I was sent one of my favorite magazines of all time, Smithsonian, a special edition that held many young innovators around my age. I know there are many articles about genius children who well surpass the rest of us in graduating from high school and college early, but this wasn't about that. This was a full issue, jam packed with people who are smart, sure, but also focused on their goals, dreams, and really doing something to change the world as we know it. I love that. They could have been average at school (likely not) but basically all of them have solid intellectual chops and chose to take their chosen interest and make it into something better than it was, to innovate their chosen field. There were great dancers, musicians, activists, scientists, and then came my favorite, a book mark guy.
A book mark guy? I had flipped past his page in the magazine, and finally came back to it, wondering how a guy who bookmarks web pages rated a page in an issue jam packed with world changing work done by serious world changers. Bookmarks? I mean, I can tag my favorites through my web browser. Is that what it is, and more importantly, how is that special?
I went onto his site, adorably called del.icio.us that is a website that has you bookmark all your favorite sites (and until I began tagging my sites using his software, I had five sites I would visit regularly, now you can't get me away from my computer) and share them with your friends. You don't have to share, but what if you run into a great site and want your friend to see it? It seems simple, very simple, but now I'm sitting at my computer reading web pages I found that are fascinating, funny, and I would have never found them without del.icio.us, which is user driven and you can find websites about anything. Also, your name isn't revealed as the person who tagged a certain site, people just know you're one of the many who looked at a good site and the higher the bookmark count, the more likely I'm going to enjoy what others have bookmarked. What's great is that, not unlike blogger, you can look at other people's interests or online tutorials they put up just about anything that fascinates you and chances are, people might see your bookmark for your cool page, and bookmark it too. It feels like a swap meet for endless volumes of information, which is totally my thing. There were other websites that were bookmarked with a catchy, funky one-word title (all the sites are given a one-word title by whoever added it to the site) and there's something for everyone.
Oddly enough I found a site via del.icio.us where you can type in your recipes that you want to make and the program will create your grocery list accordingly. http://www.grocerylistgenerator.com/. So far this week (My first 4 day weekend, and it feels like I don't work at all…nice) I've learned about everything from writing stores, to new uses for my ipod, to reading the blog of a Jewish dude who's just too funny to believe. I never would have come upon these sites and blogs if I hadn't read about the guy in my magazine. It's about sharing web pages, seeing the popular sites, trying to understand different philosophies and learning all kindsa stuff. I love learning all kindsa stuff. It's not that I can tag web pages, because I could do that with my 'favorites' on my browser, it's that I can look to see what popular sites the collective that use del.icio.us are looking at and discover new and interesting things to read, watch, and learn.
I also feel a little more a part of the online community as opposed to being some chick who only has five horoscope sites and checks her bank balance every so often. The man who started this tagging site now works for Google, a company that hires huge super-smarties to steal their brilliant ideas. I'm all for that, so check out my bookmarks at http://del.icio.us/Hunnydu72 and feel free to share your own.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Family
I wanted to add something that is entirely unrelated to the Phlegm Monster and my Costco/Walgreens/Walmart stocker upper habits.
Last night I met my brother Chuck (One of my two favorite brothers, the other is Jim, and one day I'll post about Jim.) and his fiancé Mayra and her son's sister-in-law at Bank One Ballpark. Now it's Chase Field, as my good friend Roy, who works for Chase, was quick to point out when I called it BOB, but, well, it's engraved in stone the wrong way and to me it will always be BOB.
Anyway, I met them at 'Will Call' because Chuck works for the Tucson Sidewinders, a minor league team attached to the Diamondbacks, and his boss had called in free tickets for the four of us. Well, when I met them at the ballpark Chuck went to the G-I window and the lady told him that in order to look up the comped tickets, he would have to give her the name of the person who works for the Diamondbacks. They were referenced by the person who works for the team, then by the person the tickets were for. She couldn't look it up by his name, so he came back to us, a little hot. He stood there calling his people from the Sidewinders, trying to get a hold of someone who knew the lady's name. Of course he was fuming, as I or anyone else would be, but he said something that got me. When I term 'got me', I mean, I had a warm, fuzzy, odd moment of unity with another person I so seldom feel, if ever.
