Multi-Tasking

Nine A.M. and the vice president of operations’ monthly safety update call just finished—with a deadline for the draft Safety Manual.

“I want a first draft by close of business today,” he said.

“Sure thing, boss,” I assured him. “I’m on it.”

I could probably locate a copy of the manual from his beloved previous company, change the logo and swap company names throughout the text, and, voila, done. But no, this is the first draft. I’ll save that drastic measure for his third rejection. A certainty.

It’s worked before.

Opening the word processing app, I clicked on the file and reviewed what I had so far. The Introduction – two paragraphs of boiler-plate verbiage about the company and its dedication to safety – done. General Office Safety – a slightly longer, in-depth evaluation of the potential life-threatening hazards of paper cuts, file cabinet drawers, scissors and other sharp implements, and the bane of admin assistants: replacing the 5-gallon bottle of water on the cooler – done.

I was two-thirds complete with the document. The remaining section – General Plant Safety, the longest, needed some work. A list of the workplace hazards and existing safeguards filled three pages. All I had to do was expand each category and ‘fluff’ it up a little to include the pertinent OSHA regulatory requirements. Piece of cake.

Another check of the clock – 9:25. Plenty of time. So …

After minimizing the file window, I opened my latest WIP, a murder mystery with the working title, Death by the Numbers: A Primer for Murder.

I had the perfect protagonist – a down-and-out private investigator living in a bottle and working out of a tenement in Jerkwater, Florida. His last chance to redeem himself and prove to his ex-wife he wasn’t a loser, came in the shape of a Cuban immigrant with a sad tale of forced labor and—

“Hey, Chuck, got a minute?” Larry, the Branch Manager, pushed my door open and plopped into a chair in front of my desk. “I’ve got the perfect climax for your last book.”

I clicked to minimize my WIP and looked up at my friend—a man sporting the world’s worst combover. “Good morning, Larry. What’s that about my book?”

“I know you said it was with the editor, but I just had the greatest idea for a better finish. If you’ve got time, I could share it with you.”

Larry was my sounding board. I’d toss ideas at him about stories or plot points, or character traits, and he would give feedback – often very insightful. I nodded, “Sure; I’ve got time.”

Ninety-minutes later he departed, and only then because of a timely call on his cellphone, leaving me with several workable ideas. I couldn’t use any of them in my finished project, but perhaps …

I opened up the WIP and made some notes.

“Hey, Chuck, you gonna work through lunch?” a voice called from the door.

I looked up to see, Chris, the Plant Manager leaning his head in, grinning.

A check of the clock showed 12:15. “Wow. Time flies when you’re having fun,” I said, saving the document and standing.

Chris’ grin vanished. He pointed to my keyboard. “You can’t tell me that’s fun.”

“It wasn’t the safety manual. I was putting thoughts together on my next novel.”

“Better hope David doesn’t find out. You know how he hates for you to waste time on personal projects.”

“It’s okay. I keep my stuff on a different drive. Besides, I’ve got plenty of time to finish what he wants.” I grabbed my hat and followed Chris out the door. “What’s for lunch?”

Upon my return the desk clock displayed 1:30. The heavy lunch threatened to send me into a food coma, but I forced my eyelids to stay open and focused my attention on the open document on my monitor.

I skimmed over Fall Protection, Fire Extinguishers, Flammable Liquid Safety, and Forklifts, before moving on to Hazardous Materials, Hearing Protection, and Heat Stress.

I’d have to shift the subjects around in the final draft, but they looked fine.

Only two more subjects to go: Respiratory Protection and Safe Lifting.

I stretched my fingers as a concert pianist might and bent my will to completing my assigned task. No more interruptions please.

So, of course the phone rang. I picked it up. “Chuck Smith, EHS Manager, how may I serve you today?”

“Mr. Smith, this is Brenda Calloway, Michigan Department of Agriculture. We have a situation.”

I knew what the call was about. An unregistered product wound up on a customer’s property. It was up to me to set things right. I reached over and saved the safety manual to the drive and did the same to my WIP. This call might take a while.

Forty-seven minutes later, the Department of Ag satisfied with my explanation and apology, I opened the draft manual and hammered out the final two sections. Time was running short.

The icon for my personal email pinged. My editor wanted to see what I had so far with the new story. No problem.

The clock showed 4:45. Damn, where did the day go?

I saved what I had and closed the document.

My work email signaled a new message. I clicked on it. My boss had taken the time out of his busy day to remind me about the first draft. I clicked Reply, attached the file, and hit Send.

Done. Check the box.

I opened my editor’s email and went through the same motions, sending her my WIP.

After shutting down and locking my office, I faced a forty-five-minute drive home—if there were no accidents on the Interstate.

There weren’t, and ninety-minutes later I sat at the dinner table, as my wife served the evening meal.

I was satisfied with my life. I had a good job, and a loving wife who also served as my editor. Tonight, she seemed to be distracted. When she joined me at the table I had to ask.

“Something troubling you, honey?”

She looked at me and furrowed her perfect brows as she passed the mashed potatoes. “Oh, just wondering why you sent me a draft of your company’s safety manual.”