Today's a bit odd.
Southern California is experiencing its autumnal weather that it gets in June, called June gloom. This basically means that it's foggy in the mornings and kind of hazily clears up in the afternoon. It's nice that we don't have full-blown summer heat yet. But today is a little more dark and dank than other June mornings. It was actually raining this morning, for one thing.
Okay, it was actually drizzling.
Who says I exaggerate? Okay, okay. It was damp. There. Are you happy now?
With the physical environment being anything but cheerful, the work environment here feels the need to rise to the occasion and match it. A little less than two weeks ago, the announcment was made to us that our parent company wants to sell us. In order to do so, we must appear to be profitable, or at least lean and mean. So they're closing a bunch of our stores and laying 25 - 30% of us off for cost reductions blah blah blah unemployment cakes.
Long story short, today's the day. It's been two weeks of suspense, and in my case, of walking around looking at people imagining them with their heads on chopping blocks, or seeing a big red X through their faces, or even mostly decapitated in some cases (depending on the depth of my dislike for them).
It's nice that we've had this much notice so we can adjust to the idea that we may not be employed after August, but do it already! Bring it on! Let's go!
Don't get me wrong -- I'm not eagerly anticipating not having a job, but I wish we could just find out already. We've suggested to the VP of our department that she should just call us all together for a meeting and point to people to let us know who's in and who's out.
She wasn't too keen on that idea. Something about HR and legal rights and blah blah blah lawsuits cakes. Whatever.
Failing that, I'm getting creative. Since we're a branch of Disney and synergy is such a big thing around here, I suggested that we do "The Bachelor: Special Layoffs Edition." Layoffs can be one big rose ceremony.
"Laura, you've been chosen to stay. Will you accept this rose?"
[announcer's voice]: "There are only 5 roses left and 15 employees. Who stays? Who's going? Don't miss The. Most. Dramatic. Rose Ceremony. Yet."
You get the idea.
This morning I ran into my vice president in the restroom. Poor thing. I know she can't run away fast enough, mentally or physically, when she sees me coming. I seem to have gained a reputation for asking questions everyone else is afraid to, which of course can be a little intimidating when you're the one who has to answer them -- her. Oh well. She's the one making the big bucks and driving a company car. Her blessing is her bane. Or something like that.
ANYway. I asked her if she thought I was dressed appropriately for a layoff. "I just never know what to wear to these things." She chuckled -- either because she's humoring me or downright afraid that I'll start a riot. Who knows? Maybe she even thinks I'm funny.
Or not.
She went with it. She's nothing if not game. (Two hunters are in the woods and they come across a naked lady. They looked at each other with raised eyebrows, looked at her, and said, "Are you game?" She shrugged. "I'm game if you're game." So they shot her.)
Laura: "I decided to take the more cheerful approach" (pointing to my brightly striped shirt) "as opposed to the 'black for mourning' route."
Diane: "Oh yes. Black is too depressing. You can see that I'm wearing beige," pointing to her outfit that was, indeed, beige.
Laura: "Yes. Very neutral tones to encourage us that you mean us no harm."
Laura & Diane. Laugh uncomfortably.
Laura: "Hey, so, if I'm on the list, will you please just call me down first so I can get it over with? Thanks." (I believe at this point I actually had my hands clasped together, kind of shaking them at her, to show my sincerity in an annoying pleading sort of way.)
Diane: Can't say anything because she can neither confirm nor deny anything. Laughs REALLY uncomfortably now and leaves.
So, this is my day today. Wondering if/when the call will come. Wondering who of my friends and co-workers will start working on their resumes in earnest today.
The good news is that I've already started interviewing for a job in another division. Early reviews are in and positive. Unofficially, I believe we're just waiting for HR to make the phone call with an offer. Darkness and despair do not yet reign. Gallows humor does, but you gotta do what you gotta do to deal, ya know?
See you at the guillotines!
Thursday, June 5, 2003
Friday, May 16, 2003
If Ah-nuld Were President
If Arnold Schwarzanegger were president of the United States, how cool would that be? A few things would change around the White House, I’ll tell you that much. For the first time in history, the President and First Wife would be from two separate parties. Congress wouldn’t have very much to complain about anymore — both major parties would be fairly represented. A Kennedy would be back in office again. Not only that, but chances are pretty good that no one would want to assassinate this one.
Fat would not be allowed. Not fat on people or fat people, because then I would totally be an illegal and the INS would be after me, but fatty foods. No more doughnuts, which might not be such a great thing, but in the long run, couldn’t hurt. Exercise would be required. Not for distance or strength, just do your best. Be as fit as you can. Okay, maybe a little chocolate cake, but let’s balance it out with some MetRX.
Since he’s so wealthy, Arnold wouldn’t have to take money from third parties to represent their interests. Yes, like Reagan he’d be made fun of for some pretty bad movies (think “Last Action Hero,” or “Conan,” which might not really count since he wasn’t allowed to speak back then), but there’s some pretty good ones too. Instead of saluting him, you can say good bye with a simple, “Hasta la vista, baby.”
Or should that be, “Hasta la vista, Chief”? as in “Hail to the”?
The biggest question is, who would be his running mate? Things could certainly be shaken up if Maria were the vice-president. Is it even allowed to have the vice- and president be from different parties? Think of the money that could be saved for the conventions – instead of having two separate ones and having to worry about national security, just combine the two of them. Have it in Philadelphia, the original home of Brotherly Love.
That’d be cool. Not to mention the inherent coolness of having a woman vice-president.
Jesse Ventura would be put in charge of the CIA, for obvious reasons. I mean really, would you want to mess with that wacko? Saddam and Osama would really have something to fear then. Wouldn’t those muscles be intimidating to terrorists? And he wouldn’t just spy on you, but afterwards would pick you up and heft you over his head, twirl you around a few times, throw you to the ground and jump on you a couplla times.
What about Hulk Hogan, you ask? Would there be any place for him in the cabinet? Nah, I don’t think so. He’d insist on bringing along that annoying puppet Alf from those long-distance commercials, and that’d just be ugly.
Before spiraling too far down on the wrestling mat of what-ifs and losing all hope for the future White House and cabinet, let’s focus on a happier note. No more stuffy state dinners with boring appetizers and entrees. Remember Planet Hollywood? That themed restaurant that was oh-so-cool in the 90s? Arnold could bring his pals Bruce, Demi and, oh, who was that other guy? Oh right, Sly Stallone. Anyway, all those Hollywood has-beens (or never-weres) would experience a resurgence of popularity. Maybe they could be members of the cabinet in some capacity or other.
