I didn’t intend my statement to be taken in a self-centered, woe is me, my life sucks, the world is ending sort of way, though Pam, and then Kim, took it that way. Ever since, I have been the butt of their jokes, even more so than usual. My statement was so funny to them that they even told our friends what a stupid comment I made. I guess it’s good that I have thick, old man, skin.

I had been sitting at my desk, where I have been spending the vast majority of my waking hours this year, when, for some reason, I started thinking about Uber, and how I may never take one again for quite some time. This led me to reminisce about last year.

2019 was a crazy year for me. For the first time in my life, work turned me into a road warrior. I flew over 60,000 domestic miles, traveling every two or three weeks, either to Northern California or to the East or South East. I was at the airport so often, I began to recognize the baggage handlers and the ticket agents, not to mention the flight attendants. It got so bad, I started drinking alcohol, usually bourbon, on the homeward flights. I had never done that before.

I spent over 50 nights in hotels, generally ones that were functional, but not luxurious. I got used to working out in postage stamp sized hotel gyms, usually going to them at between 4 AM and 5 AM to ensure no one else was using them. I ate many, many meals alone, either in hotels or restaurants. Rarely did I use room service, as I found it too claustrophobic.

And, of course, I took lots of Uber rides. More than I could count, and more than I care to remember, though none were bad. The good news was that I took full advantage of my Amex Platinum card Uber and airline benefits, thereby essentially paying for the card’s annual fee.

When I wasn’t traveling, I was working from home or visiting clients. My days started early, as I was always at Equinox in Beverly Hills by 5 AM during the week.

This year I commute to my den where my desk is, though I have made lots of trips via Zoom, Skype, Microsft Meetings, Google Hangouts, etc. I cannot image going to the airport, staying at a hotel, or getting into an Uber. I struggle to even want to drive, having put about 500 miles on my Cayman, my daily driver, since November, though I have put about 200 miles on my 89 Carrera, driving it to Shelby’s sporadically and once in a really blue moon going somewhere else. I would need to review my credit card statements to determine the last time I bought gas.

I have not eaten in a restaurant since early March, and I have no idea when I will go back to one. We do take out on a regular basis, so we are keeping some restaurants in business. Generally, I have been cooking more, though I have to admit my diet is not as clean as it was last year, as I have given in to the desire for Covid-19 comfort foods, especially homemade pizza, beef stew and that all-time artery clogger, tuna lasagna, on a regular basis.

Lastly, I have not been to Equinox since early March, and after 17 or so years, I terminated my membership. I have no desire to be near anyone else while they are working out. Instead, I have been sleeping in, sort of, running outside, and doing a homemade calisthenics routine, complete with jumping jacks, on a regular basis. I have purchased a Tonal and can’t wait for it to arrive some time next month. Ironically, I seem to be healthier since not frequenting the gym at the butt crack of dawn. My blood pressure is down, despite being irritated by DT everytime I listen to the TV.

As I sat at my desk and had that random thought about Uber, all of the changes I was experiencing this year flashed through my brain, and, as is usually the case, without a pause and without any context, I blurted out to Pam, “My life is so different this year!”

Clearly, I was well aware that I was not alone. Everyone’s life is different this year. I was also not complaining, as my life, despite Covid-19, is still really good. I was just stating a fact. None of that mattered. Pam heard what she heard, not what I was thinking or intending, and I have been the butt ever since.

Make no mistake about it, we are at war, a war that is affecting the population of our entire planet. A war being fought against an invisible enemy, an enemy that can subvert our family, our closest friends and our neighbors and turn them into our greatest foes.

I am 65 years old, and this is my first war. I came close to being drafted for the Vietnam War, and I remember the fear I felt and the tension in my body as the days wound down to the day the Selective Service System, also known as the draft board, would be assigning me a draft number. Thankfully, the draft ended, and I did not have to serve. I cannot avoid serving in this war. My goal is to do so with honor and integrity.

