In the course of my daily commute, I sometimes need to traverse some close quarters. When it is freezing, the train platform waiting room; on my walks, makeshift sidewalk hallways thanks to construction sites; and of course the staircase up to the train platform. And each and every time I walk through, all I can think is "seriously guys, can't you just hold it till you get home?"
I'm not talking about forests here - I've been camping and I understand that if there is no bathroom for 6 miles sometimes you need to make do. Even us ladies have had to cop a squat in those situations. I am talking about smack dab in the middle of civilization. Where people walk every day.
It's a simple concept. Just because something has walls doesn't mean you should pee on it. And I know you know it's wrong because you only do it in the places where no one can see you. But the rest of us have to walk there.
My god - the stairs up to the train on a Monday morning. I understand that many of you arrived home after a night out on the town, blowing off the stresses of the work week. But I assume that you are heading to a car that will have you home shortly. Just wait till you get there!
And the construction sites. As soon as I spot one of those enclosed walkways I know what I'm in for. And I can't always avoid it. So I take a deep breath, plunge on in and move through as quickly as possible. I should not have to do this. A person should be able to walk free from the smell of pee.
I am assuming that if you are in a meeting at work that goes a little longer than you expected you manage. I am assuming you were successfully toilet trained as a child. There are not parades of men in and out of the theatre while the movie is on, so the majority of you know how to hold off for a couple of hours.
Do not try to blame it on the homeless. I've worked in the city too long and have had too many inadvertant spottings of non-homeless men taking care of business when they thought no one was around. Do not try to say that women do it too. I've worked in the city too long and have never, ever seen a single woman taking care of business when they thought no one was around. Do not try to blame it on dogs. They do it way out in the open where things can dissipate. They're not hovering behind a wall grabbing a furtive pee.
Learn from us women. We know how to hold it. Have you ever seen the line to the ladies room at a public venue? We get on line desperate, yet knowing we have a good 10 minutes before relief is in sight. And we manage.
You can too.
MY SNARKY SELF "Let me tell you what I think of that..."
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Father of the Year?
So a friend posted this article to her facebook page and I've been meaning to blog about it for a while. First have a read and then come on back: http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/sideshow/science-fair-cocaine-drug-sniffing-dog-141435818.html
Welcome back. Not surprisingly I have a host of problems with this. First of all, it only goes to show how low the bar is for Dads when the honor of Father of the Year is tossed about with regard to sending your daughter to school with cocaine. I don't care how "meticulously" you handle it. Damn, a Mom sends a kid to school with Tylenol and she gets a call that medicine can't be sent in without a doctor’s note.
And as for the school district spokesman, do you really need to specify in the science fair's rules that a substance that is illegal in the world is banned? Wouldn't that be a given? Or does that mean that someone could come in and cook up some crystal meth as their project as long as the rules don't say meth is banned?
But at the end of the day, as bad as the above are, I think my biggest problem with this is: why did she win first place? The article considers this "not surprising" – I consider it impossible to understand. Here is the last paragraph of the article directly quoted:
I also have a problem in that I'm not sure there is any science involved here at all. What is scientific about this? Sounds more like an animal behavior training project to me. With animals that were already trained. Which one can do it the fastest? That's just a race. Comes under sporting event to me.
In fact, to revisit my crystal meth comparison above, if successfully accomplished that to me would be a more appropriate (well, as appropriate as cocaine versus meth in school can be) science fair winning project. Illegal, immoral, whatever - if Breaking Bad has taught me anything, it is that cooking meth is all about the science!
Hey, I understand we are only talking about 10 year olds, but using every fact in this situation as a guideline, as long as that rule book doesn’t say “no meth allowed” if the kid had two meth-cooking parents and as long as the kid didn’t touch anything, she could do a science project as to whose meth came out purest. She would take first place, the Dad could be Father of the Year and the Mom would likely go to jail for endangering a child and bringing drugs to school without a doctor's note.
