You know, a lot of the time when you do online dating, you really have to pretend to be interested in some of these doofuses. I mean really pretend. Like, “Oh, sure, I think the pretzel business is amazing… how do you get them so twisted and salty?”
Like I give a rip. But it’s conversation. It’s an art form, you know? Give and take.
As I meet and evaluate prospects, it amazes me how damaged we are by one another. I don’t know why. It shouldn’t. We are, by nature, mean as hell. How could we not be damaged? If you truly live in your life, let your skin be vulnerable to the experience, you become damaged.
Lately I’ve had this in ordinate attachment to the lavender comforter in my bedroom. I feel an overwhelming urge to direct my entire life from underneath it, as it is the only safe place in the whole entire world. Naturally, it’s a used comforter – I bought it at the Goodwill after someone else had had their way with it. I could go on and on about the worn softness, the tiny patterns that I trace with my fingertips, the lavender landscape that soothes my anxiety. I am feeling used; damaged, that is. It’s hard getting out of bed some days, but I do it. It’s a universe of comfort, true to its Goodwill mission.
My kid is stealing again, and we are working on that. Jack has disappeared. I started my new job.
Oddly enough, there is a pigeon living in my chimney. Soul sister pigeon. I like the cooing noises she makes. I hope she is comfortable there.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Via de Esperanza
Friday is food pantry day. It’s a day I hate because I need the food pantry, which makes it all the more despicable to me. I’ve been sort of riding on fumes and making due and all those other euphemisms we use when we don’t have enough. But we *do* have enough. We just don’t have enough of what we want.
“There’s no kid food in this house!” my eight-year old scolded me.
“Yeah, there is. There’s peanut butter. Jelly. Cheerios. Cheez-Its.”
“I can’t have Cheez-Its. And I can’t have cereal without my special milk.” My kid is lactose intolerant, the curse of computer geeks and the bookish. She needs lactose-free milk and those special pills. They’re expensive and sometimes I don’t get to the big supermarket that carries them.
So I was overdue for the food pantry. I stalled all morning. It’s cold, I told myself, too cold to wait in line. I’ll just go to the regular supermarket and buy the bare necessities. But if I go to the food pantry from week to week, I end up with the bare necessities (sugar, flour, canned goods, rice, beans, peanut butter), and I can afford things like bread, milk, eggs, and lactose-free milk. Chef-Boyardee ravioli. Pancake syrup. Garbage bags. Shampoo. Strawberries.
I dashed out at the last minute, figuring if I made it, it would be Providence. You’re supposed to call the food pantry in advance and get a number, but I can never get through. If you get a number, you show up at 12:30 and you get the first round of what is available. If you don’t get a number, you have to come at 1:15 and take what’s left. The volunteers have it packed up in bags, and you just say your first name and how many adults and how many kids in your household. Via de Esperanza is a lifesaver, because they don’t hassle you or make you feel bad for coming to the food pantry. The people who work there are a mixture of Spanish-speaking and English-speaking. Most of the people who come for food are Spanish-speaking. It’s the only place in the area that lets you come every week. I’m not kidding. Like you don’t get hungry from week to week or something. Or like one box of food is going to solve all your problems.
I first asked for help with groceries by e-mail from someone at my church. I was mortified when, instead of responding to my e-mail, he forwarded it to about five different people with the comment, “hey, this lady needs some help with food for her family, can anybody out there refer her to the right place?”
I mean, really. The e-mail had my first and last name on it. Was that necessary?
Someone from the Grace church responded directly to me, saying, “come by, we’ll give you a food basket.” It was late November, and it was starting to get cold. They gave me mittens for me and the kids and a cardboard box filled with canned goods and cereal, toilet paper, toothpaste, stuff like that. It helped. At that same church, you can go by on Thursday afternoons and pick up day-old bread for free. Panera, the trendy sandwich place, drops off those giant loaves of pannini and focaccia, which is kind of nice. You can also get regular store bread on Friday, but you have to go after 2:30, which is hard for me because I work.
Anyway, by January, even with the stuff from Via de Esperanza and the bread from Grace, I was having trouble. The heating bills were killing me. I had to put my kids in daycare and I couldn’t make the mortgage. I went back to Grace and asked for another food basket. They said they couldn’t give me any more help because they had already helped me in November. I was kind of stunned. They suggested that I call the Salvation Army or Catholic Charities.
