...of a time when I worked in an office building that was shared by two brothers, one was CEO of a software development firm, the other a computer distributor. The latter occupied only a small part of the office space but, of course, used the warehouse space in the back to their advantage. There was just one problem: the place was a mess.
Nay, a disgrace. We all used to joke about it.
Then the company hired this thirty-something fellow straight out of the Army. Dude had been a Quartermaster.
Three days later, a guy I worked with dragged me out back to the warehouse. The place had been totally transformed - everything in its bin, a bin for everything, and one could have dined off the floor. My coworker (he was Army PsyOps) looked at me and said:
"You know what this is called, man?
"No," I said.
"Two words," he replied. "Squared away."
We were out back catching a smoke the first time thereafter a big shipment arrived from Compaq. The driver of the truck got out of his cab, walked up the ramp with his delivery paperwork, looked around and whistled, then marveled: "What the hell happened here?"
Squared away.
It's been part of my personal lexicon ever since.
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