Ahh. Hollywood and the WWF take over Washington. Hasta la vista, politics. Let the good times roll.
Fat would not be allowed. Not fat on people or fat people, because then I would totally be an illegal and the INS would be after me, but fatty foods. No more doughnuts, which might not be such a great thing, but in the long run, couldn’t hurt. Exercise would be required. Not for distance or strength, just do your best. Be as fit as you can. Okay, maybe a little chocolate cake, but let’s balance it out with some MetRX.
Since he’s so wealthy, Arnold wouldn’t have to take money from third parties to represent their interests. Yes, like Reagan he’d be made fun of for some pretty bad movies (think “Last Action Hero,” or “Conan,” which might not really count since he wasn’t allowed to speak back then), but there’s some pretty good ones too. Instead of saluting him, you can say good bye with a simple, “Hasta la vista, baby.”
Or should that be, “Hasta la vista, Chief”? as in “Hail to the”?
The biggest question is, who would be his running mate? Things could certainly be shaken up if Maria were the vice-president. Is it even allowed to have the vice- and president be from different parties? Think of the money that could be saved for the conventions – instead of having two separate ones and having to worry about national security, just combine the two of them. Have it in Philadelphia, the original home of Brotherly Love.
That’d be cool. Not to mention the inherent coolness of having a woman vice-president.
Jesse Ventura would be put in charge of the CIA, for obvious reasons. I mean really, would you want to mess with that wacko? Saddam and Osama would really have something to fear then. Wouldn’t those muscles be intimidating to terrorists? And he wouldn’t just spy on you, but afterwards would pick you up and heft you over his head, twirl you around a few times, throw you to the ground and jump on you a couplla times.
What about Hulk Hogan, you ask? Would there be any place for him in the cabinet? Nah, I don’t think so. He’d insist on bringing along that annoying puppet Alf from those long-distance commercials, and that’d just be ugly.
Before spiraling too far down on the wrestling mat of what-ifs and losing all hope for the future White House and cabinet, let’s focus on a happier note. No more stuffy state dinners with boring appetizers and entrees. Remember Planet Hollywood? That themed restaurant that was oh-so-cool in the 90s? Arnold could bring his pals Bruce, Demi and, oh, who was that other guy? Oh right, Sly Stallone. Anyway, all those Hollywood has-beens (or never-weres) would experience a resurgence of popularity. Maybe they could be members of the cabinet in some capacity or other.
Ahh. Hollywood and the WWF take over Washington. Hasta la vista, politics. Let the good times roll.
Thursday, May 15, 2003
Small Guilty Update
I have been far too lazy about this lately. It's a flaw of mine -- if I'm not feeling up to the witty, insightful prose standards required by my own insane (inane? Amazing what a difference a letter makes.) mind, then I choose to not write at all.
Or, I have too many things to write about, then get overwhelmed and choose to not write at all.
Either way, it's been too long.
I have been inspired to update because I got a new subscriber to my blog! (Note to self, find out what "blog" means. I keep seeing this on other on-line journal sites and know it's a term for "on-line journal," but am not sure why/how.)
(Answered note to self: "blog" is not an acronym, as I first suspected, but is short for "Weblog." Whew. Mystery solved. However, I must correct my earlier assumption that it only means on-line journal. This is from Yahoo: "Weblogs and online journals are often confused, and they can frequently overlap in content and style. But purists point out that a person writing in an online journal or diary is logging their life, not the Web. Weblogs still exist to log what's going on around the World Wide Web.")
Where was I? Oh, yes. Welcome to my new subscriber! This makes a grand total of two of you! Actually, I think it's probably just one, because the other one has never signed up for the updates; she just checks back to see when I've updated.
So much for being loved from afar.
Just to get the update going so I don't procrastinate anymore, here are some of the highlights from the last few weeks:
I have a new boss! Yay! Sadly, the old one hasn't left, but she now mercifully leaves me alone, even to the point of ignoring me. She may think she's proving a point of how she's moving on to other things, but the only point I think it proves is what an immature dolt she really is. At any rate, happiness now reigns at work as I report to a different person for the first time in 2 1/2 years. At first glance, he doesn't appear to be psychotic in any way, so we're already off to a great start. At second glance (not really, but you know what I mean) he's male, which is already offering up all sorts of different dynamics than what I've had to accustom myself to in dealing with my former boss. Everything's much less emotional on both sides, which is good. At work, at least.
I took a short vacation (because is any vacation ever long enough) during spring break. Linda and I spent a couple of days in Las Vegas for a friend's wedding, then we took our time driving up through southern Utah, stopping for the night at Zion National Park, then a few days further north to visit various family and friends. We were there to celebrate my dad's 85th birthday which isn't until June, but it was when all 6 of us siblings and some of the grandchildren could all be there. With that many people in the equation, you celebrate when you can, so we did. The next day, my dad had hip replacement surgery, which thankfully went very well, and I fully expect him to outlive all of us now.
I've spent the last school year in training to become a full-time teacher. I have been teaching an early-morning high school aged class on a voluntary basis for the past 4 years, and this past year has been spent fine tuning those skills, learning new ones, and being evaluated for full-time employment. The last stage of evaluations got canceled just recently, so my hopes of moving onto something new have been, if not dashed, definitely let down. The good news is that I haven't been outright rejected, merely rolled into the pool for next year. I'm still hopeful that it will work out eventually. I'm not looking forward to another school year full of waking up at
4:30 a.m.
and working all day long from there. But, I've done it this long, I don't think another year will kill me. It may turn me into a sleep-deprived raving lunatic, but that's already a fine line I walk.
I suppose that's it, for now. I'm boring myself, and it's my life, so I can only imagine what I'm doing to my faithful audience of two. But I won't apologize -- that would unfaithful to my primary pledge of doing this -- to be honest without considering audience expectations or my own boring life. Okay, I can apologize for the boredom.
Hey! Wake up!
Things I need to write about soon: Made-up words/phrases used inappropriately at work; the singles' dance I may/may not be attending tonight; the boy I had a crush on all throughout high school and how I'm meeting up with him in two weeks after not having seen him for 12 years; and how my friend Wendy keeps me regular.
Yes, I knew that last one would reel you in.
Or, I have too many things to write about, then get overwhelmed and choose to not write at all.
Either way, it's been too long.
I have been inspired to update because I got a new subscriber to my blog! (Note to self, find out what "blog" means. I keep seeing this on other on-line journal sites and know it's a term for "on-line journal," but am not sure why/how.)