Welcome back. Not surprisingly I have a host of problems with this. First of all, it only goes to show how low the bar is for Dads when the honor of Father of the Year is tossed about with regard to sending your daughter to school with cocaine. I don't care how "meticulously" you handle it. Damn, a Mom sends a kid to school with Tylenol and she gets a call that medicine can't be sent in without a doctor’s note.
And as for the school district spokesman, do you really need to specify in the science fair's rules that a substance that is illegal in the world is banned? Wouldn't that be a given? Or does that mean that someone could come in and cook up some crystal meth as their project as long as the rules don't say meth is banned?
But at the end of the day, as bad as the above are, I think my biggest problem with this is: why did she win first place? The article considers this "not surprising" – I consider it impossible to understand. Here is the last paragraph of the article directly quoted:
“The student’s science project involved a very unusual set of circumstances, including having a parent who is a well-respected police detective with experience in training dogs that sniff for illegal substances," Schuster's statement read. "From our understanding, the parent was the only person involved in working directly with the dogs and the hidden substances, which took place at a police training facility."
She did nothing with regard to this project. Someone else trained the dogs, her Dad handled the coke (and again, how is it that I just made that statement about someone labeled a potential father of the year participating in a school sponsored science project?) and the dogs sniffed it out. Even if the cocaine didn't violate the science fair's rules, wouldn't someone other than the student doing the project violate it? You know how in first grade when they hand out projects, they say “please don’t do this for your child – we want to see first grade work.” I think we can all assume this is an early lesson being taught to carry through the years. Whether you send in an impressionist landscape you painted or a coke-sniffing dog you trained, you did the project not your kid. I also have a problem in that I'm not sure there is any science involved here at all. What is scientific about this? Sounds more like an animal behavior training project to me. With animals that were already trained. Which one can do it the fastest? That's just a race. Comes under sporting event to me.
In fact, to revisit my crystal meth comparison above, if successfully accomplished that to me would be a more appropriate (well, as appropriate as cocaine versus meth in school can be) science fair winning project. Illegal, immoral, whatever - if Breaking Bad has taught me anything, it is that cooking meth is all about the science!
Hey, I understand we are only talking about 10 year olds, but using every fact in this situation as a guideline, as long as that rule book doesn’t say “no meth allowed” if the kid had two meth-cooking parents and as long as the kid didn’t touch anything, she could do a science project as to whose meth came out purest. She would take first place, the Dad could be Father of the Year and the Mom would likely go to jail for endangering a child and bringing drugs to school without a doctor's note.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Finally, the house to myself...
Oh what a day was yesterday. It actually started the night before when the school called at 9:40 PM with the news that there would be a two hour opening delay (really? I know you don't want to make decisions rashly but you couldn't do this a few hours earlier?). Since roads in our town were pretty good, one has to assume it was because they were worried teachers from areas further east (which are a mess!) couldn't get in on time. Now, if your kid goes to school at the normal time then a two hour delay is a two hour delay. But, if you work in the city and your kid goes to the Y before school program, which per its policy is not open if school is on an opening delay, then instead of dropping her off at 7 (where she stays until school starts at 9:15) so you get to work by 8:45, you are dropping her off at 11:15 and if the sun and the moon and the stars align, you *might* make a train that will get you to work at 1:00. Yeah, okay. Time to email the office and tell them you'll be working from home. This is good news/bad news. Your boss will probably be upset as it is your busiest time of year, but in all honesty you get more done at home so you are kind of okay with this.
Of course, being an idiot you stay up watching the Grammy's because now that you are working from home, you don't have to rush out and can sleep a little later. But then Big Guy wakes you at 6 to find out what time you want to get up (!) and since you are all sleeping in the same room the kids wake up too and there goes that plan. Well, at least now he can take in Mini-me the Younger since she is up and you only need to bring in the Elder, the one with the delay.