Let me background my family. We're family from a distance, and frankly, my mother held us together. I might not hear from any of my brothers for a year, but they would always call her on her birthday. If we're all living near by, maybe we get together for a holiday, and when my mother was fighting her cancer, my brothers Chuck and Jim, and my sister Mary, visited a couple times a year, including Thanksgiving. My brother Max would show up out of the blue, but I always felt that was for a spot inspection to make sure I was taking good care of our mother, not to drop in to say 'hello'.
When Mom died, we scattered, or I scattered, not really keeping track of anyone, perhaps because I was at ground Zero of the whole Mom illness and I feel guilty I didn't talk her into continuing chemo. I let their mother die, I let my mother die. I have dreams sometimes that my mother and I are on a road trip and we stop at a hotel. I make her comfortable in the room, settle her in, and then I go to buy a pack of cigarettes or something. When I return, the hotel isn't there, or I can't find the hotel, or I find I've driven a hundred miles away and can't remember how to get back to her. It's all guilt, and I feel like I let everyone down by not advising my mother, when she asked, to keep fighting. It's hard to call people you feel you've let down.
Anyway, back to the ballpark. I'm standing there with Mayra, her son's sister-in-law, and my fuming brother. Now, we as a people don't stomp around and yell, it is not the way of the Heeman, and he looks perfectly calm, but I get the subtlety. He's irate because the game just started and we're not in the ballpark yet. And then he said something that got me, that brought me something I haven't had in a long time, peace. "If Eric doesn't call me back with the name of the woman who called in the comp tickets, this is the last day I work for the Sidewinders. He's left me out here with my family, waiting for tickets. Unforgivable."
So, I don't care who Eric is, and seriously, I don't care whether or not we get tickets. I can enjoy my brother and everyone over a nice dinner, just hang out like people do. Of course, a minute later Eric called him back with the person's name, Chuck went back to the Will Call booth and got the tickets, and we enjoyed a great game. We beat the Dodgers 6-2. But the way he said 'my family' eased a tension I've felt for over two years, and really, the thirty-three years before that. Even before the Mom thing, I always felt disconnected from the older relatives (although, like me, Chuck will always be a bit juvenile, which endears him to me as one of my two favorites) and in that one moment I felt—accepted into the family.
Last night I met my brother Chuck (One of my two favorite brothers, the other is Jim, and one day I'll post about Jim.) and his fiancé Mayra and her son's sister-in-law at Bank One Ballpark. Now it's Chase Field, as my good friend Roy, who works for Chase, was quick to point out when I called it BOB, but, well, it's engraved in stone the wrong way and to me it will always be BOB.
Anyway, I met them at 'Will Call' because Chuck works for the Tucson Sidewinders, a minor league team attached to the Diamondbacks, and his boss had called in free tickets for the four of us. Well, when I met them at the ballpark Chuck went to the G-I window and the lady told him that in order to look up the comped tickets, he would have to give her the name of the person who works for the Diamondbacks. They were referenced by the person who works for the team, then by the person the tickets were for. She couldn't look it up by his name, so he came back to us, a little hot. He stood there calling his people from the Sidewinders, trying to get a hold of someone who knew the lady's name. Of course he was fuming, as I or anyone else would be, but he said something that got me. When I term 'got me', I mean, I had a warm, fuzzy, odd moment of unity with another person I so seldom feel, if ever.
Let me background my family. We're family from a distance, and frankly, my mother held us together. I might not hear from any of my brothers for a year, but they would always call her on her birthday. If we're all living near by, maybe we get together for a holiday, and when my mother was fighting her cancer, my brothers Chuck and Jim, and my sister Mary, visited a couple times a year, including Thanksgiving. My brother Max would show up out of the blue, but I always felt that was for a spot inspection to make sure I was taking good care of our mother, not to drop in to say 'hello'.
When Mom died, we scattered, or I scattered, not really keeping track of anyone, perhaps because I was at ground Zero of the whole Mom illness and I feel guilty I didn't talk her into continuing chemo. I let their mother die, I let my mother die. I have dreams sometimes that my mother and I are on a road trip and we stop at a hotel. I make her comfortable in the room, settle her in, and then I go to buy a pack of cigarettes or something. When I return, the hotel isn't there, or I can't find the hotel, or I find I've driven a hundred miles away and can't remember how to get back to her. It's all guilt, and I feel like I let everyone down by not advising my mother, when she asked, to keep fighting. It's hard to call people you feel you've let down.