Now, I was at work, mind you, and I didn’t want anyone to overhear. I don’t have a cell phone. But I’ll do anything for my kids. So I called Catholic Charities from my cubicle.
When you come in, they told me, you need to give us two recent pay stubs as proof of income. We need copies of your bills to prove your particular hardship or documentation which explains why you need assistance. We need the Social Security numbers for everyone living in the house. And also proof of residency in the town.
Proof of hardship?
My husband moved out. We get no monetary support from him.
I work, but because I was crying at my desk every day, I got demoted, with an $11,000 pay cut.
I have two small kids, and day care costs me $800 a month.
It’s $70 a week to fill my car with gas.
Lettuce costs like $2.50 a head, strawberries $5.99.
I don’t have any family here to help me.
Is that proof enough? Is it hardship enough?
Suddenly I felt like Frank McCourt in Angela’s Ashes. Should I start stealing french fries from drunken soldiers? Bananas from the produce market? It just didn’t seem worth it. Anyway, I hung up from her, knowing that I wouldn’t go to Catholic Charities. I was raised Catholic, too. Man, that hurt.
Who put these people in charge of deciding who deserves charity and who doesn’t?
Since when is food a privilege?
When I lived in Mexico, the crowd I used to hang with would get drunk and curse the rich. It was something of a hobby, a little bit of an obsession. They sang sad songs and slapped each other on the back, always ending the evening with two or three of them around the kitchen table, drinking tequila and arguing how “la comida es un derecho.” Food is a right, they would shout as they pounded the table. De acuerdo, claro que si.
They knew what they were talking about.
I made it on time to Via de Esperanza. There was even someone who came after me, so I wasn’t dead last. Something tells me that even if I had been too late, they would have found a bag to give me. While I stood apologizing to the director, the volunteers filled my basket with six sacks of groceries. I didn't even notice they were doing it; they all descended on me like a swarm of Mexican mommies. The haul varies from week to week, but it is always useful stuff. No sockeye salmon or hominy grits. I was really happy to see a bottle of canola oil, which I have needed for a while. You can’t cook without oil.
“Thanks, I really needed vegetable oil,” I told the lady.
“Oh good,” she said, smiling. “Sometimes you hit it just right.”
I hurried off with my basket of groceries, shoved them into the back seat of my car. Suddenly I felt relieved. It wasn’t that bad. Nobody made me feel like a jerk or a rotten mother for needing help. And there was apple juice in one of the bags! My four-year-old loves apple juice. Apple-dee-juice, she calls it.
Via de Esperanza is kind of a garage church. I wondered how they worship. Via de Esperanza. Path of Hope, I think.
As I drove off, this Scripture came to mind:
Then the king will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.'
Then the righteous will answer him and say, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? When did we see you ill or in prison, and visit you?'
And the king will say to them in reply, 'Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.'
Matthew 25: 34-40 (NAB)
I don't think it gets any clearer.
“There’s no kid food in this house!” my eight-year old scolded me.
“Yeah, there is. There’s peanut butter. Jelly. Cheerios. Cheez-Its.”
“I can’t have Cheez-Its. And I can’t have cereal without my special milk.” My kid is lactose intolerant, the curse of computer geeks and the bookish. She needs lactose-free milk and those special pills. They’re expensive and sometimes I don’t get to the big supermarket that carries them.
So I was overdue for the food pantry. I stalled all morning. It’s cold, I told myself, too cold to wait in line. I’ll just go to the regular supermarket and buy the bare necessities. But if I go to the food pantry from week to week, I end up with the bare necessities (sugar, flour, canned goods, rice, beans, peanut butter), and I can afford things like bread, milk, eggs, and lactose-free milk. Chef-Boyardee ravioli. Pancake syrup. Garbage bags. Shampoo. Strawberries.
