As one might imagine, living under the thumb of such a micro-managing
control freak could be tough. Most downtime among employees was
spent talking about—you guessed it—Bigfoot. Stories swapped, theories
floated, gripes exchanged. But Bigfoot knew. He had a near-supernatural
sense of exactly when, at what precise moment, one of his employees
had had enough. He could tell when the bullying, the relentless sarcasm,
the constant, all-encompassing vigilance had become too exhausting.
When one of his people was fed up with staying awake at night
anticipating his likes and dislikes, was sick of charting his mood swings,
was tired of feeling demeaned and beaten down after being asked, for
instance, to clean out the grease trap, was ready to burst into tears and
quit, then suddenly Bigfoot would appear with courtside seats for a play-
off game, a restaurant warm-up jacket (given out only to Most Honored
Veterans), or a present for the wife or girlfriend—something thoughtful
like a Movado watch. He always waited until the last possible second,
when you were ready to shave your head, climb a tower and start
gunning down strangers, when you were ready to strip off your clothes
and run barking into the street, to scream to the world that you'd never
never never again work for that manipulative, Machiavellian psychopath.
And he'd get you back on the team, often with a gesture as simple and
inexpensive as a baseball cap or a T-shirt. The timing was what did it,
that he knew. He knew just when to apply that well-timed pat on the
back, the strangled and difficult-for-him "Thank you for your good
work" appreciation of your labors.
And there was also the knowledge that Bigfoot could help you if you
asked. Need an apartment? He could help. A dental emergency? No
problem. Lawyer? He could hook you up with the best. Need a nice ride
to the beach? Maybe Bigfoot could lend you his Corvette, which he
never drove. Or his vintage Caddy ragtop, which he never drove either.
But his greatest gift was the Bigfoot System, which I use still. My
inventory sheets, for example, are set up like the master's: in clockwise,
geographical order. Instead of hopping back and forth, counting and