Anyway, back to the ballpark. I'm standing there with Mayra, her son's sister-in-law, and my fuming brother. Now, we as a people don't stomp around and yell, it is not the way of the Heeman, and he looks perfectly calm, but I get the subtlety. He's irate because the game just started and we're not in the ballpark yet. And then he said something that got me, that brought me something I haven't had in a long time, peace. "If Eric doesn't call me back with the name of the woman who called in the comp tickets, this is the last day I work for the Sidewinders. He's left me out here with my family, waiting for tickets. Unforgivable."
So, I don't care who Eric is, and seriously, I don't care whether or not we get tickets. I can enjoy my brother and everyone over a nice dinner, just hang out like people do. Of course, a minute later Eric called him back with the person's name, Chuck went back to the Will Call booth and got the tickets, and we enjoyed a great game. We beat the Dodgers 6-2. But the way he said 'my family' eased a tension I've felt for over two years, and really, the thirty-three years before that. Even before the Mom thing, I always felt disconnected from the older relatives (although, like me, Chuck will always be a bit juvenile, which endears him to me as one of my two favorites) and in that one moment I felt—accepted into the family.
It's good to be a dork!
Also, in companion to my last blog post, let me tell you about other things that have come up recently that accentuate my dorkiness for the entire world to behold.
When I'm sick I have a habit of buying every cold medicine known to man. I throw everything at it, in hopes something will get the nasty monster. I have a big, blue Rubbermaid tub that has gone with me from Arizona, to Northern California, to Oregon, back to Arizona, back to Oregon, and back to Arizona again—full of OTC meds, old hair clips I might use again, stuff I don't throw away until I'm sure I'll never ever use it again, etc. I've been fortunate enough to have a year or two of good luck, so I haven't needed anything from the blue tub, and frankly, I forgot what was in there.
So, last week I develop, once again, what I like to call Phlegm Monster. I have stuff in my lungs, I cough like a freak, I choke up—well I'll spare you the rest, but—ewwww. So, I'm also on the broke side, as the new job isn't yet paying me the happy overtime I like to earn to allow me to do things, like, afford to be sick. I have to be at work because I'm in training, and if I miss training I'll be so behind I'll never catch up. Also, being the new kid who never shows up isn't the way to begin a business relationship.
So, I open the blue tub, and it's like opening the Arc of the Covenant. Apparently during the last fight with the Phlegm Monster (I remember my mom was still alive because attached to the stuff I bought is a sticky note from my mother listing all the stuff I should buy. I miss my Mom. She totally got the evil genius of my 'stocking up' dorkiness.) I bought the enormous Costco size Mucinex DM (Two bottles of 140 pills each. Wow!), Tylenol Cold and Flu, Tylenol Allergy Sinus, Dayquil, Nyquil, Airborne, Wallgreens knockoff of Airborne, Emergen-C, Vitamin C, Vitamin B-Complex that is made up of a bazillion B vitamins to give energy, fish oil capsules (a friend of a friend of a friend at my mother's church recommended those, and I don't know what they do, but it was on Mom's list so I bought it) and three unopened boxes of Superduper Soft Kleenex tissues, which are nice to see because my runny nose has been irritated by store brand scratchy Kleenex.
It's as though my past self knew the Phlegm Monster would be coming back and made a time capsule just for me. Also, my past self bought a kit to clean the wax out of my ears, including a thing that looks like one of those snot sucker balls you use on babies. I had been thinking my ears were feeling a little cloggy and needed a deep cleaning. How did 'Past Me' know? That chick rocked!
To throw in some irony, drugs have an expiration date, and most of these drugs expire October of 2007.
When I'm sick I have a habit of buying every cold medicine known to man. I throw everything at it, in hopes something will get the nasty monster. I have a big, blue Rubbermaid tub that has gone with me from Arizona, to Northern California, to Oregon, back to Arizona, back to Oregon, and back to Arizona again—full of OTC meds, old hair clips I might use again, stuff I don't throw away until I'm sure I'll never ever use it again, etc. I've been fortunate enough to have a year or two of good luck, so I haven't needed anything from the blue tub, and frankly, I forgot what was in there.
So, last week I develop, once again, what I like to call Phlegm Monster. I have stuff in my lungs, I cough like a freak, I choke up—well I'll spare you the rest, but—ewwww. So, I'm also on the broke side, as the new job isn't yet paying me the happy overtime I like to earn to allow me to do things, like, afford to be sick. I have to be at work because I'm in training, and if I miss training I'll be so behind I'll never catch up. Also, being the new kid who never shows up isn't the way to begin a business relationship.