I dashed out at the last minute, figuring if I made it, it would be Providence. You’re supposed to call the food pantry in advance and get a number, but I can never get through. If you get a number, you show up at 12:30 and you get the first round of what is available. If you don’t get a number, you have to come at 1:15 and take what’s left. The volunteers have it packed up in bags, and you just say your first name and how many adults and how many kids in your household. Via de Esperanza is a lifesaver, because they don’t hassle you or make you feel bad for coming to the food pantry. The people who work there are a mixture of Spanish-speaking and English-speaking. Most of the people who come for food are Spanish-speaking. It’s the only place in the area that lets you come every week. I’m not kidding. Like you don’t get hungry from week to week or something. Or like one box of food is going to solve all your problems.
I first asked for help with groceries by e-mail from someone at my church. I was mortified when, instead of responding to my e-mail, he forwarded it to about five different people with the comment, “hey, this lady needs some help with food for her family, can anybody out there refer her to the right place?”
I mean, really. The e-mail had my first and last name on it. Was that necessary?
Someone from the Grace church responded directly to me, saying, “come by, we’ll give you a food basket.” It was late November, and it was starting to get cold. They gave me mittens for me and the kids and a cardboard box filled with canned goods and cereal, toilet paper, toothpaste, stuff like that. It helped. At that same church, you can go by on Thursday afternoons and pick up day-old bread for free. Panera, the trendy sandwich place, drops off those giant loaves of pannini and focaccia, which is kind of nice. You can also get regular store bread on Friday, but you have to go after 2:30, which is hard for me because I work.
Anyway, by January, even with the stuff from Via de Esperanza and the bread from Grace, I was having trouble. The heating bills were killing me. I had to put my kids in daycare and I couldn’t make the mortgage. I went back to Grace and asked for another food basket. They said they couldn’t give me any more help because they had already helped me in November. I was kind of stunned. They suggested that I call the Salvation Army or Catholic Charities.
Now, I was at work, mind you, and I didn’t want anyone to overhear. I don’t have a cell phone. But I’ll do anything for my kids. So I called Catholic Charities from my cubicle.
When you come in, they told me, you need to give us two recent pay stubs as proof of income. We need copies of your bills to prove your particular hardship or documentation which explains why you need assistance. We need the Social Security numbers for everyone living in the house. And also proof of residency in the town.
Proof of hardship?
My husband moved out. We get no monetary support from him.
I work, but because I was crying at my desk every day, I got demoted, with an $11,000 pay cut.
I have two small kids, and day care costs me $800 a month.
It’s $70 a week to fill my car with gas.
Lettuce costs like $2.50 a head, strawberries $5.99.
I don’t have any family here to help me.
Is that proof enough? Is it hardship enough?
Suddenly I felt like Frank McCourt in Angela’s Ashes. Should I start stealing french fries from drunken soldiers? Bananas from the produce market? It just didn’t seem worth it. Anyway, I hung up from her, knowing that I wouldn’t go to Catholic Charities. I was raised Catholic, too. Man, that hurt.
Who put these people in charge of deciding who deserves charity and who doesn’t?
Since when is food a privilege?
When I lived in Mexico, the crowd I used to hang with would get drunk and curse the rich. It was something of a hobby, a little bit of an obsession. They sang sad songs and slapped each other on the back, always ending the evening with two or three of them around the kitchen table, drinking tequila and arguing how “la comida es un derecho.” Food is a right, they would shout as they pounded the table. De acuerdo, claro que si.
They knew what they were talking about.
I made it on time to Via de Esperanza. There was even someone who came after me, so I wasn’t dead last. Something tells me that even if I had been too late, they would have found a bag to give me. While I stood apologizing to the director, the volunteers filled my basket with six sacks of groceries. I didn't even notice they were doing it; they all descended on me like a swarm of Mexican mommies. The haul varies from week to week, but it is always useful stuff. No sockeye salmon or hominy grits. I was really happy to see a bottle of canola oil, which I have needed for a while. You can’t cook without oil.
“Thanks, I really needed vegetable oil,” I told the lady.
“Oh good,” she said, smiling. “Sometimes you hit it just right.”
I hurried off with my basket of groceries, shoved them into the back seat of my car. Suddenly I felt relieved. It wasn’t that bad. Nobody made me feel like a jerk or a rotten mother for needing help. And there was apple juice in one of the bags! My four-year-old loves apple juice. Apple-dee-juice, she calls it.
Via de Esperanza is kind of a garage church. I wondered how they worship. Via de Esperanza. Path of Hope, I think.
