The Mysterious Case Of The Chronic Crap Manager

As most of you probably realize by now, I have a very short resume.

Before Doug and I got married 29 years ago (when I was 23, if you’d like to do the math…), I’d been employed as a data recorder for Parke-Davis Pharmaceuticals. To put it into terms you young folks might understand—but then again, maybe not—I was a keypunch operator.

Our large corporate office only had one mainframe computer, and only Margaret was smart enough to run it. Helen and I sat at twin keypunch machines directly in front of Margaret and Moses (the mainframe). Every hour or so, Margaret would arrive at my desk to retrieve the stack of perhaps 200-300 cards (each one about the size of a playing card) that I’d processed since her last visit. Each card held only a small amount of information pertaining to an order we were filling: one card might represent a pharmacy or hospital’s name, address, and phone number, and then the following cards would each hold approximately 3 line items of the actual order.

So, a large company’s order might require the keypunching of 50 cards—some more, some less. In order to be a fast and accurate keypunch operator, it was essential to memorize the product number of each item sold by Parke-Davis. By the time I was eighteen years old, I’d committed 5000 product numbers to memory, each item being represented by 6-8 numerals.

For instance, if Skagg’s drug store ordered 3 bottles of 100 pills each Dilantin 100mg, I knew to keypunch 15-362-4, and then a 3 in the quantity column. If they wanted bottles of 1000 pills each, the code changed to 15-362-11. If they needed Dilantin with Phenobarbitol capsules, I knew to punch 15-365-4. Or 11. You get the idea.

I didn’t want to do keypunch for the rest of my life, you understand—or any of the systems that were destined to follow. I am not a numbers girl. Or a machines girl. Or an office politics, corporate culture girl. You can mark me down officially as “none of the above.”

So after we’d been married nine months, I quit. We figured we’d be pregnant soon, and we didn’t want me to work while I had little kids, so that was that.

Since then, I’ve only had a few jobs outside the home. I worked in a yarn shop while I was pregnant with Scotty, just a couple days a week. Have you ever become violently ill because of a gorgeous array of amazing colors? I have. The yarn shop, combined with morning, afternoon, and evening sickness, did me in.

Then there was the grocery store. I checked when Carrie was a baby, a few nights each week. Made a whopping $2.50 per hour. We could have qualified for food stamps back then, but we never applied. I didn’t stay at the grocery store long, but I guess that little bit of money made a difference. Man, I hated that job.

I’ve worked as an assistant to an insurance agent (yawn….) and as a circulation clerk for an agricultural magazine (Can you say “Pork”? I’m not kidding. That was the name of the mag!)

I’ve done a lot of work for love and no money, and those have been more satisfying occupations in lots of meaningful ways. I make a fabulous patient advocate, assuming I’m passionate about the patient. So far, no one’s died of something stupid and/or preventable on my watch, and I enjoy helping out like that when I’m able.

Freelance writing and editing has been the ONLY paying job I’ve ever been suited for. And maybe the editing portion of my suitability should be called into question, since I should have written “for which I’ve ever been suited.” Sigh.

But now I’m going to admit to you what I’ve spent WAY TOO MANY MONTHS—yes, even YEARS—of my pathetic life doing: Crap Management.

How may times have I written here on fallible about conquering the clutter that overtakes us here on Rolling Hills Road? How many times have I pledged that it won’t happen in the future, that we will never again permit ourselves to be overrun with overstocks? That we won’t cave in to clearance racks, succumb to specials, or be roped in by rebates?

Honestly, people. I’ve had it. I just spent another Memorial Day remembering ridiculous purchases as I sorted through wasted what-nots and bagged up crummy cast-offs.

If I got paid even $2.50 per hour for the time I have spent scouring ads, accumulating coupons, mapping out my shop stops, picking up bargains, garage saling, trying on clothes I don’t need to begin with, gathering unto myself the craft stuff necessary to begin a new hobby I never end up learning, purchasing what I think I want and then disposing of it at some later date—well, I’d be one rich chick.

Of course, I’d probably spend the extra dough on more stuff, huh?

Why do I keep doing this to myself? It’s got to end, here and now. As soon as I finish this latest round of weeding, I’m hanging up my Crap Manager’s hat once and for all. No more purchasing of useless junk, period. I refuse to spend of the rest of my short years on earth processing purposeless stuff into and then out of my life.

“Only a few things are needed,” Jesus said to his friend Martha. “Really only one.”

If Martha’s sister Mary could choose the Better Part, maybe there’s hope for me yet.

Posted by Katy on 05/29/06 at 07:28 PM

Fallible Comments...

Katy,

You sound like an alcoholic/addict saying "I will never drink/act out like THAT again." That usually won't work to end the undesireable behavior. It might be profitable to ask yourself and God "Why do I buy and manage this crap? What do I get from it? What am I avoiding when I do it?". He is kind and merciful, so the answers will come, but only so fast as you are able to bear them.

