Covering Up A Hole

By Ron Aylor

All he ever wanted to be was an undertaker. This fictional memoir is a nightmarish jaunt from wide-eyed aspiration to gut-wrenching reality. Come along for the ride and experience the conflict between altruism and the greed of the corporate machine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ron Aylor
• Release date: Dec 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310185434

Ron Aylor

Ron Aylor, a resident of Lilburn, Georgia, is an unplugged woodworker. Without electricity and using traditional edged tools, he specializes in 17th-century mannerist carving and Colonial American furniture. The bulk of his work is of 17th-century style joined stools, carved boxes, tables, and bookstands. This work follows techniques and methods from the period. Ash, cherry, pine, poplar, maple, and walnut are his timber of choice.

Book preview

COVERING UP A HOLE

With A Broken Heart

By

Ron Aylor

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Ron Aylor on Smashwords

Copyright © 2013 by Ron Aylor

Cover art © 2013 by Ron Aylor

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, or conveyed by the Internet or a website without prior written permission of the publisher or copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

* * * * *

Contents:

Contents

Copyright

Dedication

A Note to the Reader

Acknowledgments

Covering Up a Hole

About the Author

Also By Ron Aylor

* * * * *

This book is dedicated to my father,

Lewis Wilmer Aylor, Jr.

whose integrity never fails to inspire me.

Dad I only wish you could read this.

* * * * *

A Note to the Reader

Though the events in this book bear some similarity to those of my life, many of the names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, and events are creations solely of my imagination. In such cases, I of course disclaim any responsibility for their resemblance to real people, businesses, organizations, places, or events, which would be coincidental. I have drawn freely from the imagination and adhered only loosely to my past life. To this extent, and for this reason, I ask not to be judged.

* * * * *

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to Connie Aylor and Bernice Wilson who helped me edit and revise this novella. In addition, thanks go out to all the people who have offered their support and have allowed me to practice my writing skills on them. Lastly, a special word of thanks goes out to David Price, for his advice on courtroom scenarios and legal process.

* * * * *

All he ever wanted to be was an undertaker. This fictional memoir is a nightmarish jaunt from wide-eyed aspiration to gut-wrenching reality. Come along for the ride and experience the conflict between altruism and the greed of the corporate machine.

COVERING UP A HOLE

With a Broken Heart

* * * * *

Even though we may struggle to arrive at a unified definition of corporate America, I think it goes without saying that corporate America's motivator is most definitely greed. I believe the very nature of a corporation is one of greed and deception. Greed is like a cancer eating away at the very heart of corporate America. The disease used to be isolated behind the closed doors on the top floor offices, but nowadays it has spread to the mail-room. It is only when someone within a corporation is caught with their hands in the cookie jar or perhaps the customer's pocket that you hear those famous words, I just work here! A statement like this just gives the illusion that the individual players making up the corporation have nothing to do with the greed or the deceptions. Correct me if I am wrong, but I do believe that a corporation is nothing more than a piece of paper. I believe the people pushing all the buttons are ultimately responsible for the corporation's comings and goings. Are they not? I believe we created this monster so we can pass the buck and blame the other guy so we can hide behind the fact that no one person is ever really in charge and therefore somehow get away with all of our illegal and immoral acts.

I have worked for many a corporation, from flipping hamburgers to designing shopping centers, and always with the same result. The higher up the food chain I would find myself, the further into the corner I felt pushed. Everything seems to have a price. Moreover, by that I mean that corner office only requires the turning of a blind eye from time to time. Come on now, just make the columns match! Remember, it's not your money; no one will ever be the wiser. The prerequisite for that fancy company car just might require you to yield the executioner's axe and swing it blindly from time to time. After all, Heads must roll, I would always hear, Just be glad it's not yours.

From cutting grass to manufacturing kitchen cabinets, no matter what business I found myself a part of it seemed as if the corporate mentality was the same. Make a profit at all costs! To hell with quality! Charge people through the nose. Sell them a bunch of stuff they do not need. To hell with morals! It seemed like we were always cutting corners. Nothing is built to last anymore. What ever happened to an honest day's work for an honest day's pay? It was becoming clear to me that the higher-ups were willing to do just about anything, legal or otherwise, to fatten their already huge wallets. I was growing so weary of the rat race. Surely, there was a way to make a living and not have to sell your soul to the devil. I was sick and tired of having to do some fat cat's dirty work and then feeling as if I needed to take a shower. I was just fed up with having to deal with crooks and charlatans.

I did however, have fond memories of good old Mr. Montgomery, a nice, caring type. He really helped my grandmother when my grandfather died. My grandmother did not have a lot of money at the time; but had you seen my grandfather's funeral you would have thought he had been the Fire Chief instead of just a lowly tailboard man.

Mr. Montgomery had a way of making everyone feel special. I guess it had to do with how much he genuinely loved people. I do not think he and Mrs. Montgomery ever had any children. It was just the two of them. They lived in a small house behind the funeral home. Mrs. Montgomery was the receptionist, the bookkeeper, the housekeeper, and even made the coffee for the visitations. Mr. Montgomery met with the family, retrieved the bodies, did the embalming, conducted the funeral, and drove the hearse to the cemetery. He had help from different preachers in town, depending on what church the people attended. In addition, if they did not attend a church, then he would conduct the service himself from the pages of The Complete Funeral Manual by James Christensen. He always had something good to say, too. Seemed like he knew everyone in town and everyone in town seemed to know and really like him. I thought that if one day I could be as highly respected as Mr. Montgomery was, along with having just a small portion of the care and compassion he seemed to have for others, then just maybe I would be truly satisfied in my work.

* * * * *

For eight years or so, I had been climbing the old corporate ladder with a design firm in Virginia. Disregarding the occasional bout of nepotism, most of the account managers had started on the ground floor and clawed their way up. I spent many a late night stooped over a drafting table revising plans or creating new details that someone would revise later. I could never quite figure out how I could spend eighty plus hours working on some design for whatever only to have someone higher up the food chain look at it for fifteen seconds and tell me that it would not work! I mean would it not have saved the company a hell of a lot of money for that bozo to draw the plan to start with. Anyway, I beat my head against the wall for the requisite four years and then it was my job to tell folks that their designs would not work. I hated that part.

After a long two years of losing friends and alienating people, I climbed out of the middle management cesspool and was made an account manager. The work had its advantages, but no job is gravy. Instead of stooping over a drafting table for hours on end, I was now sitting on my bottom in an automobile driving up and down the east coast. I think I gained thirty pounds or more within the first six months.

So there I was again, behind the wheel for another six and a half hours, driving to Charleston. Why was I doing this? Why didn't I look for another job in Lynchburg? Better yet, why didn't I just relocate to Charleston? I simply soldiered on, probably because I had been the frog in the boiling water for most of my adult life. For whatever reason I found it easier to just roll with the punches rather than standing up and yelling: I am mad as hell and I am not going to take it any longer! Maybe I have commitment issues, or some shit like that. Who knows? I am not a psychiatrist. All I knew was that I was tired of driving forever to get to work. I was also very unhappy. Maybe unhappy is not the right word to use, perhaps I was just unsatisfied. Nothing really mattered anymore. Someone asked me once, ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?' I had a really hard time answering that question. All I knew is that I needed to make money. You know the trap.

I have always considered myself a caring person. No, wait! That's bullshit. I care about what I want to care about. Sometimes I cross paths with folks that have troubles I just don't want to hear about. I could not care less. Take your troubles somewhere else and just leave me alone. Do you know what I mean? I think life has a way of hardening a person. You scratch and claw day after day just to keep your own head above water. It's really hard to give a crap