Chapter 105 - Easier on Purpose #2
Overtime only if justified.
Prevent recurrence.
I hired her.
Not because future memory said she would become excellent.
I'd never met her before.
That felt good.
Her first week, she kept coming to me.
"Ma'am, okay po ba if—"
I answered.
Then—
"Ma'am, customer changed—"
I answered.
Then—
"Ma'am, supplier said—"
I answered.
By day four, I realized the problem.
Me.
Again.
I was becoming the escalation point for everything.
Classic.
I called her over.
"New rule."
She sat.
"Yes po?"
"If you bring me a problem, bring one recommendation."
She nodded.
"At least one."
"Okay po."
"If you're authorized to decide it, don't ask me."
She hesitated.
"Paano po if mali?"
"Then we correct it."
She stared.
"If you make the same avoidable mistake five times, different conversation."
She laughed nervously.
"But one reasonable decision that doesn't work?"
I shrugged.
"That's work."
She nodded slowly.
"Okay."
Then—
"Can I write that?"
"Please."
Beautiful.
Within a month, I had become less necessary.
This was the goal.
It still offended me.
I would walk into the workspace and discover something had already been solved.
Disgusting.
One morning—
"Where's the supplier issue?"
"Resolved na po."
I stopped.
"How?"
Ops explained.
Backup supplier.
Small price difference.
Adjusted delivery.
Customer unaffected.
I stared.
"Okay."
She waited.
"Anything else po?"
"No."
She walked away.
I stood there.
Useless.
Wonderful.
I opened my notebook.
If everything needs me, I did not build a business. I built a hostage situation.
I underlined it.
That one was good.
Equipment came after.
Not before.
I wanted a new printer.
Of course I did.
I always wanted a new printer.
The current one annoyed me twice in one morning.
That alone felt like sufficient justification.
It was not.
I calculated.
Volume.
Downtime.
Repair cost.
Labor lost.
Current capacity.
Projected orders.
Cost of financing.
Payback period.
Then I stared at the result.
Not yet.
I hated numbers when they were correct against my desires.
I closed the quotation.
The printer beeped.
I looked at it.
"You live."
For now.
Instead, I paid for maintenance.
Preventive maintenance.
Scheduled.
Actual technician.
Not—
I'll clean it myself.
Not—
It still works.
Not—
Wait until something sounds like metal being murdered.
Maintenance.
The technician inspected everything.
One roller needed replacement.
Minor now.
Would've become expensive later.
I looked at the old part in his hand.
There.
Evidence.
I wrote:
Maintenance is cheaper than heroism.
Then workspace.
I didn't immediately lease some giant place just because I remembered having offices.
Current volume didn't justify it.
But the existing space was getting tight.
So I found a modest commercial unit.
Closer to suppliers.
Better ventilation.
Enough electrical capacity.
Proper storage.
Actual restroom.
Accessible loading area.
No stairs designed by Satan.
The rent was higher.
But not stupid.
I calculated time saved.
Delivery convenience.
Capacity.
Employee comfort.
Then signed.
Lawyer reviewed the lease first.
Very adult.
Very disgusting.
I loved it.
The first day in the new workspace, Chloe and Jane visited.
Not because they worked there.
Because they were nosy.
Jane looked around.
"Wow."
Chloe:
"May aircon."
I stared.
"That's your observation?"
Jane pointed at my office corner.
"Chair."
Chloe looked.
"Expensive-looking chair."
"Ergonomic."
Jane:
"Lola."
I looked at her.
"Correct."
She laughed.
Then she sat in it.
I stared.
"Excuse me."
"Oh."
She leaned back.
Then—
"Oh."
Exactly.
I crossed my arms.
"See?"
Jane adjusted the lumbar support.
"Okay. Fine."
Chloe tried next.
"Wow."
I nodded.
"Comfort infrastructure."
Jane looked at me.
"You made that up."
"Still true."
I gave them the tour.
Production.
Packing.
Storage.
Admin.
Tiny meeting area.
Water station.
First-aid kit.
Emergency lights.
Chloe stopped.
"You have a first-aid kit."
"Yes."
"Obviously?"
"Obviously."
Jane:
"May medicine?"
"Basic."
"Headache?"
"Yes."
"Bandages?"
"Yes."
"Antacid?"
"Yes."
Jane nodded approvingly.
"Good."
I stared.
"There it is."
She smiled.
"Good."
At the end of the tour, Jane looked outside.
"How do you get home?"
"Drive."
"Every day?"
"Mostly."
"Traffic."
"I know."
"How long?"
I told her.
She frowned.
"That's a lot."
"Yeah."
Chloe:
"Driver."
I stared.
"Too early."
Jane:
"You can afford one?"
"Technically."
"Would it save time?"
I paused.
Damn.
Chloe smiled.
"Look at her calculating."
"I hate both of you."
I did calculate.
Not salary only.
Time.
Parking.
Mental load.
Driving after long workdays.
Ability to review documents safely in transit.
But also—
did I actually need someone every day?
Not yet.
So I didn't hire a full-time driver.
I arranged transport instead.
Scheduled car service on supplier-heavy days.
Driver rental for long meetings.
Delivery support.
Ride-hailing when parking would waste forty minutes.
No moral attachment to driving myself just because I could.
That alone saved hours.
Hours.
I stared at one week's calendar after testing the setup.
Six hours saved.
Six.
Twenty-three-year-old me would've looked at the transport cost and said—
Sayang.
Sixty-eight-year-old me looked at six recovered hours and said—
"Cheap."
Healthcare came before illness.
Also disgusting.
Annual physical.
Dental.
Eye exam.
Blood work.
Vaccines checked.
I made a folder.
Not because anything was wrong.
Because I had spent a previous life learning exactly how expensive late information could become.
The doctor looked at me.
"Any particular concern?"
"No."
"Symptoms?"
"No."
"Family history?"
I answered.