You work feverishly for several hours (knowing this is prime working time and once you stop there is like a two hour period of re-starting your engine) until you need to take Mini-me the Elder to school. You hit the bathroom one more time before leaving (it has been raining on and off all morning and you've had about 6 cups of coffee) and of course it stops up. You are living with two large men and are pretty sure you are not doing anything to bother the toilet but nevertheless it decides to do this on your watch. Your sister owns a tiny little plunger that could not clear a Barbie toilet so you resolve to stop by your own house, in which you don't live, but where there is a normal sized plunger. Out the apartment you go, to your Mother's car which you have been using while she is in Massachusetts. You use it every day except yesterday when you actually got to drive the new car and Big Guy used Mom's car. You turn it on and "ding ding ding" the gas tank is on "E." Really Big Guy? Four months I've been using this car - you use it once and I get it back empty. Fine, you'll be passing a gas station on the way to the house to get the plunger and can fill 'er up.
Ironically, although you later hear that drop-off was a nightmare, you hit no snags whatsoever. This is probably because en route to school, Mini-me decides she doesn't want you to drop and go, but to park and walk her because you "never bring her to school and she wants to walk with you." Fine, no problem. Of course, right after you park it really starts pouring so you slosh your way to school with the two of you huddled under the umbrella which does nothing since it is also windy. Big guy texts you that you are lucky you did not go to work as it is awful out there. Really now? But she is happy and you will find out later the drop and go lane was awful so perhaps you are soaking wet but you have not had to curse out any other drivers (but you don't know that at the time so you just kind of curse everything - but under your breath so she doesn't hear you).
You stop for gas but have to go around the block because the entrance you went to is blocked by a giant truck. You get the gas and head to the house. When you get there, you receive a text from a fellow Mom and friend who is running a dance at the school that your form which you sent in a week ago has still not made it to her. You addressed it to her daughter but according to your daughter, the teacher said it actually had to go to the PTA, not home with her daughter and now it is nowhere. This isn't the end of the world = but seriously, what's more annoying than spending time resolving something that was already crossed off the to-do list and that should have made a straight line from A (you) to B (the other Mom) but was sidetracked to bureaucratic red tape never to be seen again.
While at the house you remember that you keep meaning to get more underwear because you seem to have barely any at the apartment (TMI?) and are washing like the same three pairs over and over (to go with the same three outfits you wear over and over - bin living is not pretty). However you cannot find any real underwear, just some granny panties that you are pretty sure you bought during the second pregnancy when you were the size of a house. You suspect that there is a load of wash still in the house dryer (which is now blocked by every item that used to be in your kitchen cabinets) and that all of your underwear is there. Well, at least you have the granny panties. You cannot find a bag anywhere to put them into, so stuff them into your jacket pocket and grab the plunger. You fervently hope that you do not get into a car accident during the short trip back to the apartment because you will be found with granny panties stuffed in your jacket pocket and a toilet plunger. This is not how you would like to be remembered (but would understand, appreciate and applaud the jokes that would be made).
You finally make it back to the apartment, successfully plunge the toilet now that you have a real plunger, put away the granny panties, and sit down to your laptop to frantically work for another few hours before you have to pick up the kids (since we all know that when you work from home you automatically have to do that, and dinner and anything else that needs to be done because you are home and the “work” part is irrelevant).
But something doesn’t seem right and it takes a moment for you to realize that you are all alone in the apartment. There is no one else there (well, the dog but it is sleeping). Well played universe. All that time wishing to have the apartment to myself and you give it to me when I have to work. Fine, I’ll take it. Even if I have to plunge the toilet to get it.
Of course, being an idiot you stay up watching the Grammy's because now that you are working from home, you don't have to rush out and can sleep a little later. But then Big Guy wakes you at 6 to find out what time you want to get up (!) and since you are all sleeping in the same room the kids wake up too and there goes that plan. Well, at least now he can take in Mini-me the Younger since she is up and you only need to bring in the Elder, the one with the delay.
