Even in this era of high technology and business at warp speed, you can do a quick health check on a small company by casually asking its owner: "So, did you make payroll this week?" Watch what his or her facial muscles do.

Humans need paychecks. More than sex sometimes. You can miss a week of sex. Not much will happen. Try missing a paycheck. I first realized this back in the Ice Age (when I was 12), delivering meat for the butcher for 25 cents a pop (50 cents if the trip was across Queens Boulevard, a good 20 miles from the shop). My weekly pay was a mere $6. But if I didn't have two bucks to buy my weekly album, I'd go berserk.

I got a powerful refresher course on the subject recently, which cost me a major portion of my hair. Here's the story. Some companies handle payroll in-house. For me, trying to understand hieroglyphics like SUI/FUI, FICA, or DBL is akin to lounging on a bed of hot coals so I outsource it to a company that also finances our payroll. That's costly but necessary because cash flows into a staffing business in fits and spurts and goes out in a steady stream.

On a recent payday -- just before the three-day Columbus Day weekend -- our payroll company screwed up. The carnage began on Friday morning when one employee called to say that her pay, which was supposed to be deposited directly to her account, wasn't there. I said I'd check on it and call her back. I could not reach a human at the payroll company, so I left a message with the guy in charge. Thinking that should do it, I left for Manhattan to see a major client-to-be.

The meeting went fine. Then I turned my cell phone back on around 3 p.m. It was melting from the overload of messages. Apparently, no one with direct deposit had gotten paid. I had one hour before the banks closed for three days to get them their money or become the target of venom potent enough to impress Saddam Hussein.

I immediately called the payroll company -- which is supposed to take the blame for such things. There I was -- in a corner office of the would-be client yelling Greek obscenities into his phone, demanding that the payroll company contact the Federal Reserve or Al Gore (if he wants to President, he can fix this!) and get my people paid. "I don't care what you have to do. Just do it!" I shouted. It was kind of neat to be the one yelling instead of getting yelled at.

Anyway, what I found out in the next half-hour contributed to some of the aforementioned hair loss. The money apparently got stuck because someone didn't get it out in time for it to get through the Federal Reserve clearing system, by which every direct deposit must pass. The payroll company blamed the blip on its bank, which I'm sure blamed someone else. That left me holding the bag.

My cell phone rang incessantly, as I struggled home in extremely dense traffic. I tried valiantly to stem the flood of complaints from my people. After an hour or so with the phone glued to my ear (I know I must have lost millions of brain cells on this one), I stopped the bleeding for at least a few hours by switching money from one account to another.

The problem clearly wasn't solved though. I took calls all day Saturday from employees -- this time while painting my son's room. More poured in on Monday. I assured everyone that things would be right on Tuesday. Then I cursed Columbus for causing the banks to close, pulled another hair out of my head, and vowed to hire a bookkeeper on whom we can lay the blame the next time this sort of thing happens. Just another week at the office.

George Giokas is the president and CEO of StaffWriters Plus, a specialty agency that places writers in temporary and permanent positions with corporate and other employers. It also provides editorial consulting work. His database includes 2,500 writers and editors specializing in more than 60 categories. His Web site is located at www.staffwriters.com, and you can E-mail him at george@staffwriters.com.