(Answered note to self: "blog" is not an acronym, as I first suspected, but is short for "Weblog." Whew. Mystery solved. However, I must correct my earlier assumption that it only means on-line journal. This is from Yahoo: "Weblogs and online journals are often confused, and they can frequently overlap in content and style. But purists point out that a person writing in an online journal or diary is logging their life, not the Web. Weblogs still exist to log what's going on around the World Wide Web.")
Where was I? Oh, yes. Welcome to my new subscriber! This makes a grand total of two of you! Actually, I think it's probably just one, because the other one has never signed up for the updates; she just checks back to see when I've updated.
So much for being loved from afar.
Just to get the update going so I don't procrastinate anymore, here are some of the highlights from the last few weeks:
I have a new boss! Yay! Sadly, the old one hasn't left, but she now mercifully leaves me alone, even to the point of ignoring me. She may think she's proving a point of how she's moving on to other things, but the only point I think it proves is what an immature dolt she really is. At any rate, happiness now reigns at work as I report to a different person for the first time in 2 1/2 years. At first glance, he doesn't appear to be psychotic in any way, so we're already off to a great start. At second glance (not really, but you know what I mean) he's male, which is already offering up all sorts of different dynamics than what I've had to accustom myself to in dealing with my former boss. Everything's much less emotional on both sides, which is good. At work, at least.
I took a short vacation (because is any vacation ever long enough) during spring break. Linda and I spent a couple of days in Las Vegas for a friend's wedding, then we took our time driving up through southern Utah, stopping for the night at Zion National Park, then a few days further north to visit various family and friends. We were there to celebrate my dad's 85th birthday which isn't until June, but it was when all 6 of us siblings and some of the grandchildren could all be there. With that many people in the equation, you celebrate when you can, so we did. The next day, my dad had hip replacement surgery, which thankfully went very well, and I fully expect him to outlive all of us now.
I've spent the last school year in training to become a full-time teacher. I have been teaching an early-morning high school aged class on a voluntary basis for the past 4 years, and this past year has been spent fine tuning those skills, learning new ones, and being evaluated for full-time employment. The last stage of evaluations got canceled just recently, so my hopes of moving onto something new have been, if not dashed, definitely let down. The good news is that I haven't been outright rejected, merely rolled into the pool for next year. I'm still hopeful that it will work out eventually. I'm not looking forward to another school year full of waking up at
4:30 a.m.
and working all day long from there. But, I've done it this long, I don't think another year will kill me. It may turn me into a sleep-deprived raving lunatic, but that's already a fine line I walk.
I suppose that's it, for now. I'm boring myself, and it's my life, so I can only imagine what I'm doing to my faithful audience of two. But I won't apologize -- that would unfaithful to my primary pledge of doing this -- to be honest without considering audience expectations or my own boring life. Okay, I can apologize for the boredom.
Hey! Wake up!
Things I need to write about soon: Made-up words/phrases used inappropriately at work; the singles' dance I may/may not be attending tonight; the boy I had a crush on all throughout high school and how I'm meeting up with him in two weeks after not having seen him for 12 years; and how my friend Wendy keeps me regular.
Yes, I knew that last one would reel you in.
Friday, April 11, 2003
Thank You, Mr. Otis
Elevators. This is what's on my mind this week. I usually do not pay not that much attention to them. They're not unlike my stapler at work, or tape dispenser. They're a necessary part of work -- there if you need 'em, but secondary to my job performance.
The elevators at my office are more than a little annoying, but so's my stapler when it's empty. It doesn't destroy me. It's life. You deal with it and move on. I don't mean annoying in the "I need therapy" kind of way, just a sort of daily inconvenience. The office building I work in houses several restaurants: Olive Garden, CPK and Chevy's, to name the biggies. It also happens to be across the street from a fairly major mall, so people eat and shop while their cars stay in the parking garage. What this all amounts to is a rather large amount of people who don't know their way around the office building and frequently misuse the parking garage elevators while wasting my time. They try to go down with me to the "tenants monthly parking" area, when I know darn good and well that there's no way they're parked down there. The puzzled looks on their faces makes up for that inconvenience as they wander around the basement parking level looking for their cars.
No, I'm not really that mean. Sometimes I do take pity on them and tell them there's no possible way their car is where they think it is. Sometimes.
My other favorite thing that happens in the parking garage elevators is when I encounter a person who has obviously been riding the elevator up and down like it's an E ticket ride because they're looking for the 14th floor. Honey, do you see a number 14 anywhere on these buttons? No? Only P1 to P5? Well.....You deserve what you get, don'tcha?
Really! I'm not mean! I just wish people would take an extra 5 seconds out of their day and think.
Anyway, the "real" elevators -- the ones that go to the office floors -- are strange little animals. Elevators in general are strange little animals, really. I've been thinking about them this week, more than anyone, besides maybe Mr. Otis or Willy Wonka should be thinking about elevators, but there you have it. I'm bored at work this week. We willingly step into a small box measuring 8 x 8 x 10, sometimes with complete strangers! and expect it take us somewhere. It generally performs its function correctly. The doors close, we make a selection, make idle conversation with people crammed in there with us, not because we like them, but because what else do you do while staring at people you don't know but can't leave the room? The doors open, et voila! We have been transported to a new location. It's like magic.
The elevators where I work offer the standard options -- a button for each floor, the scary looking red EMERGENCY button, and the well-placed but meaningless Door Open and Door Close buttons. Door Open does its job just fine. When pressed, the doors obligingly open to admit the slacker who refused to run for the door but you feel obligated to wait for anyway.
Door Close -- that's a whole 'nother story. I wonder sometimes what would happen to me if I were in a Bruce Willis or Arnold Schwarzanegger movie and a bad guy was chasing after me. After a few minutes of running while being chased, I would have to run into the elevator with its yawning doors. (Probably more because I'm out of shape and can't run anymore than because it's the only place left for me to go, but I'll let the writers worry about that plot line.) So here I am, running for my life, dodging bullets. I see the elevator, and it's providence! It's waiting for me! Oh, blessed elevator! My friend. Let's go! Get me out of here! I quickly push the Door Close button, and it does nothing. Of course, I haven't yet made a floor selection. I do so, then press Door Close again. Nothing. Again, again, again. Quick! Bad Guy is coming! Finally, reluctanctly and oh so slowly, the doors close. Too late, though. Here come the grasping, reaching hands of Bad Guy, forcing the door open, and now I'm dead. Or wounded. Whatever. Either way, I'm now trapped in a small room with the Enemy.
Don't scoff! You may think I'm being melodramatic (my mother would), but think about it. We all have at least one Bad Guy or Enemy with whom we work that we wish we never had to associate with. Especially in a windowless and uncooperative moving box. He even has a name here: Art. Yes, it's one of life's great ironies. He is in no way, shape or form art or artistic. He is a scary man with bug eyes who was absent during the very important years of learning social skills at school. Bluntly, he scares me. He is creepy and gives me the creeps.
The elevator, in its evil gleeful way, senses this about me, because it makes me ride with him too frequently. It purposely holds its doors open and waits for him. Big meanie. What have I done to it, after all? I'm nice! I don't ask it to go very far -- only the 5th floor. I touch it every day. And this is the thanks I get!
Yesterday, however, the elevator did something that will forever absolve itself of all guilt and blame. It ate my boss. It could only hold her down for 45 minutes, but it was 45 minutes less in my day of having to deal with her, so who am I to complain that it spewed her back up like a turkey sandwich with mayo left out in the sun?
Thank you, elevator, my friend. Even if you couldn't keep her trapped all day, you hopefully took a few years off her life with that half-floor swooping drop you did. You have fueled my imagination with happy thoughts of how she kept herself occupied for three-quarters of an hour with no one to hear her blather on about her favorite topic -- herself. Most important, I wasn't there with her, for which I am eternally grateful.
May your pulley and gear system always be well-greased and the right people always push your buttons!
The elevators at my office are more than a little annoying, but so's my stapler when it's empty. It doesn't destroy me. It's life. You deal with it and move on. I don't mean annoying in the "I need therapy" kind of way, just a sort of daily inconvenience. The office building I work in houses several restaurants: Olive Garden, CPK and Chevy's, to name the biggies. It also happens to be across the street from a fairly major mall, so people eat and shop while their cars stay in the parking garage. What this all amounts to is a rather large amount of people who don't know their way around the office building and frequently misuse the parking garage elevators while wasting my time. They try to go down with me to the "tenants monthly parking" area, when I know darn good and well that there's no way they're parked down there. The puzzled looks on their faces makes up for that inconvenience as they wander around the basement parking level looking for their cars.
No, I'm not really that mean. Sometimes I do take pity on them and tell them there's no possible way their car is where they think it is. Sometimes.
My other favorite thing that happens in the parking garage elevators is when I encounter a person who has obviously been riding the elevator up and down like it's an E ticket ride because they're looking for the 14th floor. Honey, do you see a number 14 anywhere on these buttons? No? Only P1 to P5? Well.....You deserve what you get, don'tcha?
Really! I'm not mean! I just wish people would take an extra 5 seconds out of their day and think.
Anyway, the "real" elevators -- the ones that go to the office floors -- are strange little animals. Elevators in general are strange little animals, really. I've been thinking about them this week, more than anyone, besides maybe Mr. Otis or Willy Wonka should be thinking about elevators, but there you have it. I'm bored at work this week. We willingly step into a small box measuring 8 x 8 x 10, sometimes with complete strangers! and expect it take us somewhere. It generally performs its function correctly. The doors close, we make a selection, make idle conversation with people crammed in there with us, not because we like them, but because what else do you do while staring at people you don't know but can't leave the room? The doors open, et voila! We have been transported to a new location. It's like magic.
The elevators where I work offer the standard options -- a button for each floor, the scary looking red EMERGENCY button, and the well-placed but meaningless Door Open and Door Close buttons. Door Open does its job just fine. When pressed, the doors obligingly open to admit the slacker who refused to run for the door but you feel obligated to wait for anyway.
Door Close -- that's a whole 'nother story. I wonder sometimes what would happen to me if I were in a Bruce Willis or Arnold Schwarzanegger movie and a bad guy was chasing after me. After a few minutes of running while being chased, I would have to run into the elevator with its yawning doors. (Probably more because I'm out of shape and can't run anymore than because it's the only place left for me to go, but I'll let the writers worry about that plot line.) So here I am, running for my life, dodging bullets. I see the elevator, and it's providence! It's waiting for me! Oh, blessed elevator! My friend. Let's go! Get me out of here! I quickly push the Door Close button, and it does nothing. Of course, I haven't yet made a floor selection. I do so, then press Door Close again. Nothing. Again, again, again. Quick! Bad Guy is coming! Finally, reluctanctly and oh so slowly, the doors close. Too late, though. Here come the grasping, reaching hands of Bad Guy, forcing the door open, and now I'm dead. Or wounded. Whatever. Either way, I'm now trapped in a small room with the Enemy.
Don't scoff! You may think I'm being melodramatic (my mother would), but think about it. We all have at least one Bad Guy or Enemy with whom we work that we wish we never had to associate with. Especially in a windowless and uncooperative moving box. He even has a name here: Art. Yes, it's one of life's great ironies. He is in no way, shape or form art or artistic. He is a scary man with bug eyes who was absent during the very important years of learning social skills at school. Bluntly, he scares me. He is creepy and gives me the creeps.
The elevator, in its evil gleeful way, senses this about me, because it makes me ride with him too frequently. It purposely holds its doors open and waits for him. Big meanie. What have I done to it, after all? I'm nice! I don't ask it to go very far -- only the 5th floor. I touch it every day. And this is the thanks I get!
Yesterday, however, the elevator did something that will forever absolve itself of all guilt and blame. It ate my boss. It could only hold her down for 45 minutes, but it was 45 minutes less in my day of having to deal with her, so who am I to complain that it spewed her back up like a turkey sandwich with mayo left out in the sun?
Thank you, elevator, my friend. Even if you couldn't keep her trapped all day, you hopefully took a few years off her life with that half-floor swooping drop you did. You have fueled my imagination with happy thoughts of how she kept herself occupied for three-quarters of an hour with no one to hear her blather on about her favorite topic -- herself. Most important, I wasn't there with her, for which I am eternally grateful.
May your pulley and gear system always be well-greased and the right people always push your buttons!
Thursday, March 27, 2003
Aphrodite's Temple
Linda decided last night that with the stress we're both under of uncertain job futures, we could benefit from throwing all caution to the wind and enjoy a relaxing evening. The goddess Aphrodite, with her promises of beauty and love beckoned from her temple in Sherman Oaks. You were thinking Paphos, maybe? Please. Although Greece may have been easier to get to versus the traffic in Los Angeles during rush hour, we opted for the location that would allow us to be home by 8:00 for Survivor.
We breezed in past the golden pillars and stunning displays of the Macy's men's department and forged ahead to the inner sanctuary of the Lancome counter. Black-clad acolytes awaited us with promises of beauty and youth contained in vials and bottles of unguents and oils.