My dad fought in WW2. He was a member of the greatest generation, volunteering to serve in the Air Force. During the war he performed Herculean acts, all the while knowing his life was at risk every hour of every day for months on end. It took mental toughness, the support of comrades and family, and, yes, a splash of alcohol to survive.

My dad was a flight engineer with the 73rd Bomb Wing. He was part of one of many B-29 squadrons stationed on Saipan, one of the Mariana Islands. He participated in more than 30 bombing missions over Japan, including the dreadful firebombings, which turned the tide of the war in the Pacific.

For a portion of the war, he had it pretty easy, acting as a training instructor in Florida. His worst injury during that time, a broken foot, occurred while playing handball. The remaining portion of the war, when he was stationed on Saipan, was hell for him.

Throughout the years following WW2, he suffered in silence, never really discussing the war or his actions during it, though on numerous occasions he would tell us that he consumed lots of alcohol to numb his senses. When he did discuss it, he usually glossed over the details.

In the late 90s, when he and my mom attended a reunion of the men who fought with the 73rd, some of his heroic acts came to light. Many men from his crew told stories about my dad, how he was a hero, and that without him, none of them would have survived the war. My dad never told us the full extent of the danger they experienced daily, though he did laugh and say, “I used to sit on my flack jacket while we were flying to protect my testicles from the shots from below,” an act I was very happy to hear about.

To a man, his crew wanted to discuss one particular mission. It started like all the others did, as they flew from Saipan to Tokyo to drop their load of bombs. It ended much differently.

While over the Bay of Tokyo, his B-29 was hit, and it was hit hard. While it was still able to fly, the damage to the plane was extensive. It suffered instantaneous pressure loss, causing my dad’s eardrums to burst, which resulted in partial hearing loss for the rest of his life, though he had it easy when compared to the others of his crew who were either unconscious or dead.

The plane was a mess. Not all engines were operating. The rear gunner was partially sucked out of the plane, but was still stuck in what was left of his bubble. Smoke was everywhere.

A Japanese fighter was pursuing them, trying to finish them off. The crew took evasive action. They hit the deck, almost literally, dropping to about 100 feet above sea level. As they passed through 300 feet, the Japanese fighter stopped pursuing them, assuming they would splash into the Pacific.

My dad, as flight engineer, knew they would not be seen at 100 feet because they were below the radar floor, but he also knew they had bigger problems than losing the fighter because they were over 500 miles from Saipan without oxygen, flying slowly in thick, moist sea air. The likelihood of them having enough fuel to get back to base was practically nil.

As flight engineer, he knew all the specifications of the plane, and his job was to use every trick he could think of to save fuel and get them home. No one expected them to return. As the other planes in the squadron returned to Saipan, they reported that my dad’s plane was hit and most likely lost at sea.

Over four hours after the other planes returned, my dad’s plane limped to East Field in Saipan and ran out of gas as it reached the runway. Against all odds they made it back, knowing that they would have to do it all over again. His strength and courage during those times is inspirational to me.

I am not equipped to be on the front lines of this war, which is being fought in labs and hospitals and fire stations and police stations and grocery stores and farms and packing houses and other critical industries across the globe. Our scientists, doctors, nurses, police officers, firemen are our fighting force, but our clerks, truck drivers, meat packers, farmers, farm workers, delivery workers are also on the front lines.

At best, I can play a support role, sort of like those who bought war bonds in the 1940’s, doing what they could to further the war effort. Instead of building planes and other war devices, I need to do what I can to prevent the inadvertent spread of Covid-19. I need to make it as easy as possible for our current combatants to do their jobs, and I need to act in a way that protects their health.

Sadly, we need to fight this war on two fronts. The first is finding a way to beat the infection. The second is to do it without killing our economy. We cannot focus solely on the first and ignore the second, but focusing on the second will make it tougher on our combatants to fight the first.