As I drove off, this Scripture came to mind:
Then the king will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.'
Then the righteous will answer him and say, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? When did we see you ill or in prison, and visit you?'
And the king will say to them in reply, 'Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.'
Matthew 25: 34-40 (NAB)
I don't think it gets any clearer.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Check, please
Sometimes I feel like I can’t do it. I can’t move from day to day, and then the day moves without me. The days move around me. They move over me.
I’m trapped in my new apartment, in a labyrinth of boxes of envelopes and notebooks that I have no use for, but can’t throw out. The phone rang earlier – it was Jack, checking in after a week. I had thought he had broken up with me or something, but he just forgot to call. Too much marijuana in his younger days, I think. I pinged him by e-mail to check on him. Told him to call and check on his sister. She is dying, slowly. Cancer. Everywhere.
This is the Irish Check Chain. Check on your mother. Check on your sister. Check on your Auntie. Jewish people have it, too, but their Check Chain is specifically geared toward calling. (“Call your mother!”) The Irish Check Chain is much more dysfunctional, in that you can check on someone without that person even knowing it and still get credit. You mostly get points with God; however, if you can prove at a later time that you were in fact checking on someone (sometimes called “asking after”), you can still score big with that person, all the close friends, and immediate relatives.
Anyway, I’ve been looking over old e-mail exchanges between me and Jack, back when I called him Mighty Pelvis and Professor and all that squishy love stuff. He lives far, far away, so I don’t get to see him much. But we check on each other often, even though he is German. I have no idea how he holds it together from day to day, sounding cheerful and business-like, when I know for a fact that he is depressed and “circling the pit,” as he calls it. His baby sister is dying a painful death, right in front of him. He called me twice to tell me that she was gasping for air.
I hung up from him and called Marc. We chatted.
“Hey, Jack is depressed,” I heard myself say suddenly.
“As depressed as *I* get,” I elaborated. “As depressed as you get, too.”
That ought to ring a few alarms, I thought. Maybe we want to *do* something? We can’t let him in our club! That would totally suck!
Marc didn’t say anything. He won the lottery a few days ago, so maybe he was waiting for the penny to drop on whatever my point was. I’m not sure what my point was, though, or what Marc and I could have done.
Over the years, Marc and I have checked on each other a couple of times. I've checked on strangers and had strangers check on me. It's weird, but you know when you have to do it. It's a good and right thing to do, and I am grateful for the Check Chain, even when I resent it. I’m not sure if the Check Chain applies in this case, though, or if it’s even the kind of thing you can do if your alarm doesn't go off. You have to play it by heart. Go with your gut. Listen to your Irish.
I’ll check on Jack tomorrow. Points or no points, the alarm has been sounded. All the way from Germany.
I’m trapped in my new apartment, in a labyrinth of boxes of envelopes and notebooks that I have no use for, but can’t throw out. The phone rang earlier – it was Jack, checking in after a week. I had thought he had broken up with me or something, but he just forgot to call. Too much marijuana in his younger days, I think. I pinged him by e-mail to check on him. Told him to call and check on his sister. She is dying, slowly. Cancer. Everywhere.
This is the Irish Check Chain. Check on your mother. Check on your sister. Check on your Auntie. Jewish people have it, too, but their Check Chain is specifically geared toward calling. (“Call your mother!”) The Irish Check Chain is much more dysfunctional, in that you can check on someone without that person even knowing it and still get credit. You mostly get points with God; however, if you can prove at a later time that you were in fact checking on someone (sometimes called “asking after”), you can still score big with that person, all the close friends, and immediate relatives.
Anyway, I’ve been looking over old e-mail exchanges between me and Jack, back when I called him Mighty Pelvis and Professor and all that squishy love stuff. He lives far, far away, so I don’t get to see him much. But we check on each other often, even though he is German. I have no idea how he holds it together from day to day, sounding cheerful and business-like, when I know for a fact that he is depressed and “circling the pit,” as he calls it. His baby sister is dying a painful death, right in front of him. He called me twice to tell me that she was gasping for air.
I hung up from him and called Marc. We chatted.
“Hey, Jack is depressed,” I heard myself say suddenly.
“As depressed as *I* get,” I elaborated. “As depressed as you get, too.”