The first offering we were required to make was a detailed listing of our skin issues and flaws, along with what we hoped to accomplish at the altars. Under the burning 200-watt torches, our faces were closely examined, analyzed and found wanting.
Mousse-y cleansers washed away impurities and dead skin. Toner firmed up our pores, and tinted moisturizer provided our faces with a healthy golden tone, while also delivering a necessary minimum SPF of 15 and necessary nutrients to reduce fine lines and wrinkles.
Next was a skin color scrutiny. My skin has slightly more pink-ish (read: Anglo-Saxon non-pigmented boring) tones to it than Linda’s, whose Teutonic ancestry provides her with warmer colors. Her blue eyes were enhanced with a lovely blend of bluish / purplish / brownish colors making them appear even more doe-like and inviting than before. Her beauty expert was very complimentary of each one of her features. “Your eyes have such a nice shape!” “Your cheekbones are perfect!” “Your lashes are so long and beautiful!” “Your pores are so delightfully small!”
Cynthia did not have much to gush about where I was concerned. Though never demeaning or rude, she made it clear through the tips she gave me where she thought my flaws were. They mostly seemed to deal with my eyes, which are apparently squinchier than I thought. “By applying mascara at the ROOT of your eyelashes, it forces your eyes OPEN and makes them look larger.” “This color combination nicely enhances your green eyes and really opens them up.” “Make sure to put a lighter color shadow on the top of your brow – that will really open your eyes UP.” It must be a large miracle that I can even see with all of the squinting I’m apparently doing.
After an hour at the altar, we were invited to gaze upon the images of the new women we had been transformed into. I believe I had more makeup on than I’ve worn in the past five years combined. I do have to admit, however, that my skin looked smoother than it’s looked in a long time. My only concern was the way the under-eye concealer appeared to bunch up the skin. I didn’t realize how wrinkly I was there, but that part of my face looked like it was 50 compared to the rest of the 36 year-old me. I was informed by both Eileen and Cynthia that if I sufficiently moisturize and exfoliate my face, particularly under my eyes, there won’t be any dead skin for the makeup to cling to. Hey, I moisturize! I guess it’s time to graduate from my cheap-o drug store brands to what real women use.
Cynthia began tallying how much my offering to the goddess of beauty was going to cost. One bottle each of foam cleanser, tinted moisturizer, exfoliator and heavy-duty eye cream were deemed as the absolute bare essentials of what my skin needs to not only retain its youth, but keep it there for awhile longer. I balked a little bit at the idea of spending $60 on the eye cream, but she assured me that not only would it diminish the baggy, wrinkly skin under my eyes, it would attract men. Wow! Aphrodite not only heard my spoken desire for beauty but my unspoken wish for love too.
Feeling reckless with the prospect of love waiting around the corner, I threw in a tube of lipstick. One hundred seventy-seven dollars lighter, I left the womb of Aphrodite’s haven with a new-found hope, contained in a Macy’s bag with many free samples thrown in. My beauty may be guaranteed, but I doubt love is. And anyway, I have to wait four to six weeks to find out (the amount of time that eye cream needs to really do its job. After all, Cynthia assures me that’s all I need to catch a man!) No amount of creams and promises of smooth skin can keep me from having my shirt on inside-out unawares for the better part of this morning. I might have the smoothest skin in the world, but until I get some other basic life skills figured out, my Prince Charming will remain just out of reach.
We breezed in past the golden pillars and stunning displays of the Macy's men's department and forged ahead to the inner sanctuary of the Lancome counter. Black-clad acolytes awaited us with promises of beauty and youth contained in vials and bottles of unguents and oils.
The first offering we were required to make was a detailed listing of our skin issues and flaws, along with what we hoped to accomplish at the altars. Under the burning 200-watt torches, our faces were closely examined, analyzed and found wanting.
Mousse-y cleansers washed away impurities and dead skin. Toner firmed up our pores, and tinted moisturizer provided our faces with a healthy golden tone, while also delivering a necessary minimum SPF of 15 and necessary nutrients to reduce fine lines and wrinkles.
Next was a skin color scrutiny. My skin has slightly more pink-ish (read: Anglo-Saxon non-pigmented boring) tones to it than Linda’s, whose Teutonic ancestry provides her with warmer colors. Her blue eyes were enhanced with a lovely blend of bluish / purplish / brownish colors making them appear even more doe-like and inviting than before. Her beauty expert was very complimentary of each one of her features. “Your eyes have such a nice shape!” “Your cheekbones are perfect!” “Your lashes are so long and beautiful!” “Your pores are so delightfully small!”
Cynthia did not have much to gush about where I was concerned. Though never demeaning or rude, she made it clear through the tips she gave me where she thought my flaws were. They mostly seemed to deal with my eyes, which are apparently squinchier than I thought. “By applying mascara at the ROOT of your eyelashes, it forces your eyes OPEN and makes them look larger.” “This color combination nicely enhances your green eyes and really opens them up.” “Make sure to put a lighter color shadow on the top of your brow – that will really open your eyes UP.” It must be a large miracle that I can even see with all of the squinting I’m apparently doing.
After an hour at the altar, we were invited to gaze upon the images of the new women we had been transformed into. I believe I had more makeup on than I’ve worn in the past five years combined. I do have to admit, however, that my skin looked smoother than it’s looked in a long time. My only concern was the way the under-eye concealer appeared to bunch up the skin. I didn’t realize how wrinkly I was there, but that part of my face looked like it was 50 compared to the rest of the 36 year-old me. I was informed by both Eileen and Cynthia that if I sufficiently moisturize and exfoliate my face, particularly under my eyes, there won’t be any dead skin for the makeup to cling to. Hey, I moisturize! I guess it’s time to graduate from my cheap-o drug store brands to what real women use.
Cynthia began tallying how much my offering to the goddess of beauty was going to cost. One bottle each of foam cleanser, tinted moisturizer, exfoliator and heavy-duty eye cream were deemed as the absolute bare essentials of what my skin needs to not only retain its youth, but keep it there for awhile longer. I balked a little bit at the idea of spending $60 on the eye cream, but she assured me that not only would it diminish the baggy, wrinkly skin under my eyes, it would attract men. Wow! Aphrodite not only heard my spoken desire for beauty but my unspoken wish for love too.
Feeling reckless with the prospect of love waiting around the corner, I threw in a tube of lipstick. One hundred seventy-seven dollars lighter, I left the womb of Aphrodite’s haven with a new-found hope, contained in a Macy’s bag with many free samples thrown in. My beauty may be guaranteed, but I doubt love is. And anyway, I have to wait four to six weeks to find out (the amount of time that eye cream needs to really do its job. After all, Cynthia assures me that’s all I need to catch a man!) No amount of creams and promises of smooth skin can keep me from having my shirt on inside-out unawares for the better part of this morning. I might have the smoothest skin in the world, but until I get some other basic life skills figured out, my Prince Charming will remain just out of reach.