Memorial Day is a week away. This year it will hold special significance for me. I will be tearfully thinking of my dad in a way I have not done in years. More importantly, I will be respectful of all our past and current combatants, especially the current ones who did not volunteer to be combatants, but instead were drafted into the fight. I will express my appreciation for their acts, both in my actions and my words. I will do everything I can to enable them to to do their part in this war as safely as possible. I will tell everyone I know to do the same.

I am proud of my dad. I’d like to think he would be proud of me.

Since the Covid-19 pandemic began, the status of toilet paper has soared. An item that no one but the environmentally obsessed thought about, has become a bellwether, making the news almost daily.

It is the canary in the coal mine for me. The sudden surge in demand for toilet paper due to hoarding was just the tip of the iceberg affecting the availability of and the demand for toilet paper in the future.

The reality is that there is a toilet paper shortage and there is a toilet paper surplus at the same time. Demand surged due to hoarding, but overall demand did not change. Instead, ongoing consumption has shifted to homes from commercial and industrial buildings. The result is that the well established supply chain for toilet paper is in disarray. Sales to the commercial channels have plummeted, while sales to consumers have sky rocketed, creating both a shortage and a surplus.

The supply chain will adapt, but it will take time. Consumers will need to identify additional sources of supply. Bulk purchases, at the case level, may become the norm. Direct sales from the manufacturer or a large wholesaler to the consumer will most likely increase. The last big change in the toilet paper supply chain was when Costco entered the market and sold private label toilet paper in bulk packaging. Now even Costco is having (t)issues keeping up.

Other supply chains are equally disrupted. The food chain is in utter disrepair. A large percentage of the sales of food are direct to hotels, restaurants, etc. Demand for goods in that segment of the market has fallen to the floor. Toilet paper has issues, but at least it does not have a short shelf life. Fresh food, on the other hand, is very perishable. Farmers have no buyers for their products at a time when grocery stores are clamoring for supply. Though, already we are seeing farm to table mean farm to dining room table, as farmers are reaching out directly to consumers.

Thankfully, we exist in a capitalistic system, one that rewards those who have the courage or the intelligence to change with the times. Capital will be reallocated. Supply chains will change. Jobs will be created. Efficiency will be sought.

We will change faster than the rest of the world. Hopefully, it will be fast enough to get the right goods to the right place at the right price. If we watch toilet paper carefully, we might have a good idea as to how we are progressing.

There is no doubt that I have been a social distancer in training for the past several years. In my current job, I generally am on an airplane to a client or, thankfully much more often, I am working at home with my dog by my side. His name is Jake, and he earns the Employee of the Month award every month. He is that important to my effectiveness while working from home, as his needs help provide structure to my day.

Let me be clear. Working from home is not as easy as it sounds. It is not for everyone, but it can be. I have learned what it takes to work from home in an efficient, productive manner. So instead of my usual, relatively useless, general wiseguy musings, I thought I would rip off Mark Harmon, AKA Jethro Gibbs, on NCIS, and enumerate my work from home rules, hopefully adding value to you in these turbulent times.