That ought to ring a few alarms, I thought. Maybe we want to *do* something? We can’t let him in our club! That would totally suck!
Marc didn’t say anything. He won the lottery a few days ago, so maybe he was waiting for the penny to drop on whatever my point was. I’m not sure what my point was, though, or what Marc and I could have done.
Over the years, Marc and I have checked on each other a couple of times. I've checked on strangers and had strangers check on me. It's weird, but you know when you have to do it. It's a good and right thing to do, and I am grateful for the Check Chain, even when I resent it. I’m not sure if the Check Chain applies in this case, though, or if it’s even the kind of thing you can do if your alarm doesn't go off. You have to play it by heart. Go with your gut. Listen to your Irish.
I’ll check on Jack tomorrow. Points or no points, the alarm has been sounded. All the way from Germany.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
The Rules
Some simple rules for working in my office:
1. To make yourself look smart, make up vague fancy names for stuff so it sounds important. For example, "Product Response Category".
2. When someone asks a question, snarl and act disdainful. If possible, counter with one, if not several, questions of your own. For example, "What do you mean? What are you getting at? Can you be more clear? Why would someone want to *do* that?"
3. If you have to answer a question, be sure to puctuate your response with with, "Why don't you know that? I can't believe you don't know that."
4. Be sure to shake your head several times at the conclusion of questioning. Walk away, slowly.
5. Make note of the exact time and place of the incident so that you can report it to higher-ups. Try to frame the recounting innocently. For example, "when Smith was asking me how the Flux Capacitor worked yesterday, it reminded me of the time...."
6. Repeat ad nauseum.
1. To make yourself look smart, make up vague fancy names for stuff so it sounds important. For example, "Product Response Category".
2. When someone asks a question, snarl and act disdainful. If possible, counter with one, if not several, questions of your own. For example, "What do you mean? What are you getting at? Can you be more clear? Why would someone want to *do* that?"
3. If you have to answer a question, be sure to puctuate your response with with, "Why don't you know that? I can't believe you don't know that."
4. Be sure to shake your head several times at the conclusion of questioning. Walk away, slowly.
5. Make note of the exact time and place of the incident so that you can report it to higher-ups. Try to frame the recounting innocently. For example, "when Smith was asking me how the Flux Capacitor worked yesterday, it reminded me of the time...."
6. Repeat ad nauseum.
More E-mail from the Land of Hate
My supervisor felt compelled to keep me in the loop on the database situation, lest I waste a moment of time on frivilous activities, like research or reading. Or gathering my thoughts.
From: HIM
Sent: Tuesday, March 25, 2008 11:40 AM
To: ME
Subject: Database is still down
Since the database is still down I do not know what the various product teams have ready to be reviewed. Therefore there is not any database content to be edited at this moment. Furthermore I have asked the supervisors if they have any email templates ready for editing. I have not received any responses back yet so I do not have any work that I feel comfortable assigning to you at this time. So please take lunch early if possible, and I hope to have work to assign to you by 1300.
Note the lack of punctuation, followed by the humble request to take lunch early so that I can get back to tearing my hair out.
By the way, he wasn't in the military, so don't be fooled by the 1300 thing. He was an EMT at his previous job. They calculate time that way, too, I think. Either way, he makes me want to count the minutes until 1700.
The crowning glory was the following e-mail, which he sent on the third day that the database was down. My guess is that he spent the entire morning composing it. Note the carefully crafted sentence fragments peppered with such gems as "until such time as," and "please reply with your acknowledgement." These are literary stretches for him, and I can tell he worked hard at them; almost as hard as he did at trying to humiliate me with instructions on how to cut and paste.
It was bait. I didn't take it.
From: HIM
Sent: Wednesday, March 26, 2008 8:04 AM
To: ME
Subject: Editing work for today
Importance: High
Since our database storage for the test environment is still unavailable, and I expect it to be unavailable for at least the first half of today. I have worked with the team to get you some editing work during the downtime.
