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Monday is not a day to dwell on, and this one was no exception. The Boss asked me to mail him something today, and I came across a pile of paperwork that I'd been intending to mail to him for the last month. A month! I'm supposed to do this once a week, so that he doesn't have to go through a month of paperwork at one time.
I'm so shocked he hasn't complained about it, but that will come. As soon as he gets the pound and a half of papers I sent him today, I'll hear a little whine coming out of the southeast. Maybe more than a whine.
He doesn't even have his December daily logbook yet. I'm not sure why I'm in charge of mailing it to him, since a whole year of monthly booklets fits into one small file box. He could easily store it in his office, but it's up to me to keep track and put the appropriate book in the mail to him each month.
It's the same with his personal checking account. I have the blank checks, deposit slips and check register. And despite being a crackerjack bookkeeper, I'm the company slob. It would be so much easier for me to lose these things than it would be for him. He cleans his desk off before leaving the office every night, even if it means he stays over until the next morning.
He has elaborate filing systems for every phase and facet of his existence, including his family. A son, three daughters, one ex-wife, one ex-girlfriend, countless grandchildren — each with a separate file hierarchy. He's so organized that it throws him into a panic whenever it takes him more than thirty seconds to find whatever he's looking for.
He has me keep track of the things he doesn't think he'll want to lay his hands on that quickly. I, in turn, pile it all in a heap of loose papers that I keep telling myself I'll get to eventually. I have birthday cards from his kids, notes from his ex-wife, a construction-paper collage made by his grandson, all in that pending pile.
Believe it or not, the Boss thinks I've put everything into his four-tiered numbered file system, when in fact the files themselves exist only in his mind. In his mind, they're organized, labeled, numbered and bound. If he only knew.
It's actually a kind of miracle I can ever find anything. It's even slightly amazing that most of the company bills get paid on time (as opposed to my personal bills, which sometimes don't). I get away with so much slacking off that I should be ashamed. Sometimes I am, but I wouldn't want to waste the time it would take to do things the Boss's way.
Sure, he's the Boss. But he's also three hundred miles away, and he has peculiar ideas about the way an office should be run. Maybe he's right, but my way works for me. Every so often, I can even talk him into simplifying something he'd like to complicate. He wants to divide something into ten categories. Even if I think it all should be lumped together in one, I consider it a victory if I can talk him down to five. | 