Keep on in His Strength,

Craig (a friend of Jeanne D.'s)
Posted by Craig on 05/30/06 at 01:37 PM
Craig--Welcome, friend of Jeanne D! :) Your advice is sound. Whether I am sound enough to follow it, we shall see. One of the Scriptures that's always reached out and grabbed me is the one that says, "I have many more things to write to you, but you cannot bear them now." God knows how little of His wisdom and direction I am able to receive at any one time!

This will sound like denial, but I actually don't think of myself as a shopaholic. I don't even really LIKE shopping. I do not view it as a recreational activity, or as a reward--only as a necessity. However, that said, I often buy 5 shirts (just a random example...) in order to arrive at one that I really like and get the good out of. So that's kind of sick, huh?

I will ask the hard questions of myself. Even if I am scared of the answers. Thanks you.
Posted by Katy on 05/30/06 at 04:56 PM
Should read: "Thank you."
Posted by Katy on 05/30/06 at 04:57 PM
I just read in an ancient Irish dictionary that your name, Katy, means:loveable, valuable and worthwhile in whatever shirt she chooses to wear.

Keep on.
Posted by Craig on 05/30/06 at 06:15 PM
Craig--Whoa, baby! I need a copy of THAT dictionary! :)
Posted by Katy on 05/30/06 at 10:01 PM
Hello, my name is Deanna and I am a Crap Manager.....
Ya know there really oughta be some kind of 12 step program for this. :)
Loved your post...I look forward to reading more of them.
Posted by Deanna on 06/01/06 at 03:12 AM
Deanna--Welcome! I have never done a 12-step program for anything, but I am sure it would do be a world of good. At least, I'm admitting I have a problem, which I haven't always been willing to face. So that's something, huh? :)
Posted by Katy on 06/01/06 at 10:30 PM
Katy,
I really don't see you as a "crap collector". I think of myself more like that than you. When I go into your house, I don't see crap, I see collectibles and organization. Yes, you have a lot of things, but it always seems so put-together and right, for lack of a better word. I am a pile person, and I can't stop. I know I inherited that from Mom, and it's a horrible habit, especially when Jim has the same habit that he got from BOTH of his parents. Yes, I'm completely and totally organized and can tell you where things are, but I have stacks of crap everyplace. I've got issues.
Posted by Bridget on 06/10/06 at 04:33 AM
Oh, Bridgie. I've got issues, too. Issues of Good Housekeeping, Country Living, Writers Digest...piles and piles of issues. Believe me, you've never really seen my house in all its usual glory!
Posted by Katy on 06/10/06 at 11:11 AM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	The Mysterious Case Of The Chronic Crap Manager As most of you probably realize by now, I have a very short resume. Before Doug and I got married 29 years ago (when I was 23, if you’d like to do the math…), I’d been employed as a data recorder for Parke-Davis Pharmaceuticals. To put it into terms you young folks might understand—but then again, maybe not—I was a keypunch operator. Our large corporate office only had one mainframe computer, and only Margaret was smart enough to run it. Helen and I sat at twin keypunch machines directly in front of Margaret and Moses (the mainframe). Every hour or so, Margaret would arrive at my desk to retrieve the stack of perhaps 200-300 cards (each one about the size of a playing card) that I’d processed since her last visit. Each card held only a small amount of information pertaining to an order we were filling: one card might represent a pharmacy or hospital’s name, address, and phone number, and then the following cards would each hold approximately 3 line items of the actual order. So, a large company’s order might require the keypunching of 50 cards—some more, some less. In order to be a fast and accurate keypunch operator, it was essential to memorize the product number of each item sold by Parke-Davis. By the time I was eighteen years old, I’d committed 5000 product numbers to memory, each item being represented by 6-8 numerals. For instance, if Skagg’s drug store ordered 3 bottles of 100 pills each Dilantin 100mg, I knew to keypunch 15-362-4, and then a 3 in the quantity column. If they wanted bottles of 1000 pills each, the code changed to 15-362-11. If they needed Dilantin with Phenobarbitol capsules, I knew to punch 15-365-4. Or 11. You get the idea. I didn’t want to do keypunch for the rest of my life, you understand—or any of the systems that were destined to follow. I am not a numbers girl. Or a machines girl. Or an office politics, corporate culture girl. You can mark me down officially as “none of the above.” So after we’d been married nine months, I quit. We figured we’d be pregnant soon, and we didn’t want me to work while I had little kids, so that was that. Since then, I’ve only had a few jobs outside the home. I worked in a yarn shop while I was pregnant with Scotty, just a couple days a week. Have you ever become violently ill because of a gorgeous array of amazing colors? I have. The yarn shop, combined with morning, afternoon, and evening sickness, did me in. Then there was the grocery store. I checked when Carrie was a baby, a few nights each week. Made a whopping $2.50 per hour. We could have qualified for food stamps back then, but we never applied. I didn’t stay at the grocery store long, but I guess that little bit of money made a difference. Man, I hated that job. I’ve worked as an assistant to an insurance agent (yawn….) and as a circulation clerk for an agricultural magazine (Can you say “Pork”? I’m not kidding. That was the name of the mag!) I’ve done a lot of work for love and no money, and those have been more satisfying occupations in lots of meaningful ways. I make a fabulous patient advocate, assuming I’m passionate about the patient. So far, no one’s died of something stupid and/or preventable on my watch, and I enjoy helping out like that when I’m able. Freelance writing and editing has been the ONLY paying job I’ve ever been suited for. And maybe the editing portion of my suitability should be called into question, since I should have written “for which I’ve ever been suited.” Sigh. But now I’m going to admit to you what I’ve spent WAY TOO MANY MONTHS—yes, even YEARS—of my pathetic life doing: Crap Management. How may times have I written here on fallible about conquering the clutter that overtakes us here on Rolling Hills Road? How many times have I pledged that it won’t happen in the future, that we will never again permit ourselves to be overrun with overstocks? That we won’t cave in to clearance racks, succumb to specials, or be roped in by rebates? Honestly, people. I’ve had it. I just spent another Memorial Day remembering ridiculous purchases as I sorted through wasted what-nots and bagged up crummy cast-offs. If I got paid even $2.50 per hour for the time I have spent scouring ads, accumulating coupons, mapping out my shop stops, picking up bargains, garage saling, trying on clothes I don’t need to begin with, gathering unto myself the craft stuff necessary to begin a new hobby I never end up learning, purchasing what I think I want and then disposing of it at some later date—well, I’d be one rich chick. Of course, I’d probably spend the extra dough on more stuff, huh? Why do I keep doing this to myself? It’s got to end, here and now. As soon as I finish this latest round of weeding, I’m hanging up my Crap Manager’s hat once and for all. No more purchasing of useless junk, period. I refuse to spend of the rest of my short years on earth processing purposeless stuff into and then out of my life. “Only a few things are needed,” Jesus said to his friend Martha. “Really only one.” If Martha’s sister Mary could choose the Better Part, maybe there’s hope for me yet. Posted by Katy on 05/29/06 at 07:28 PM Fallible Comments... Katy, You sound like an alcoholic/addict saying "I will never drink/act out like THAT again." That usually won't work to end the undesireable behavior. It might be profitable to ask yourself and God "Why do I buy and manage this crap? What do I get from it? What am I avoiding when I do it?". He is kind and merciful, so the answers will come, but only so fast as you are able to bear them. Keep on in His Strength, Craig (a friend of Jeanne D.'s) Posted by Craig on 05/30/06 at 01:37 PM Craig--Welcome, friend of Jeanne D! :) Your advice is sound. Whether I am sound enough to follow it, we shall see. One of the Scriptures that's always reached out and grabbed me is the one that says, "I have many more things to write to you, but you cannot bear them now." God knows how little of His wisdom and direction I am able to receive at any one time! This will sound like denial, but I actually don't think of myself as a shopaholic. I don't even really LIKE shopping. I do not view it as a recreational activity, or as a reward--only as a necessity. However, that said, I often buy 5 shirts (just a random example...) in order to arrive at one that I really like and get the good out of. So that's kind of sick, huh? I will ask the hard questions of myself. Even if I am scared of the answers. Thanks you. Posted by Katy on 05/30/06 at 04:56 PM Should read: "Thank you." Posted by Katy on 05/30/06 at 04:57 PM I just read in an ancient Irish dictionary that your name, Katy, means:loveable, valuable and worthwhile in whatever shirt she chooses to wear. Keep on. Posted by Craig on 05/30/06 at 06:15 PM Craig--Whoa, baby! I need a copy of THAT dictionary! :) Posted by Katy on 05/30/06 at 10:01 PM Hello, my name is Deanna and I am a Crap Manager..... Ya know there really oughta be some kind of 12 step program for this. :) Loved your post...I look forward to reading more of them. Posted by Deanna on 06/01/06 at 03:12 AM Deanna--Welcome! I have never done a 12-step program for anything, but I am sure it would do be a world of good. At least, I'm admitting I have a problem, which I haven't always been willing to face. So that's something, huh? :) Posted by Katy on 06/01/06 at 10:30 PM Katy, I really don't see you as a "crap collector". I think of myself more like that than you. When I go into your house, I don't see crap, I see collectibles and organization. Yes, you have a lot of things, but it always seems so put-together and right, for lack of a better word. I am a pile person, and I can't stop. I know I inherited that from Mom, and it's a horrible habit, especially when Jim has the same habit that he got from BOTH of his parents. Yes, I'm completely and totally organized and can tell you where things are, but I have stacks of crap everyplace. I've got issues. Posted by Bridget on 06/10/06 at 04:33 AM Oh, Bridgie. I've got issues, too. Issues of Good Housekeeping, Country Living, Writers Digest...piles and piles of issues. Believe me, you've never really seen my house in all its usual glory! Posted by Katy on 06/10/06 at 11:11 AM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: Progression Or Regression? Previous entry: Two Witnesses << Back to main


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The Mysterious Case Of The Chronic Crap Manager

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri