I go into the same bank I get, "Go to the back of the line and someone will be with you in a few minutes. And what was your name again? Barry? Bennie? Bobby? Whatever."

Yep, 2002 was the year that I got into business and if things continue as they are now, by mid 2003, I'll be locked away somewhere in a state supported facility. My room will be devoid of sharp objects and decorated with heavily padded walls. But insanity would be a delightful respite at this point. It would be nice to be spend a few months in a place where the most difficult question asked of me all day is whether I want the corn beef hash or the chicken salad for lunch.

In 2002, I lost weight I could not afford to lose, suffered with a tremendous amount of back pain, and enjoyed my very first migraine headache. I came to realize that the consuming public is fickle, demanding, in some cases, completely impossible. I learned that getting older is as much fun as attending an amateur eyeball piercing convention.

But there was one good thing I learned during the past year. When I come home after a rotten day, one of those days when every person I encounter has an axe to grind and would like nothing better than to grind it on my forehead, there's a little girl waiting at my door for me. Her arms are open, her smile is warm and genuine. She says, "I'm glad you're home Dad, how was your day?"

It is at that moment I remember why I do what I do, why I run myself through the washing machine ringer five days a week.

Then, she let's me trade the aggravation, frustration, depression, and disappointments of the day for a big hug and a sweet, wonderful kiss on the cheek.

It never fails to be the best deal I make all day.

Benjie Watts of Gamewell is an award-winning columnist for the News-Topic.

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