1. The following network path contains a folder with your name.
2. After navigating to this network path you will find a folder with your name.
3. Open your named folder, and within it you will find two additional folders.
3.1.0 To_Be_Edited, the items within this folder need to be edited.
3.1.1 Open the oldest file in the folder.
3.1.2 Once your editing of the item is complete, Please enter your name and the date in the Edited by Fields
3.1.3 Save the item
3.1.4 Close the file
3.1.5 Return to the To_Be_Edited folder
3.1.6 Highlight the file that you just edited
3.1.7 From the Edit menu select "Cut"
3.1.8 Navigate to the Editing Completed folder
3.1.9 From the Edit menu select "Paste"
4. Return to Step 3.1.0 to locate the next item to be edited
When you have complete all items in your To_Be_Edited folder please let me know immediately so I can ensure that you have additional work to complete until such time as the database environment becomes available again.
Please reply with your acknowledgement of these instructions, and/or any questions.
Editors! Who needs 'em?! Any idiot could do this!
From: HIM
Sent: Tuesday, March 25, 2008 11:40 AM
To: ME
Subject: Database is still down
Since the database is still down I do not know what the various product teams have ready to be reviewed. Therefore there is not any database content to be edited at this moment. Furthermore I have asked the supervisors if they have any email templates ready for editing. I have not received any responses back yet so I do not have any work that I feel comfortable assigning to you at this time. So please take lunch early if possible, and I hope to have work to assign to you by 1300.
Note the lack of punctuation, followed by the humble request to take lunch early so that I can get back to tearing my hair out.
By the way, he wasn't in the military, so don't be fooled by the 1300 thing. He was an EMT at his previous job. They calculate time that way, too, I think. Either way, he makes me want to count the minutes until 1700.
The crowning glory was the following e-mail, which he sent on the third day that the database was down. My guess is that he spent the entire morning composing it. Note the carefully crafted sentence fragments peppered with such gems as "until such time as," and "please reply with your acknowledgement." These are literary stretches for him, and I can tell he worked hard at them; almost as hard as he did at trying to humiliate me with instructions on how to cut and paste.
It was bait. I didn't take it.
From: HIM
Sent: Wednesday, March 26, 2008 8:04 AM
To: ME
Subject: Editing work for today
Importance: High
Since our database storage for the test environment is still unavailable, and I expect it to be unavailable for at least the first half of today. I have worked with the team to get you some editing work during the downtime.
1. The following network path contains a folder with your name.
2. After navigating to this network path you will find a folder with your name.
3. Open your named folder, and within it you will find two additional folders.
3.1.0 To_Be_Edited, the items within this folder need to be edited.
3.1.1 Open the oldest file in the folder.
3.1.2 Once your editing of the item is complete, Please enter your name and the date in the Edited by Fields
3.1.3 Save the item
3.1.4 Close the file
3.1.5 Return to the To_Be_Edited folder
3.1.6 Highlight the file that you just edited
3.1.7 From the Edit menu select "Cut"
3.1.8 Navigate to the Editing Completed folder
3.1.9 From the Edit menu select "Paste"
4. Return to Step 3.1.0 to locate the next item to be edited
When you have complete all items in your To_Be_Edited folder please let me know immediately so I can ensure that you have additional work to complete until such time as the database environment becomes available again.
Please reply with your acknowledgement of these instructions, and/or any questions.
Editors! Who needs 'em?! Any idiot could do this!
It Started Like This or Why I Quit My Job
I am an editor for a large corporation. My supervisor doesn't know what an editor is. He knows it has something to do with words and pages and junk, but he can't quite take it all in. Most of the time, he ends up counting the words on the paper and asking me, "Why did this take you so long?"
Here is some interesting e-mail correspondence with him.
From: HIM
Sent: Tuesday, March 25, 2008 10:39 AM
To: PRACTICALLY EVERYONE IN THE ORGANIZATION, INCLUDING ME
Subject: The Database Test environment is currently unavailable
Due to a database problem effecting more than just our office, the Test environment is currently unavailable. I do not expect it back up for at least several more hours. I will let you know when it is once again available.
OK, I can deal with that. I'm a good employee, so I try to make myself busy, right? Maybe I will let him know...
From: ME
Sent: Tuesday, March 25, 2008 10:59 AM
To: HIM
Subject: RE: The Database Test environment is currently unavailable
I am combing the drive for email templates to edit and put in the database. I have found 3 so far.
Uh-oh. Bad idea. This sets off his instinct to control all things.