So, I open the blue tub, and it's like opening the Arc of the Covenant. Apparently during the last fight with the Phlegm Monster (I remember my mom was still alive because attached to the stuff I bought is a sticky note from my mother listing all the stuff I should buy. I miss my Mom. She totally got the evil genius of my 'stocking up' dorkiness.) I bought the enormous Costco size Mucinex DM (Two bottles of 140 pills each. Wow!), Tylenol Cold and Flu, Tylenol Allergy Sinus, Dayquil, Nyquil, Airborne, Wallgreens knockoff of Airborne, Emergen-C, Vitamin C, Vitamin B-Complex that is made up of a bazillion B vitamins to give energy, fish oil capsules (a friend of a friend of a friend at my mother's church recommended those, and I don't know what they do, but it was on Mom's list so I bought it) and three unopened boxes of Superduper Soft Kleenex tissues, which are nice to see because my runny nose has been irritated by store brand scratchy Kleenex.
It's as though my past self knew the Phlegm Monster would be coming back and made a time capsule just for me. Also, my past self bought a kit to clean the wax out of my ears, including a thing that looks like one of those snot sucker balls you use on babies. I had been thinking my ears were feeling a little cloggy and needed a deep cleaning. How did 'Past Me' know? That chick rocked!
To throw in some irony, drugs have an expiration date, and most of these drugs expire October of 2007.
Not cool enough to be a nerd...but close...
Welcome to the level dork I am, behold my dorkiness. I was playing on my computer yesterday when my wireless keyboard died. I love my wireless keyboard, it loves me, and we've been very happy together. I try everything I can to revive it, but it just won't type anything, so I go looking for my wired keyboard.
When I had the whole 'Find a new job or starve-palooza' I stayed with my sister and was able to access my email and horoscopes online, but I noticed her spacebar stuck. It drove me insane, so I gave her my one wired keyboard (which is probably in the stacks, and stacks of junk in her house and not being put to use, because the spacebar never bothered Mary so that it bothered me wouldn't matter to her) so I can't use my wired keyboard. I can't run out and spend $80 on a new wireless keyboard and mouse, as they come in a set, so I'm stuck, staring at my lovely monitor, which won't do anything without, you know, input.
I'm about to have a nerd meltdown when I start looking at all the boxes full of stuff that inhabit my dining room area (you Know I can't unpack because the moment I get comfortable I'll have to move for some reason, it's the law) and I see a Logitech keyboard box. I assumed it was for my current wireless keyboard/mouse set, and maybe it'll have the manual in it that will explain the keyboard meltdown and how to fix it. I look on the box and it's an entirely different looking keyboard and mouse set. Er?
Then I remember two years ago when I bought my fabulous wireless keyboard and mouse set, I couldn't make them work, so I called Logitech and complained, and they sent another unit to me, so I tossed the original set per their instructions, and the new set (the one that just had the meltdown) didn't work, so they sent me another set. One day I was playing around with the second set, realizing it was OE that was conflicting with the set (Operator Error), and they worked just fine. So, when the third set came in the mail I tossed it aside and went on happily using the second set.
So, in short, the second set died on me and being the level dork I am, I just happen to have a brand new wireless keyboard and mouse that work brilliantly.
Also, the first and second sets had the annoying charger that sometimes charged the mouse well, and sometimes didn't, but this set all runs on AA batteries, and according to the instructions, the batteries last for months and months and months, so this set is better than both prior sets. Muahahahaaaaa!
When I had the whole 'Find a new job or starve-palooza' I stayed with my sister and was able to access my email and horoscopes online, but I noticed her spacebar stuck. It drove me insane, so I gave her my one wired keyboard (which is probably in the stacks, and stacks of junk in her house and not being put to use, because the spacebar never bothered Mary so that it bothered me wouldn't matter to her) so I can't use my wired keyboard. I can't run out and spend $80 on a new wireless keyboard and mouse, as they come in a set, so I'm stuck, staring at my lovely monitor, which won't do anything without, you know, input.
I'm about to have a nerd meltdown when I start looking at all the boxes full of stuff that inhabit my dining room area (you Know I can't unpack because the moment I get comfortable I'll have to move for some reason, it's the law) and I see a Logitech keyboard box. I assumed it was for my current wireless keyboard/mouse set, and maybe it'll have the manual in it that will explain the keyboard meltdown and how to fix it. I look on the box and it's an entirely different looking keyboard and mouse set. Er?