Saturday, March 22, 2003
California Native
I am a California native. Lest you get too far down the road of envisioning me romping on the beaches of Malibu and driving down Sunset Blvd in my convertible, I will qualify that statement by saying that I consider myself to be a northern Californian by birth and at heart.
I was born in Walnut Creek, a suburb of San Francisco. If you count living 33 miles away from The City and across the Bay Bridge a suburb, which I do. For years, I even had the same area code as San Francisco -- 415 -- the original Bay Area area code.
Growing up, the Dodgers, 70 degree winters and hobnobbing with celebrities were as foreign to me as to most of you. For me, it was the Giants, 49ers, rainy winters and foggy spring mornings.
However, for the past seven and a half years I have lived in southern California. I always knew that I would eventually end up here. I wasn't exactly clear on timing or motive, but the few times I would vacation or visit, there was a tug pulling me here. Not a yearning really, but a knowledge that this would someday be my home.
I believe I have adapted nicely to my new surroundings. The weirdness and weirdos are different, but unchanged, really. They just have different names. One has hippies on Haight and Ashbury, the other yuppies in Beverly Hills.
Being so familiar with both cultures has its advantages. I am just at home in one as the other. Best of all, it affords me the luxury of not being a slave to either or both. For instance, I don't have to be caught up in the narcisstic attitude of the southern half because I come from the more au natural environment of the north. Botox? Gah. I would never dream of doing that to myself and can unapologetically mock those who do. Driving? Surely you know we southerners invented the sport of what would to anyone else be an unsafe lane change at high speeds, but here is minimally required to survive.
I've had my fair share of reality check moments of needing to pinch and remind myself of where I am. Palm trees! Hollywood! Movie studios abound on every corner, not to mention stars. I can be just as star struck as the tourist from rural America given the right opportunity. And can act as though sightings of the rich and famous are just as mundane and ho-hum as all those palm trees.
For instance, on Thursday I was in Hollywood with Linda to see a preview at the El Capitan. Sounds cool, doesn't it? A preview in Hollywood. Aren't you impressed? (Okay, it was a preview showing of "Holes" for local educators. Since it's based on an award-winning children's book, they want to make sure that teachers will promote it in the classroom, etc.) We parked in the garage behind the Kodak Theater. Yes, where the Academy Awards will be broadcast from in two days. That block of
Hollywood Blvd.was blocked off to traffic since they were raising the catwalk, the 40-foot Oscar statue and a huge gold drape over the entrance to the theater that all the elite will enter in wearing their designer finery while fans and paparazzi ooh and aah over them on Sunday.
It was very cool to be walking on the same red carpet that the cast of Chicago will traverse. I would have enjoyed it more had we not been running a little bit on the cutting edge of lateness. There was no time to savor the moment. There were plenty of tourists, though, who not only were savoring but downright lollygagging and generally preventing me from moving as fast as I would have liked. I mean really. You'd think they've never seen Mann's Chinese Theater before and all those famous stars in the sidewalk. Okay, they probably haven't, but is that my fault? Move outta my way. Some of us are actually natives and have places to be!
See what a snob I can be with my dual citizenship status?
But I can't pretend that it's not a cool place to be. The first time I drove past the Walt Disney Studios with the huge sorcerer's hat marking the home of the animation building, and the seven dwarfs holding up the office building on the other side of the lot, well, I just thought it was the coolest thing evah.
One of my friends' and my favorite games to play is Mock Celebrity Sighting. You know -- pick a person out of a crowd who looks like someone famous. Playing that here nets the most interesting results. One night my friend Steve and I were outside the Ahmanson theater waiting to go inside. Steve said, "Look! It's Steve Allen." I looked, thought about it, and said, "Yeah, I guess I can see the resemblance."
Steve: "No, really. It's Steve Allen."
After I recovered from the whiplash the triple take had given me, I went up and asked for his autograph. He died three weeks later.
Other real star sightings I've had: Scott Bakula; Henry Winkler; Jay Leno driving one of his Harleys a block from my house, Penny Marshall; Jerry Springer (not really something to brag about) eating by himself in a booth at a 50s-style diner, trying to pretend he was a normal person, but getting mad when no one would acknowledge him; Brett Butler in the Macy's in Burbank; Bonnie Hunt; Kato Kaelin (in the elevator at my office building! Sure, I know he's more infamous than famous, but still...); and I can't remember who-all else right now.
Sure, I try to pretend it's an everyday occurrence, these occassional brushes with stardom, but it can be exciting. No matter how cool I think I am, I am not immune to the little shiver of delight that invariably runs down my spine in moments like these.
California. No matter which half you live in or which area code (did I mention I have one of the original southern California ones? 818. Yep, I'm cool.) you have, it's a good place to be.
I was born in Walnut Creek, a suburb of San Francisco. If you count living 33 miles away from The City and across the Bay Bridge a suburb, which I do. For years, I even had the same area code as San Francisco -- 415 -- the original Bay Area area code.
Growing up, the Dodgers, 70 degree winters and hobnobbing with celebrities were as foreign to me as to most of you. For me, it was the Giants, 49ers, rainy winters and foggy spring mornings.
However, for the past seven and a half years I have lived in southern California. I always knew that I would eventually end up here. I wasn't exactly clear on timing or motive, but the few times I would vacation or visit, there was a tug pulling me here. Not a yearning really, but a knowledge that this would someday be my home.
I believe I have adapted nicely to my new surroundings. The weirdness and weirdos are different, but unchanged, really. They just have different names. One has hippies on Haight and Ashbury, the other yuppies in Beverly Hills.
Being so familiar with both cultures has its advantages. I am just at home in one as the other. Best of all, it affords me the luxury of not being a slave to either or both. For instance, I don't have to be caught up in the narcisstic attitude of the southern half because I come from the more au natural environment of the north. Botox? Gah. I would never dream of doing that to myself and can unapologetically mock those who do. Driving? Surely you know we southerners invented the sport of what would to anyone else be an unsafe lane change at high speeds, but here is minimally required to survive.
I've had my fair share of reality check moments of needing to pinch and remind myself of where I am. Palm trees! Hollywood! Movie studios abound on every corner, not to mention stars. I can be just as star struck as the tourist from rural America given the right opportunity. And can act as though sightings of the rich and famous are just as mundane and ho-hum as all those palm trees.