From: HIM
Sent: Tuesday, March 25, 2008 10:57 AM
To: ME
Subject: RE: The Database Test environment is currently unavailable
Where have you found the three? When I looked earlier I found a couple that I do not believe are technically accurate. I want to make sure they are not the same items.
OK. I did this to myself. Just be direct and answer the question and he will go away.
From: ME
Sent: Tuesday, March 25, 2008 11:02 AM
To: HIM
Subject: RE: The Database Test environment is currently unavailable
Here are the titles:
1. Downloading Software Updates
2. Purchasing a Subscription
3. Customer Service Discounts
Here is some interesting e-mail correspondence with him.
From: HIM
Sent: Tuesday, March 25, 2008 10:39 AM
To: PRACTICALLY EVERYONE IN THE ORGANIZATION, INCLUDING ME
Subject: The Database Test environment is currently unavailable
Due to a database problem effecting more than just our office, the Test environment is currently unavailable. I do not expect it back up for at least several more hours. I will let you know when it is once again available.
OK, I can deal with that. I'm a good employee, so I try to make myself busy, right? Maybe I will let him know...
From: ME
Sent: Tuesday, March 25, 2008 10:59 AM
To: HIM
Subject: RE: The Database Test environment is currently unavailable
I am combing the drive for email templates to edit and put in the database. I have found 3 so far.
Uh-oh. Bad idea. This sets off his instinct to control all things.
From: HIM
Sent: Tuesday, March 25, 2008 10:57 AM
To: ME
Subject: RE: The Database Test environment is currently unavailable
Where have you found the three? When I looked earlier I found a couple that I do not believe are technically accurate. I want to make sure they are not the same items.
OK. I did this to myself. Just be direct and answer the question and he will go away.
From: ME
Sent: Tuesday, March 25, 2008 11:02 AM
To: HIM
Subject: RE: The Database Test environment is currently unavailable
Here are the titles:
1. Downloading Software Updates
2. Purchasing a Subscription
3. Customer Service Discounts
Oh please, oh please, be technically correct. This guy hates my guts already and I will explode if he hates me any more than he already does...
From: HIM
Sent: Tuesday, March 25, 2008 11:01 AM
To: ME
Subject: RE: The Database Test environment is currently unavailable
Okay, those are different please proceed.
Whew! That was a close one! That'll learn me to try to keep busy.
After a few minutes, I go back and read over the e-mail. I am kicking myself for even responding to it! What a jackass that guy is! I forward the e-mail to several of my friends outside of the organization with my comment attached:
Note how his work "effects" the work of several people. He is extremely important and must copy multiple people in the organization!
He wants to be sure I am not doing any erroneous editing, too! Such a great guy!
I am going to get fired one of these days.
The Guy I Should Have Married
There is a guy who sits in the cubicle next to me and he talks to his wife sometimes on the phone. I really like him. I like the way he talks to her. I wish I had married a guy like him. He is just so nice to her. From his side of the conversations, I can tell that she is looking for a job and she clearly has had her confidence shaken somehow. He just encourages her and helps her know what to say in the interviews when she's trying to talk about salary.
I really like that, because he doesn't do it in a way that makes her seem stupid. He is smart and he helps her know what to say and not get discouraged.
One day she smashed the wheels of the car because she got a flat and was scared to change it. So she kept on driving. He was kind of funny about it, but not mean. I could only hear one side of the conversation, but it was like he was talking to me.
He was like, "Uh-huh….yeah? Uh-huh…oh."
Silence.
Then, "Hey, Mario Andretti, you're supposed to pull over."
More silence. I think she was explaining.
"Well, that's ok. That's ok. Don't worry. Ummm, how far did you drive with it?"
"Well, about how far?"
"I see. OK. Well, sweetie, a couple of miles can be kind of far sometimes..."
Then, "Ok, it's ok. It's ok. We'll get it fixed, no big deal. The important thing is that you're not hurt."
There was a few more minutes of "No, really, it's OK. Don't worry. Really, don't worry."
Then he hung up and chuckled. I heard him telling the guy in the next cubicle what had happened, that she had gotten a flat on the highway and was afraid to stop. So she drove on the rim for a few miles. They kind of laughed a little about it together, and the other guy told a story about how his wife had backed out of the garage with the passenger side door open. She ripped the door off the car and destroyed the garage, too. The thing is, neither of them sounded angry. They just sounded like, yeah, my wife did that too.