Then I remember two years ago when I bought my fabulous wireless keyboard and mouse set, I couldn't make them work, so I called Logitech and complained, and they sent another unit to me, so I tossed the original set per their instructions, and the new set (the one that just had the meltdown) didn't work, so they sent me another set. One day I was playing around with the second set, realizing it was OE that was conflicting with the set (Operator Error), and they worked just fine. So, when the third set came in the mail I tossed it aside and went on happily using the second set.
So, in short, the second set died on me and being the level dork I am, I just happen to have a brand new wireless keyboard and mouse that work brilliantly.
Also, the first and second sets had the annoying charger that sometimes charged the mouse well, and sometimes didn't, but this set all runs on AA batteries, and according to the instructions, the batteries last for months and months and months, so this set is better than both prior sets. Muahahahaaaaa!
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Why is the cart following that horse?
I've started working for Charles Schwab and I've begun with training, as I would with all other companies. I've been in training with employees 'fresh from the world', pulled into an avalanche of information with the purpose of bringing new people into the fight. The first three weeks of training is on the computer systems, of which they seem to have 8 or 9 that an employee must use in tandem to handle the plethora of questions that an employee must field. The thing is, as I and a one other lady are fresh from the world, the other 30 people in our training class are in different stages of their training, pooled into this class to learn the systems. There are Schwab bank associates, newbies who've already been in training for a couple months, paid solely to pass their Series 7 exam and now that they've passed, they need to know the computer systems. Already they have knowledge of the industry and when they ask questions of the instructor, they throw out terms I've never heard before. Put, Call, Lot, short sell—er? So, I have no idea. On top of having no idea what they're talking about, the curiosity has been killing me. It isn't that knowing now will make me a better employee, as they're going to put me through a similar training as my jealous-making coworkers have had. I'll know it all eventually, but I have a vengeful need to know that nags at me. The nagging makes me note the terms and concepts I don't understand and look them up on the internet when I should be enjoying my three day weekend.
I'm endlessly fascinated by the new job because it's a company built around investments, and all importantly, money. I've never had money, real money, so I'm riveted when people buy commodities and gamble on a huge scale to make more money. I think of all the times I've contributed money into a 401(k) knowing that it's something about investing and supposed to give me money for my retirement, but who really knows what else goes on? I mean, I helped proofread the booklets that they send out detailing the performance of the mutual fund, big numbers going up, and sometimes down, but I didn't think to find out what the numbers meant. A mutual fund is a bunch of people risking their retirement money, banking on the past performance of the stocks and the smarts of the fund manager or managing company. It's, I'm finding, all about trust. As much as its dollars and cents, or dollars and sense, it is also trusting that the companies you've invested in will continually improve.
When the whole Enron thing happened I had no idea what happened, why it happened, and all I knew was that the upper management were lying liars when it came to the company profits. Their lying effected the employees who had their personal retirement riding on the success of the company, ruining the retirement of, at least, all the older employees who had decades of investment in the company that took a dive through the floor. I watched an interview on NBC with two employees, an older lady in her late fifties who had been with the company for over 20 years, and the other was a fresh-faced business school grad who had taken a position with Enron a year before. For the younger woman it was just about finding a new job with Enron on her resume, but for the older woman it was her life savings that she'd invested into the company she'd trusted blindly from the minute she was hired. I didn't know anything about investments, buying company stock, retirement funds and all that, but I knew poor. I knew the loss of this woman's savings and when she looked about ready to cry, I was ready to cry with her. Well, now I'm learning the structure of the deal, how it was all lost, and my contempt for lying liars is developing a whole new layer, the nuts and bolts of the stock market.
Granted, I'm five days on the job and I know enough to know I don't know anything yet, but I can see subject matter that will keep me interested for a good, long time. Of course, that's dependant on passing systems class. Hopefully after the systems class, the other lady and I will be tossed in with other people who aren't light years ahead of us in the stock market learning curve. But then, I might not be as jolted into studying the subject matter if I weren't already feeling so far behind. I feel like I'm learning to walk while everyone is taking flying lessons, but I'm loving every minute of it.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
A Mixed Bag of Employment Joy and Angst
Is it possible for my employment cup to runneth over? At first my only prospect was to work with my sister, Mary, at Kaplan University. Regardless of the name of the establishment, or that they're to educate people, the job itself is selling people on going back to college by completing their studies online. That's nice, convenient, but really expensive and I would be calling people who filled out an online blurb that they were thinking of going back to school. It's all sales. Now, if you know me, you know I equate sales to manipulation. If you've heard me describe Mary, you know manipulation is her defining characteristic.