You work feverishly for several hours (knowing this is prime working time and once you stop there is like a two hour period of re-starting your engine) until you need to take Mini-me the Elder to school. You hit the bathroom one more time before leaving (it has been raining on and off all morning and you've had about 6 cups of coffee) and of course it stops up. You are living with two large men and are pretty sure you are not doing anything to bother the toilet but nevertheless it decides to do this on your watch. Your sister owns a tiny little plunger that could not clear a Barbie toilet so you resolve to stop by your own house, in which you don't live, but where there is a normal sized plunger. Out the apartment you go, to your Mother's car which you have been using while she is in Massachusetts. You use it every day except yesterday when you actually got to drive the new car and Big Guy used Mom's car. You turn it on and "ding ding ding" the gas tank is on "E." Really Big Guy? Four months I've been using this car - you use it once and I get it back empty. Fine, you'll be passing a gas station on the way to the house to get the plunger and can fill 'er up.
Ironically, although you later hear that drop-off was a nightmare, you hit no snags whatsoever. This is probably because en route to school, Mini-me decides she doesn't want you to drop and go, but to park and walk her because you "never bring her to school and she wants to walk with you." Fine, no problem. Of course, right after you park it really starts pouring so you slosh your way to school with the two of you huddled under the umbrella which does nothing since it is also windy. Big guy texts you that you are lucky you did not go to work as it is awful out there. Really now? But she is happy and you will find out later the drop and go lane was awful so perhaps you are soaking wet but you have not had to curse out any other drivers (but you don't know that at the time so you just kind of curse everything - but under your breath so she doesn't hear you).
You stop for gas but have to go around the block because the entrance you went to is blocked by a giant truck. You get the gas and head to the house. When you get there, you receive a text from a fellow Mom and friend who is running a dance at the school that your form which you sent in a week ago has still not made it to her. You addressed it to her daughter but according to your daughter, the teacher said it actually had to go to the PTA, not home with her daughter and now it is nowhere. This isn't the end of the world = but seriously, what's more annoying than spending time resolving something that was already crossed off the to-do list and that should have made a straight line from A (you) to B (the other Mom) but was sidetracked to bureaucratic red tape never to be seen again.
While at the house you remember that you keep meaning to get more underwear because you seem to have barely any at the apartment (TMI?) and are washing like the same three pairs over and over (to go with the same three outfits you wear over and over - bin living is not pretty). However you cannot find any real underwear, just some granny panties that you are pretty sure you bought during the second pregnancy when you were the size of a house. You suspect that there is a load of wash still in the house dryer (which is now blocked by every item that used to be in your kitchen cabinets) and that all of your underwear is there. Well, at least you have the granny panties. You cannot find a bag anywhere to put them into, so stuff them into your jacket pocket and grab the plunger. You fervently hope that you do not get into a car accident during the short trip back to the apartment because you will be found with granny panties stuffed in your jacket pocket and a toilet plunger. This is not how you would like to be remembered (but would understand, appreciate and applaud the jokes that would be made).
You finally make it back to the apartment, successfully plunge the toilet now that you have a real plunger, put away the granny panties, and sit down to your laptop to frantically work for another few hours before you have to pick up the kids (since we all know that when you work from home you automatically have to do that, and dinner and anything else that needs to be done because you are home and the “work” part is irrelevant).
But something doesn’t seem right and it takes a moment for you to realize that you are all alone in the apartment. There is no one else there (well, the dog but it is sleeping). Well played universe. All that time wishing to have the apartment to myself and you give it to me when I have to work. Fine, I’ll take it. Even if I have to plunge the toilet to get it.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
I'm not impressed with a glowing dress...
So once the Walking Dead finished I switched over to the Grammy's. Ironically most nights I don't watch anything and tonight there were two things I wanted to see. Of course the Dead won since last season left me hanging and I needed to know what happened next, while I was only looking to catch a few performances on the Grammy's (don't care much about the awards with what they award these days but they still get some good live performances ). I got a few seconds of the Black Keys (will google around tomorrow to try to get the whole thing), Bruno Mars and Jack White so that was all good.