It made me feel a lot better, but also kind of sad. I should have married a guy like that. I didn't, and it's why I'm divorced. I married a guy who got annoyed when I forgot the word for something in the middle of a sentence.
It happens. I'm a woman.
I really like that, because he doesn't do it in a way that makes her seem stupid. He is smart and he helps her know what to say and not get discouraged.
One day she smashed the wheels of the car because she got a flat and was scared to change it. So she kept on driving. He was kind of funny about it, but not mean. I could only hear one side of the conversation, but it was like he was talking to me.
He was like, "Uh-huh….yeah? Uh-huh…oh."
Silence.
Then, "Hey, Mario Andretti, you're supposed to pull over."
More silence. I think she was explaining.
"Well, that's ok. That's ok. Don't worry. Ummm, how far did you drive with it?"
"Well, about how far?"
"I see. OK. Well, sweetie, a couple of miles can be kind of far sometimes..."
Then, "Ok, it's ok. It's ok. We'll get it fixed, no big deal. The important thing is that you're not hurt."
There was a few more minutes of "No, really, it's OK. Don't worry. Really, don't worry."
Then he hung up and chuckled. I heard him telling the guy in the next cubicle what had happened, that she had gotten a flat on the highway and was afraid to stop. So she drove on the rim for a few miles. They kind of laughed a little about it together, and the other guy told a story about how his wife had backed out of the garage with the passenger side door open. She ripped the door off the car and destroyed the garage, too. The thing is, neither of them sounded angry. They just sounded like, yeah, my wife did that too.
It made me feel a lot better, but also kind of sad. I should have married a guy like that. I didn't, and it's why I'm divorced. I married a guy who got annoyed when I forgot the word for something in the middle of a sentence.
It happens. I'm a woman.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Unbearable Lightness
Marc suggested a blog to combat the unbearable lightness. You know, of being.
I live in the Midwest. I have two kids. I'm divorced. I manage. Most of the time. Sometimes not.
Today is iffy. I deleted Instant Messenger from my desktop. It's my way of controlling the situation when Jack doesn't want to talk to me. I don't know if he doesn't want to talk to me or doesn't have time. Or doesn't think of it. But he's not talking to me. So I remove IM. So even if he wanted to, he could not reach me. So *there*. Put *that* in your pipe and smoke it.
I date. Online dating, if that counts. Yesterday I think I got matched with a woman dressed as a man. No lie. The profile said, "due to medical malfeasance, I cannot have sexual intercourse. However, I love to hug and cuddle."
I'm not falling for it. I'm just not. So forget it.
I had a date with Mr. Ambivalent. He hasn't called for a week. So I officially withdraw myself from the rotation. I'm not even going to tell him. I'm going to ambivalent right back at him. See if he likes it. I'm doing it right now. Can you feel it?
Kids are with Dad tonight. I am off to work with my friend with cerebral palsey. When the kids are away, I miss them terribly and think of all the times I yelled at them, ever. I wonder if they are as disappointed in me as I am in myself.
I live in the Midwest. I have two kids. I'm divorced. I manage. Most of the time. Sometimes not.
Today is iffy. I deleted Instant Messenger from my desktop. It's my way of controlling the situation when Jack doesn't want to talk to me. I don't know if he doesn't want to talk to me or doesn't have time. Or doesn't think of it. But he's not talking to me. So I remove IM. So even if he wanted to, he could not reach me. So *there*. Put *that* in your pipe and smoke it.
I date. Online dating, if that counts. Yesterday I think I got matched with a woman dressed as a man. No lie. The profile said, "due to medical malfeasance, I cannot have sexual intercourse. However, I love to hug and cuddle."
I'm not falling for it. I'm just not. So forget it.
I had a date with Mr. Ambivalent. He hasn't called for a week. So I officially withdraw myself from the rotation. I'm not even going to tell him. I'm going to ambivalent right back at him. See if he likes it. I'm doing it right now. Can you feel it?
Kids are with Dad tonight. I am off to work with my friend with cerebral palsey. When the kids are away, I miss them terribly and think of all the times I yelled at them, ever. I wonder if they are as disappointed in me as I am in myself.
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