Mary can get you to do stuff you never, ever thought you would do, ever in your lifetime. She works slow, like Novocain, and you don't even know how you got from telling her you weren't serious about going back to school, really, to committing to spend $60,000 over the next three years and reallocate 20 hours a week from your home and family to get the job done. Now, granted, every day I meet people who wish they could go back to school but they don't have the time to go to their community college to sit in classes with 18 year old kids still on the right path. There is a need for what she sells, but it's the driving force she comes up with to make a procrastinator take the plunge that is truly amazing.
Or, in other areas of her life, one day I'm thinking how relaxing my weekend is going to be, two full days off, no work, and somehow I find myself putting together moving boxes and helping her pack up her house to move. How did I get there? When did I make the decision to give up my hard-earned days off to do Mary's bidding? I have no idea, but I'm here, so I may as well work. (Me, I'm straight forward. 'Could you do this for me? Please? No? Okay, I'll get it done somehow.')
So, Kaplan University is totally the job for Mary. I started training last Monday and I've begun to understand the nature of manipulation. In the last week I've learned how a salesperson (and my sister) can use your weaknesses, strengths, problems, issues, fears and attitudes against you to get you to make such a massive financial commitment. I mean, wow. After a week of training I wasn't at all ready to talk someone into anything, and more than ready to run out of the building like it was on fire.
Fortunately, last Tuesday I had a call from Charles Schwab offering me a job. I would be working customer service (They call it something else but it's answering the phone, acknowledging the customer has ever right to be furious, and solving the problem. It's the same no matter what you name it.) and it starts out a few thousand dollars a year more than American Express. American Express I started at $27k, Schwab starts at $30k, I'll get a 10% differential for working 2nd shift, and if I do really well in training I'll make another 10% differential for being an excellent new employee, and all this is before I meet my very best friend, overtime. I love overtime because it's extra fabulous money that lets me take vacations and go clothes shopping with reckless abandon without the guilt of putting off a bill or overturning my budget. Anyway, before we even get to OT, I'm making $9k more than I was at Amex before OT, and that makes me happy in every possible way.
When I received the call from Charles Schwab I nearly passed out with pleasure. After the stress of the past couple months, to know I had a great job for a great company ready to hire me was nirvana itself. I say this because my interview (a few weeks ago) for Schwab was incredible. I interviewed with two managers, nice guys but obviously smarty, astute people, not pompous as I thought they might be. There are only a few handfuls of job interviews where I remember developing such a rapport with the interviewers, where I not only gave the right answers but I took them so far off the interview path the '15 or 20 minutes' they granted me in the beginning turned into '45 to 75 minutes'. These were call center guys, nuts and bolts, and I gave them all I had done at American Express, the structure of my day, the calls I'd handled, the requirements—we went nuts geeking out on how Schwab different from Amex, the different methodologies, and when I left the building I knew I had them. I didn't convince them I was something I wasn't, it was the rare job interview when I felt I was hugely qualified for the job, that I wished I didn't have to leave the parking lot. Did they mind if I camped on their front stoop until they broke down and gave me the job?
I had gotten into my car and was half way down the block when I received a call from the HR lady from Schwab telling me that those two managers, who would normally just shoot her an email with the 'yay or nay', actually walked right over to her office and told her I was employee possibility greatness. They said I already knew not only my job but their jobs too (as far as their requirements for supervising their employees, talk time, and even the kinds of escalation calls they took every day—like I said, we geeked out) and she needed to call me right away before another company snapped me up! *happy dance*
Of course, before we can commence with turning my car right around to bleed Schwab gold, they had to check into my background, including a credit check. Now, my resume can stand to any kind of scrutiny, my references are genuine, but I haven't always been great with my credit and so there the sweating began. Two whole weeks pass by, no call, so I start Kaplan. Schwab said if I were to be hired I would start the 27th of August, or if the back ground check wasn't done in time for that class, I would have to start in late September, so to make money while I was waiting was far better to, you know, not starve, welcome to Kaplan University!
