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@Tsherry -- first mistake was calling 311, wellness check, 911, a Priest, whatever. Just leave them there until they stink, get up on their own or cause some trouble which is then fixed with self-help.
Well, I would've, but we had four major league potential clients coming in later in the day, and the lawn where he crashed is right outside the conference room, full view. We landed all four projects. F'ing marathon day. New client told me that he appreciated my conversational nature in the interview. I told him, this is the way I am all the time; I do not have an interview suit that I put on. What you see is what you get, and if we feel we're not a fit for the client, we're the first to tell them so.
Had I immediate access to my 1971, Piece-of-Shit Melroe 610 Skidsteer, I'd have been fine scooping him up and depositing him in the dumpster out back. Quick work, not mess, no fuss, just a hollow thud as he hit the bottom of the 1/3CY steel dumpster, fully furnished with the smell of the Lex Ave 59th street 4/5 platform after three weeks of August heat and a sanitation workers' strike. Pretty sure that brought back some memories to some folks.
Staff would've questioned my efforts there, and looked at me askance.
Not that I have fucks to give; the mostly female staff we have here is rapidly exhausting their give-a-fucks as well. We have one former 911 operator who heard too many things before her 26th birthday in that job; a former cardiac tech, 13 years there, who saw people kill themselves with spoons and bottles of booze and pills but still got the .gov to pay for their cardiac care; a wife of a former Marine who has little tolerance for slow suicides; and a former school teacher (my daughter) who gave up on that profession after seeing the de-evolution of education within the span of 18 months, bouncing from one sub job to another.
But good post, well said.
Stop trying to sit at the tables that Jesus would flip over.
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