Meanwhile, the teasers for still to come performances kept promising me that Carrie Underwood was going to stun the audience with something they'd never seen before. I was a little surprised that they could say this about a live performance that hadn't yet happened and also doubtful that I would enjoy it (still scarred by a Nicki Minaj atrocity that also promised the never before seen and quite frankly should have stayed that way). But I'm a music gal so I stayed tuned hoping for the best and then there was Carrie.
I'll admit my first thought was that I did not like her dress (I know, catty but there you are). It was just so big and white. Was she getting married onstage? Little did I know it was like that because it was in fact a giant screen (I knew it was an awful dress!). Giant light figures and drawings started to flash across her dress. Yes, the thing I had never seen before in a musical performance was literally that - something to be seen.
I was not impressed to say the least. As I said I'm a music gal - why do I want to see pictures on a dress while someone is singing? And why is it Carrie that should be given the credit for impressing me? If I were impressed (which I wasn't) it would be with the light guys. The only thing she did was not move so they didn't miss her with the giant peacock and roses and other crap they drew on her. It was like a grown-up version of lite-brite on a dress. But I'm watching a music show! If I want to see poor drawings in lights I'll - well I'll play lite-brite with my kids.
I would say it was the most awful thing of the night - but then Frank Ocean (don't know his music but like Rihanna Chris Brown beat him up) sang at a glass podium about running while a background made it look like - wait for it - his lower half was running.
Music people - the Grammy's are supposed to be about music. Not pictures on dresses and fake running.
Meanwhile, the teasers for still to come performances kept promising me that Carrie Underwood was going to stun the audience with something they'd never seen before. I was a little surprised that they could say this about a live performance that hadn't yet happened and also doubtful that I would enjoy it (still scarred by a Nicki Minaj atrocity that also promised the never before seen and quite frankly should have stayed that way). But I'm a music gal so I stayed tuned hoping for the best and then there was Carrie.
I'll admit my first thought was that I did not like her dress (I know, catty but there you are). It was just so big and white. Was she getting married onstage? Little did I know it was like that because it was in fact a giant screen (I knew it was an awful dress!). Giant light figures and drawings started to flash across her dress. Yes, the thing I had never seen before in a musical performance was literally that - something to be seen.
I was not impressed to say the least. As I said I'm a music gal - why do I want to see pictures on a dress while someone is singing? And why is it Carrie that should be given the credit for impressing me? If I were impressed (which I wasn't) it would be with the light guys. The only thing she did was not move so they didn't miss her with the giant peacock and roses and other crap they drew on her. It was like a grown-up version of lite-brite on a dress. But I'm watching a music show! If I want to see poor drawings in lights I'll - well I'll play lite-brite with my kids.
I would say it was the most awful thing of the night - but then Frank Ocean (don't know his music but like Rihanna Chris Brown beat him up) sang at a glass podium about running while a background made it look like - wait for it - his lower half was running.
Music people - the Grammy's are supposed to be about music. Not pictures on dresses and fake running.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
This hill is for sledding, dammit!
So you have probably heard that the east coast got some snow this weekend. Here on the South Shore of Long Island we got about a foot, give or take. I have already had a kind person inquire as to whether my dark cloud reared its ugly head (thank you!), but I have to say it's all good. I worked from home yesterday (there is no way I'm travelling on the LIRR if there is the possibility of even a single snowflake), the mini-me’s schools closed early but I was here so didn’t have to scramble to find someone to get them, and even though it was Mini-me the Elder's BD yesterday it was an easy switch to bring dinner in instead of going out (she is obsessed with KFC and we rarely let her get it so I think she was happier!) and her mini-party for today was easily moved to tomorrow since we went small this year as we are semi-homeless and all three girls could make the switch (if it had been past years' 15 girl party-paloozas in the house that would have been a different story – finally a benefit to not being in the house!). So nary a sign of the dark cloud. Hurray!