I started Kaplan, the next day the HR person called, I was cleared for take-off, great. The thing is, everyone knows my sister at Kaplan. They love her. They love that she recommended me, I baked cookies so they love me, I'm one of the superstars of the class (Frankly, as someone who despises sales, I can absorb tons of useless information like a sponge, and in training that's all that required of me. On that basis, I'm trainee greatness thus far.) even though I haven't actually sold anyone on anything yet. We took a test, I received 100%, and my trainer mentioned it to my sister right away, so everyone's excited. Also, once I realized I'd never actually have to talk anyone into leveraging their financial future (Now, don't get me wrong, people have college loans they pay off for years, even decades, but usually when you take out the loans you're in your late teens, early twenties and you have 50-80 more years of your life to pay them off. A 56 year old grandmother of 9 who just paid off her house and is looking at retirement, who was possibly looking into taking a few online classes to make life a little more interesting, talk that woman into a $30k--$50k investment. That makes me a little ill, actually.) I don't care, really, what they have to teach me. I'm still playing full out, I'm still participating in the class, answering questions, and even taking notes because I'm learning some of the tactics my sister uses to get me to do things I don't want to do. My sister had the manipulative chops before, don't get me wrong, she has four and a half decades going strong of getting people to do what they don't want to do, but now she's come up to evil genius grade quality, and these people provided her with that level of game. I'm fascinated, but frankly, it's exhausting to pack in information I'll never want to use, learn the history and accreditation of a school I'll never work for, and as I'm getting to know people, I like them and I feel like a rat fink.
Now, granted, I've had many jobs where I started them thinking 'This is something I'm using because I need it, this isn't going to be my career.' without a single thought to how that made my co-workers or trainers feel. If my sister didn't work there (I told Mary I was jumping ship about five minutes after I got the call from Schwab, and even before that I told her it was a possibility that by some miracle I might get the Schwab job and have to bail on Kaplan, so at least there I'm all good. I will be able to spend Thanksgiving with my family after all.) But now I care, and they care about me genuinely because they like and respect my sister, who put her reputation on the line to recommend me. So, it boils down to a mixed bag of emotions. I'm so thrilled to be starting Schwab tomorrow I've put dents in the ceiling of my apartment with all the jumping up and down. I'm so sorry I have to jump the Kaplan ship I feel like I've acted like a complete jerk, I feel like I used them and I hate users. I resigned Kaplan by leaving a voicemail on the HR lady's office line, on Sunday when there was absolutely no way she would be there to argue with me or try to sell me on staying. Since Tuesday I've felt like a lying liar, and for anyone who knows me, I tell the truth whether it's in my best interest or not.
Of course, before we can commence with turning my car right around to bleed Schwab gold, they had to check into my background, including a credit check. Now, my resume can stand to any kind of scrutiny, my references are genuine, but I haven't always been great with my credit and so there the sweating began. Two whole weeks pass by, no call, so I start Kaplan. Schwab said if I were to be hired I would start the 27th of August, or if the back ground check wasn't done in time for that class, I would have to start in late September, so to make money while I was waiting was far better to, you know, not starve, welcome to Kaplan University!
I started Kaplan, the next day the HR person called, I was cleared for take-off, great. The thing is, everyone knows my sister at Kaplan. They love her. They love that she recommended me, I baked cookies so they love me, I'm one of the superstars of the class (Frankly, as someone who despises sales, I can absorb tons of useless information like a sponge, and in training that's all that required of me. On that basis, I'm trainee greatness thus far.) even though I haven't actually sold anyone on anything yet. We took a test, I received 100%, and my trainer mentioned it to my sister right away, so everyone's excited. Also, once I realized I'd never actually have to talk anyone into leveraging their financial future (Now, don't get me wrong, people have college loans they pay off for years, even decades, but usually when you take out the loans you're in your late teens, early twenties and you have 50-80 more years of your life to pay them off. A 56 year old grandmother of 9 who just paid off her house and is looking at retirement, who was possibly looking into taking a few online classes to make life a little more interesting, talk that woman into a $30k--$50k investment. That makes me a little ill, actually.) I don't care, really, what they have to teach me. I'm still playing full out, I'm still participating in the class, answering questions, and even taking notes because I'm learning some of the tactics my sister uses to get me to do things I don't want to do. My sister had the manipulative chops before, don't get me wrong, she has four and a half decades going strong of getting people to do what they don't want to do, but now she's come up to evil genius grade quality, and these people provided her with that level of game. I'm fascinated, but frankly, it's exhausting to pack in information I'll never want to use, learn the history and accreditation of a school I'll never work for, and as I'm getting to know people, I like them and I feel like a rat fink.