For instance, on Thursday I was in Hollywood with Linda to see a preview at the El Capitan. Sounds cool, doesn't it? A preview in Hollywood. Aren't you impressed? (Okay, it was a preview showing of "Holes" for local educators. Since it's based on an award-winning children's book, they want to make sure that teachers will promote it in the classroom, etc.) We parked in the garage behind the Kodak Theater. Yes, where the Academy Awards will be broadcast from in two days. That block of
Hollywood Blvd.was blocked off to traffic since they were raising the catwalk, the 40-foot Oscar statue and a huge gold drape over the entrance to the theater that all the elite will enter in wearing their designer finery while fans and paparazzi ooh and aah over them on Sunday.
It was very cool to be walking on the same red carpet that the cast of Chicago will traverse. I would have enjoyed it more had we not been running a little bit on the cutting edge of lateness. There was no time to savor the moment. There were plenty of tourists, though, who not only were savoring but downright lollygagging and generally preventing me from moving as fast as I would have liked. I mean really. You'd think they've never seen Mann's Chinese Theater before and all those famous stars in the sidewalk. Okay, they probably haven't, but is that my fault? Move outta my way. Some of us are actually natives and have places to be!
See what a snob I can be with my dual citizenship status?
But I can't pretend that it's not a cool place to be. The first time I drove past the Walt Disney Studios with the huge sorcerer's hat marking the home of the animation building, and the seven dwarfs holding up the office building on the other side of the lot, well, I just thought it was the coolest thing evah.
One of my friends' and my favorite games to play is Mock Celebrity Sighting. You know -- pick a person out of a crowd who looks like someone famous. Playing that here nets the most interesting results. One night my friend Steve and I were outside the Ahmanson theater waiting to go inside. Steve said, "Look! It's Steve Allen." I looked, thought about it, and said, "Yeah, I guess I can see the resemblance."
Steve: "No, really. It's Steve Allen."
After I recovered from the whiplash the triple take had given me, I went up and asked for his autograph. He died three weeks later.
Other real star sightings I've had: Scott Bakula; Henry Winkler; Jay Leno driving one of his Harleys a block from my house, Penny Marshall; Jerry Springer (not really something to brag about) eating by himself in a booth at a 50s-style diner, trying to pretend he was a normal person, but getting mad when no one would acknowledge him; Brett Butler in the Macy's in Burbank; Bonnie Hunt; Kato Kaelin (in the elevator at my office building! Sure, I know he's more infamous than famous, but still...); and I can't remember who-all else right now.
Sure, I try to pretend it's an everyday occurrence, these occassional brushes with stardom, but it can be exciting. No matter how cool I think I am, I am not immune to the little shiver of delight that invariably runs down my spine in moments like these.
California. No matter which half you live in or which area code (did I mention I have one of the original southern California ones? 818. Yep, I'm cool.) you have, it's a good place to be.
Thursday, March 20, 2003
Work. It Can Be Fun...Really!
Here’s some background on this. It’s really nothing more than an email exchange between me and a friend of mine who works for a mortgage/loan company. (Never having gone through the home-buying process, I’m a little unsure as to all the right lingo, so get off my back about it already!) Even in today’s world, in the new and enlightened century we live in, this company retains some very stodgy banking cultural attitudes that you wouldn’t necessarily find in similar places. Like the dress code. You know, stiff and formal. Even though they say they’re “business casual,” they really want you to be business professional. It’s a rough road to hoe, especially for my friend who is much more comfortable in jeans and tennis shoes than dress pants and frilly blouses. Anything less is a punishable offense. It probably wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for all the eggshells she feels like she’s walking on. She just never really knows if an action or pair of shoes will be acceptable or not.
One of the vice presidents has taken it upon herself to send motivating “thought of the day”s and friendly reminders about acceptable behavior, eating habits and dress standards. I don’t know how she got that job, but I’d like to know where to stand in line for it. How cool would it be to be the jerk who gets to tell everyone how to act and condescendingly tell them to enjoy their jobs!
Anyway, please note that I have not edited anything from the original messages. Really. You can’t make up stuff that’s this good.
-----Original Message-----
From: my_friend@thebank/loanplace.com
Sent:
Wednesday, March 12, 2003
7:29 AM
To: me@work
Subject: ABCD Awards
Yet another heartfelt communication for our very own VP In Charge of Whatever:
VP In Charge of Whatever
To: all@thebank/loanplace.com
Subject: ABCD Awards
I just wanted to reiterate my statements on Friday regarding the purpose of the ABCD awards. As the acronym states, Above and Beyond the Call of Duty, these nominations/awards should be reserved for those individuals who have extended themselves beyond their normal work responsibilities. Individuals may be recognized for exceeding expectations, assisting someone else with a project, or taking on additional responsibility. Employees can receive a nomination for this award directly from management or from a peer.
Management wants to ensure that employees who receive an ABCD award are recognized based on the conditions above. Therefore, starting last month, a preliminary review of the nominations was conducted (prior to the presentation of awards) to ensure the worthy efforts would be acknowledged. Those nominations which did not stand out as exemplary nominations were removed from the ABCD selection process even though they were included in the honorable mentions. This process will continue going forward to ensure we are truly acknowledging employees who are going above and beyond their normal job responsibilities.
So, to ensure that your nomination is worthy, follow these simple requirements:
* Nominate a permanent Port Comm employee (full-time or part-time); and
* Make sure your summary identifies how this person exceeded your expectations,
or
* Include the specific project/task that the other person helped you with, or
* Identify the extra projects/tasks for which the individual took responsibility.
Test Yourself!
Select the write-up(s) below that would be worthy of an ABCD award:
a) I want to thank Jessica for always being there when I need her, especially last week.
b) I needed to get some volumes to my supervisor ASAP, but I had some challenges completing the necessary Access query. I called on Pam, and she dropped everything to help me out. She even created this neat report so I don't have to export the information to Excel.
c) Kathy's attention to detail really came in handy for me last week when I needed a second set of eyes to review a report I had prepared. She caught an important detail that I had left out.
d) Whenever I'm having a rough day, I know I can count on Eida to maintain a positive perspective. Thank you, Eida!
Applaud yourself if you selected "B" and "C". What makes them worthy? In "B", Pam dropped what she was doing to help and she went a step further by creating a report. In "C", first of all, Kathy was second set of eyes when she didn't have to be; and second, if Kathy hadn't caught that important detail, an incomplete report would have been submitted.
Please feel free to see me, your manager, or your team leader for any questions you may have regarding the recognition program.
