The Password on the Shop Door

Finishing clean

I want to be clear about this part, because a few people later suggested I left the shop in a lurch on purpose. I did not.

Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, I worked at that front desk the same as always. Wayne came in and out of the bays.

He said good morning on Wednesday and nothing else. Neither of us said a word about the post or the Sunday table.

I closed out January. I sent the last two supplements. I called the adjuster about the Silverado and got the extra eight hundred approved.

I paid the paint supplier and the propane company, and I filed the monthly sales tax two weeks early.

Then, Friday after the crew went home, I sat at the desk and wrote down every single job I did. I wrote it on the shop’s own letterhead, because it seemed right.

It took four pages. Payroll, every Monday, submit by ten a.m. for the Wednesday deposit, with the steps numbered.

The quarterly federal return and when it was due. Indiana withholding. Sales tax. The W-2 calendar. The insurance supplements and each adjuster’s name and direct line.

The parts accounts and their passwords. The rental car company and the man to ask for. The propane delivery schedule.

The paint booth filter service, every ninety days. The name of the nice woman at the bank who would help him if the deposit ever bounced.

And at the bottom, under all of it, I wrote one more line: School drop-off, 7:30, Monday through Friday. Pickup at 3, Tuesday and Thursday, because Ethan has reading help.

On a separate card, I wrote the login and the password to the bookkeeping program and the payroll service.

I had changed the password years ago to something only I knew. I wrote it out clean and clear.

I put the card and the four pages in a plain white envelope. I did not write anything on the outside.

I did not write a note. Everything I had to say was already on the list.