Now, granted, I've had many jobs where I started them thinking 'This is something I'm using because I need it, this isn't going to be my career.' without a single thought to how that made my co-workers or trainers feel. If my sister didn't work there (I told Mary I was jumping ship about five minutes after I got the call from Schwab, and even before that I told her it was a possibility that by some miracle I might get the Schwab job and have to bail on Kaplan, so at least there I'm all good. I will be able to spend Thanksgiving with my family after all.) But now I care, and they care about me genuinely because they like and respect my sister, who put her reputation on the line to recommend me. So, it boils down to a mixed bag of emotions. I'm so thrilled to be starting Schwab tomorrow I've put dents in the ceiling of my apartment with all the jumping up and down. I'm so sorry I have to jump the Kaplan ship I feel like I've acted like a complete jerk, I feel like I used them and I hate users. I resigned Kaplan by leaving a voicemail on the HR lady's office line, on Sunday when there was absolutely no way she would be there to argue with me or try to sell me on staying. Since Tuesday I've felt like a lying liar, and for anyone who knows me, I tell the truth whether it's in my best interest or not.
Sheesh.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Car repairs....grrrrrrrrrrrrr
I really should have a better attitude about getting my car fixed. It's not like this is new for my car, as every other day there seems to be a light warning me of danger or a new problem, it's just got crap timing. I mean, it gets me around town, most of the time. In this instance I began to notice my car smelled like gas and I was only getting about 230 miles to the tank instead of 330. Now, I am not the soul of immediate car maintenance, so I assumed if I got an oil change I would be fine, but on my way to get the much needed oil change, I noticed the $20 I put in my tank the other day got me about 38 miles. I mean, wow. I could get in the car and the gas needle would be where it was the day before, so it wasn’t leaking when it was parked, but the gas needle was making a sickening dive. I mean, gas is almost $3.00 a gallon and I’m averaging 6 miles to the gallon—bad news! Also, when I went to get it washed, the guy who was set to vacuum the inside started yelling in Spanish, and pointed to the puddle of gas beneath my car. I'm not a car professional but, well, a puddle of gas can't be good, eh?
So, I took it to the nearest car repair place where they wanted $99 just to look at the car and since it’s a VW, an additional $30 for being stupid enough to buy a foreign car. I then, after a short bit of hyperventilating, called my friend Roy. Roy might be more than my friend, maybe not, but I figured he’s male and he talks about his truck all the time, maybe he would know someone who could fix my car with a more ‘We can get the job done with duct tape and paper clips.’ approach than the ‘Why don’t we keep the body and replace everything underneath it?’ way the dealership likes to spend my money. He directed me to Jesse, who said he’d look at it today and give me the diagnosis. I asked him to not, if he could at all avoid it, make me cry like a baby. So, if you’ve ever sweated a car repair, please join me in the full body clench one might have if one were awaiting the impact of an atomic bomb.
Back to my attitude regarding car care. When it’s in the shop, as it is now, I miss it dearly because I’m either house bound or begging rides. Right now I’m bound in my sister’s house and dependant on her good graces to go where I need to go. It kills me. Since Jesse’s shop is on the east side of Phoenix and my house is far North, I thought it would be a good idea to have Jesse drop me at the pool hall (Where all good things happen, of course!) and my sister could pick me up later. It was sound in theory as I figured I’d give him the car, hang out with my sister, he’d have it done today (Tuesday, for those on the other side of the planet!) early enough for me to run some errands, and I would just stay the night at Mary’s house. That doesn’t seem to be the timeline we’re following today, and to have my car back splashing gas all over Phoenix doesn’t seem like such a bummer or potential health hazard. And, well, if my car were to catch on fire, that might be bad as well. I’ve heard bad things about flaming cars.
I told Mary I might need her car to run errands and she nodded, as Mary often does, but this morning she left the house without waking me up, which tells me she really didn’t want to loan out her car but there wasn’t a less passive aggressive way to get that across to me. So, I’m hanging out at her house, playing on her computer, waiting for Jesse to call me with the bad news. I could be getting stuff done, like buying interview clothes (All mine are either too large, or too small, none just right.) for my job interview tomorrow. So, while I hate the car and every car payment has to be ripped from my bank account like they’re trying to take my newborn infant, I realize I have a serious need for independent transportation. I hate being stuck. I'm trying to embrace the experience as a patience lesson...Pfft!
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