The perfect storm

To further elaborate on the pity party that I threw for myself earlier, I have to say that my headache was contributing to my mood more than a little bit. But the essential truth stands and that is this, I'm in a funk.

And I'm not totally cynical and pessimistic all the time but I am often enough that I have to make a conscious decision to fight against it. Only at work though. My joy is still my wife and girls, especially my daughter Courtney.

I spoke with a guy earlier this morning. His name is Chuck and he works for a competitor. Although he is "the opposition" he and I have always had a good relationship and, though I won't hesitate to tell a customer when another contractor is a bandit, I won't slander Chuck or his firm. He's a good guy and his company does good work. They are very worthy competition and I respect him. Anyway, I called him about a mutual customer who has requested proposals from each of us and I wanted to know what he was going to do (the customer has no intention of buying, in my opinion, and only wants my proposal to further his litigation against homebuilder). Anyway, Chuck and I began talking about business and such; he's been in this business like 15 years now and he tells me that he's thinking about getting out. Not only of his job but the business altogether.

Foundation repair, in south Texas at least, is a fundamental business. In other words, it's not glamorous but, like garbage collection and plumbing, it is a necessary service. The soil here is so highly plastic (i.e., it absorbs water and expands) here that it makes homebuilding and buying a real gamble. The reason it's a good business is because leveling a house isn't something a weekend warrior could do either. It requires specialized (and expensive) equipment and a skilled labor force. This is not like painting your house.

Back during the late 90's the business got really fat. A few favorable decisions were rendered by the State Supreme Court which held that, in the instance of an underslab discharge of water (i.e., plumbing leak) foundation repair was covered by the homeowners' policy. This was despite the fact that foundation repair was specifically excluded in the standard policy. It was an outcome-based decision of course, and the conservative in me hated it even if it was good for my dad's company (I didn't yet work here). Well, predictably, insurors began hemorrhaging money on these type of claims and more than a few lawyers got really damned rich pushing foundation claims for people. In the business, it was an orgy. Companies that had existed at a "simmer" found themselves awash in work, and money. New companies, some good and some not, sprungup almost overnight to get in on the action. It was a party and it was fun while it lasted. I know this because I watched it all from the sidelines. I watched my dad go from rags to riches.

Well, like all parties, this one came to an end. The insurance companies began leaving Texas in droves, so much so that the legislature itself felt compelled to get involved to stop the exodus. Those who didn't leave dropped the old policy - the "HO-B" - with the language where the Court "found" foundation repair coverage and issued new policies with language that excluded foundations nine ways to Sunday. Thus far, though I am certainly not in the loop about this type of litigation, the language seems to be watertight. Endorsements are of course being offered that cover foundations, but they're expensive and not a lot of people are buying them. The result was predictable. Foundation repair is expensive with the typical slab repair costing about $10 to $15,000.00. Not exactly pocket change, especially in a relatively poor city like San Antonio. This all began to happen in 2001.

I came to work for this company in February 2001. Two months after I got to Austin to begin my training (Erica and the girls stayed behind in Mobile to let the girls finish school and to sell the house) Dell Computer began shedding jobs. The economy, though not really bad, had been tottering since the Florida recount and most people were whispering that we were overdue for a recession. Michael Dell smelled what was in the air and began to protect his business by cutting costs. This was smart business but it ran a chill over the Austin market. This happened about the same time that the insurance companies began issuing the new policies.

Another ingredient in the mix was that the 10 year drought in South Texas (droughts are extremely bad for foundations and thus good for the foundation repair industry) broke. We had the wettest year in 2 decades in 2001 and lost probably more than 30 days of work because of it.

And, to top off this lovely shit sandwich, the rotten olive on top, the piece de resistance was 9/11. After that, the economy, valiantly holding its own in the face of bad economic news, began to contract painfully. Old skeletons that remained hidden during the flush times of the Clinton boom came dancing out. Companies like Enron and World Com (a major San Antonio employer) went tits-up amid charges of financial irregularities. Trust was lost and hope was broken, especially in this good hearted but essentially poor city.

Tuesday blahs

God but I’m having a real bastard of a day here. It seems like all I have now are collection problems at work. People whose homes we’ve finished leveling and now they’re pissed off about something or other. I have a raging headache because I have had to give ground to one customer who I thought we had dead to rights on a contract and so I took it out on another customer earlier today. We ended the conversation with both of promising to see the other in court.

Jeez, I need a Tylenol. Or four.

I spoke with dad this morning and he told me that he’s going to make it a point to come to San Antonio every Wednesday to spend the day with us. I think it’s a good idea but for some reason I also dread it. I don’t know why but over the past year or so I’ve developed a sort of tissue rejection thing with him. There’s no real way to politely state it. The fact is that I have no faith that this job will ever work out for me. I used to, but the past 3 years have drained all the optimism out of me. I’m being paid enough to keep a few steps ahead of the bill collectors but not much more.

I hate what I’m becoming. Where before I was hopeful and optimistic about the future, now I’m cynical and pessimistic. I think that’s because I feel trapped here. I can’t just up and leave because doing so would almost certainly mean leaving San Antonio. I like this city but I’d leave tomorrow but for the fact that Megan is only halfway thru her junior year of high school. I don’t want to uproot her at this delicate time of her life. So I plod on, day after day, vainly hoping that business will turn around enough to make my life better. I say vainly hoping because that’s what I’ve been reduced to. All the muscular, confident optimism I had 3 years ago when I arrived here is gone.

My goal has always been to own my own business. Both my parents are entrepreneurs and one of my best old friends is one too. To own my own business, to feel excited about work again, hell to feel alive again would be heaven. I’ve always thought of it in the analogy of building a rocket. To start a company and grow it enough that it enriches you is like building a rocket and joyously riding it into orbit. Hell, that’s the entire reason I came to work for my dad in the first place, to get away from the compartmentalized, big company mentality of my last job. Well, today I feel farther away from that goal than I ever have.

Today's classic rock fix

I heard a great old song on the radio earlier today, "I Need a Lover" by John Cougar (nee Mellencamp). I don't know what album this is off of but it's pure gold:

Well I’m not wiped out by this poolroom life I’m livin’
I’m gonna quit this job, and go to school, and head back home
(head back home)
Now I’m not asking to be loved or be forgiven
Hey - I just can’t face shakin’ in this bedroom
One more night alone

Okay, okay. Maybe it's a bit overwrought, but at least it's sincere. It's also earnest. This was from the 70's when Mr. Mellencamp was no doubt told by his label that he would have to drop his rather ridiculous last name if he wanted a career. You can almost hear the hunger and ambition in his voice and in the play of his band, especially during the bridge to the guitar solo. Hey, hit the highway indeed. The fact that he called himself John Cougar back then never mattered diddly squat to me. The music is ultimately all that ever matters and in my humble opinion, his music was a hell of a lot better before he reassumed his real name and started taking himself too seriously, before he dubbed himself the heartland poet.

Well, free day's over, thank God. I always crave these days like a convict does a furlough but I always end up feeling like shit because of the overeating. Oh well, I suppose that's a good thing.