If we diminish the overall
VP In Charge of Whatever
Portfolio Communications
-----Original Message-----
From: me@whereIwork.com
Sent:
Wednesday, March 12, 2003
7:29 AM
To: my_friend@thebank/loanplace.com
Subject: ABCD Awards
Ooh! I have so many comments on this! First off, the infallible Karen Abrams did not, repeat, did NOT finish a sentence at the bottom of her email. Coincidence? Or was she knifed to death just as she was finishing it, and her killer hit the "send" button for her? Hmmm.. .
Also, I think that B & C are the correct answers, not because they demonstrate the willingness of Kathy and Pam to go above and beyond the call of duty, but because the person writing the nomination gave the more suck-up essay-type responses. For all we know, Jessica and Eida really *do*deserve the award, but the person nominating them is too lazy to actually acknowledge why.
Lastly, I nominate you. "C is a wonderful employee. She does more for less money than those other idiots who work in her group. She really took over a difficult situation last week and acted calmly under extreme pressure. She was under a rush job to get hundreds of reports printed out, and the old man in the print room, Pops, was having a little prostate trouble and feeling really grumpy. He lashed out at the first person who actually asked him to do his job. Sadly, it happened to be C. The way she reacted though, can be a lesson for us all. She did not yell back at him, stomp out or even wonder, 'Why me?' No, instead she listened to all of Pop's woes and troubles, called the pharmacist, picked up the medication, handled all the other print jobs that were in the queue, distributed all the reports, and STILL managed to meet her own horrific deadline.
"C is a star. Not only do I nominate her for the whatever-stupid-name-duty-calls award, but I think she should get a cut of all those fees that customers have to pay when they pay a loan over the phone.
"C is a supreme example of what we should all strive to be here at The Bank/Loan Place. She demonstrated kindness, integrity, calmness and patience, all while wearing restrictive bankers' clothes.”
One of the vice presidents has taken it upon herself to send motivating “thought of the day”s and friendly reminders about acceptable behavior, eating habits and dress standards. I don’t know how she got that job, but I’d like to know where to stand in line for it. How cool would it be to be the jerk who gets to tell everyone how to act and condescendingly tell them to enjoy their jobs!
Anyway, please note that I have not edited anything from the original messages. Really. You can’t make up stuff that’s this good.
-----Original Message-----
From: my_friend@thebank/loanplace.com
Sent:
Wednesday, March 12, 2003
7:29 AM
To: me@work
Subject: ABCD Awards
Yet another heartfelt communication for our very own VP In Charge of Whatever:
VP In Charge of Whatever
To: all@thebank/loanplace.com
Subject: ABCD Awards
I just wanted to reiterate my statements on Friday regarding the purpose of the ABCD awards. As the acronym states, Above and Beyond the Call of Duty, these nominations/awards should be reserved for those individuals who have extended themselves beyond their normal work responsibilities. Individuals may be recognized for exceeding expectations, assisting someone else with a project, or taking on additional responsibility. Employees can receive a nomination for this award directly from management or from a peer.
Management wants to ensure that employees who receive an ABCD award are recognized based on the conditions above. Therefore, starting last month, a preliminary review of the nominations was conducted (prior to the presentation of awards) to ensure the worthy efforts would be acknowledged. Those nominations which did not stand out as exemplary nominations were removed from the ABCD selection process even though they were included in the honorable mentions. This process will continue going forward to ensure we are truly acknowledging employees who are going above and beyond their normal job responsibilities.
So, to ensure that your nomination is worthy, follow these simple requirements:
* Nominate a permanent Port Comm employee (full-time or part-time); and
* Make sure your summary identifies how this person exceeded your expectations,
or
* Include the specific project/task that the other person helped you with, or
* Identify the extra projects/tasks for which the individual took responsibility.
Test Yourself!
Select the write-up(s) below that would be worthy of an ABCD award:
a) I want to thank Jessica for always being there when I need her, especially last week.
b) I needed to get some volumes to my supervisor ASAP, but I had some challenges completing the necessary Access query. I called on Pam, and she dropped everything to help me out. She even created this neat report so I don't have to export the information to Excel.
c) Kathy's attention to detail really came in handy for me last week when I needed a second set of eyes to review a report I had prepared. She caught an important detail that I had left out.
d) Whenever I'm having a rough day, I know I can count on Eida to maintain a positive perspective. Thank you, Eida!
Applaud yourself if you selected "B" and "C". What makes them worthy? In "B", Pam dropped what she was doing to help and she went a step further by creating a report. In "C", first of all, Kathy was second set of eyes when she didn't have to be; and second, if Kathy hadn't caught that important detail, an incomplete report would have been submitted.
Please feel free to see me, your manager, or your team leader for any questions you may have regarding the recognition program.
If we diminish the overall
VP In Charge of Whatever
Portfolio Communications
-----Original Message-----
From: me@whereIwork.com
Sent:
Wednesday, March 12, 2003
7:29 AM
To: my_friend@thebank/loanplace.com
Subject: ABCD Awards
Ooh! I have so many comments on this! First off, the infallible Karen Abrams did not, repeat, did NOT finish a sentence at the bottom of her email. Coincidence? Or was she knifed to death just as she was finishing it, and her killer hit the "send" button for her? Hmmm.. .
Also, I think that B & C are the correct answers, not because they demonstrate the willingness of Kathy and Pam to go above and beyond the call of duty, but because the person writing the nomination gave the more suck-up essay-type responses. For all we know, Jessica and Eida really *do*deserve the award, but the person nominating them is too lazy to actually acknowledge why.
Lastly, I nominate you. "C is a wonderful employee. She does more for less money than those other idiots who work in her group. She really took over a difficult situation last week and acted calmly under extreme pressure. She was under a rush job to get hundreds of reports printed out, and the old man in the print room, Pops, was having a little prostate trouble and feeling really grumpy. He lashed out at the first person who actually asked him to do his job. Sadly, it happened to be C. The way she reacted though, can be a lesson for us all. She did not yell back at him, stomp out or even wonder, 'Why me?' No, instead she listened to all of Pop's woes and troubles, called the pharmacist, picked up the medication, handled all the other print jobs that were in the queue, distributed all the reports, and STILL managed to meet her own horrific deadline.
"C is a star. Not only do I nominate her for the whatever-stupid-name-duty-calls award, but I think she should get a cut of all those fees that customers have to pay when they pay a loan over the phone.
"C is a supreme example of what we should all strive to be here at The Bank/Loan Place. She demonstrated kindness, integrity, calmness and patience, all while wearing restrictive bankers' clothes.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)