1. Pretend you are really going to the office.
   • By that I mean do everything you would normally do to get ready for work. For the pre-corona me, that meant getting up at zero dark thirty and dragging my butt to the gym when it opens at 5 AM. This is what I used to do when I worked at an office, so that is what I still do now that I don’t. I am skipping this step in the short term, as the gym is the biggest petri dish I swim in on a recurring basis.
   • Follow the same grooming routines you would normally do to get ready for work. For me that means showering and shaving, at least every other day for the shave.
   • Get dressed as if you were going to work. Clearly, I do not wear business casual attire in my home office, but I do get out of what ever I am sleeping in and put on a set of “work” clothes, usually sweats or shorts. I even put on a pair of “work”shoes, which in my case are my Minnetonka Moccasin slippers, complete with fluffy pile lining.
   • Eat and drink what you normally would before you leave for the office. For me, that means I eat breakfast and make a large pot of coffee, as I am thoroughly addicted to caffeine.
   • Finish your grooming as if you were going out to your car or other transportation. For me, that means flossing and brushing.
   • Tell yourself, and anyone in earshot, that you are leaving to go to work. For me that usually means, walking to my den and avoiding the sigalert created by Jake as I have to go around him to get to desk.
2. Pretend you are really in the office.
   • For me that means doing the same things I would do in the office when my day begins.
   • Instead of face to face meetings, I use phone calls, video if I must, and zoom meetings to collaborate with peers or clients. These tools make communication very effective, even if body language is not part of the communication.
   • I stay at my desk for consistent periods of time. This is where Jake really shines. Dogs are essentially four pawed metronomes. They have an uncanny sense of relative time. Jake knows when his needs need to be met, and he is good at reminding me. In Jake’s world, a tennis ball retrieval session begins at 10 AM (or as near to that as possible). I plan for that session as I would plan for a staff meeting. Jake’s midday walk generally starts right around noon. He will contentedly sleep at the base of my chair from after our tennis ball retrieval session until noon. Then he lifts up his head and gives me the “I need to have my walk” look. To an outsider, his face would look the same, but to me it speaks volumes. He is clearly communicating what he wants. Sort of like when Ben Stiller, AKA Derek Zoolander, finally got Blue Steel just right. You just know what it means.
   • In the afternoon, Jake comes to the rescue again, reminding me at around 3 PM that it is time for his mid-afternoon ball retrieval session.
   • At around 6 PM, Jake is back, reminding me that it is time for his dinner, and my time to begin shutting down and beginning my “commute” home, or at least my walk into the kitchen to get Jake fed.
3. Treat yourself to some treats.
   • For me that means eating a mid-morning snack, usually right after Jake’s tennis ball retrieval session. I admit to eating at my desk, not really a carryover from the office, but because I confess that I allow myself a few minutes to play a game or two of Free Cell, another one of my serious addictions.
   • I eat lunch at my desk right after Jake’s mid-day walk is over. Sometimes I work while eating, sometimes I play more Free Cell. I rarely go out to eat with my friends, which is perfect for the corona socially distancing requirement now. The reason for this is that it helps me maintain the fiction that I am really at the office instead of hanging out at home. Initially, this did not go over well with my friends, but they get it now. Several times per week, Pam will eat lunch at home, and I will sit with her in the kitchen for a bit while she eats.
   • My focus is on my work, but that doesn’t mean I am devoid of other inputs. I love listening to music when I work. I find it enables me to increase my productivity. As a result, Spotify is on all day, every day. During the corona period, I have used the TV as background noise, letting it play news programs while I work, giving Spotify a bit of a break. Thankfully, the TV is behind me, so I do not look at it. I just listen.
   • I do not graze all day, but I do allow myself a mid-afternoon snack, proving yet again how important Jake is to my day, as I time it after he is done fetching balls.
4. Set appropriate boundaries.
   • For me that means staying in my den office or the kitchen. The living room and bedroom are off-limits.
   • I do not allow myself to nap, as I would have been too embarrassed if I was caught napping at my desk at work.
   • I limit the errands I run during the day to the ones I would have left the office to complete, nothing more. It is too easy to become everyone’s schlepper while “working” from home.
   • If I am sick, I call in sick. As stupid as this sounds, it helps maintain my home “office” fiction.
   • I try to maintain “normal” work hours, even though I feel the tug to sit at my desk every time I walk thru the den.

Those are my rules. They work for me. I understand that most of you will need to adapt and define your own rules. I am confident that you will do just fine. I am somewhat leery as to my continued productivity, though.

I will still be consistent, but now that Pam and Kim will be working from home as well, Jake’s job just got a whole lot bigger. His effectiveness may be muted, as he will be assisting them in their daily routine. I hope he can still earn his monthly award.