We went sledding at a local park, at which I have sledded when it snows since I was little. Oh the memories. This was considered the safe place to sled - there was another park with bigger hills but tons of trees and rumor had it that the kids who went there populated the emergency rooms around town (my parents did tend to err on the safe side – but the park we went to was closer so that had a lot to do with it as well- my Father believed closer always trumped better). A good friend's family had an actual wood toboggan which really flew down the hill (and I hadn't yet read Ethan Frome so I wasn't scared of crashing, plus if you recall from a sentence ago we weren't at the tree-filled park of death). And, in my favorite story, my older sister, (who was there to help watch us) broke her ankle. Ironically, not sledding, just walking to go help out another kid; and no, not one of us that she was supposed to be watching (she’s really very kind – this is whose apartment we are in right now). We of course kept sledding as she sat there by herself on a sleigh, waiting for my Mother to get the car (hey, it was bad enough we had to leave early, we weren’t stopping to keep the klutz company). And, in a stupendously thoughtless act, our neighbors’ kid who came with us asked her to get up so he could switch sleighs since she was on the “good” one. Which she did. I would have given him a few choice words. Again, she is the kind one.
And I still love to sled. Like ice skating, it is a cold weather activity I can bear, and I want my kids to enjoy it as well (the elder has gone before - this was the younger's first time but she is fearless so we knew it would be fine). Now granted it was a bit chaotic - it was really, really crowded and the cops closed off the park to cars since everything was full. I was ready to turn around (I am tenacious on some things – you know like getting my way - but give up in about two seconds on others) but Big Guy (who I might add did not grow up here) knew a back entrance to the park. I did not ask how he knew it and am not sure I want to know. So off we went. We even met up with a friend of Mini-Me the Elder’s so that was nice as well. But you know something irked me...I wouldn't be my own snarky self otherwise.
There were people snowboarding! These are tiny little hills for sledding and perhaps some tubing. But snowboarding? First of all, snowboarding is hard and most people under any circumstances can't do it - when you are at the local park (read “free”) that percentage goes up to about 99% - I guess they figured what the heck, let me borrow a board and give it a try. You cheap bastards – go to a real mountain and take a lesson. When you fall off a sled, you fall and the sled keeps going on the ground, relatively harmless (especially the plastic ones). When you are on a snowboard, if you go down, it tends to go up, flying through the air, reinvented as a deadly projectile (and my parents thought trees were bad). Then there are the 1% (relax, it’s just the remaining percentage of the people, I’m not getting political here) who can actually snowboard. It is killing them that they are not somewhere on a real mountain, but they can’t pass up fresh powder and they go full speed for about 10 seconds down the hill. Does this really work for them? I mean, I love to read but the side of the cereal box does nothing for me. Meanwhile, I have a four year old who doesn’t know better and is oblivious to her surroundings (and a nine year old who should know better but is also oblivious) just waddling into their path.
And, I also have to give a minor snark-out to the people who got their kids pseudo-snowmobiles instead of sleds. If you are having trouble picturing this, it is basically a bike with skis instead of wheels. And they are sending their kid (they all looked to be between the ages of 5-9) down an icy hill filled with other kids on it. Yes, they have handlebars for steering. No, it did not look like a single kid knew how to properly steer it.
We went sledding at a local park, at which I have sledded when it snows since I was little. Oh the memories. This was considered the safe place to sled - there was another park with bigger hills but tons of trees and rumor had it that the kids who went there populated the emergency rooms around town (my parents did tend to err on the safe side – but the park we went to was closer so that had a lot to do with it as well- my Father believed closer always trumped better). A good friend's family had an actual wood toboggan which really flew down the hill (and I hadn't yet read Ethan Frome so I wasn't scared of crashing, plus if you recall from a sentence ago we weren't at the tree-filled park of death). And, in my favorite story, my older sister, (who was there to help watch us) broke her ankle. Ironically, not sledding, just walking to go help out another kid; and no, not one of us that she was supposed to be watching (she’s really very kind – this is whose apartment we are in right now). We of course kept sledding as she sat there by herself on a sleigh, waiting for my Mother to get the car (hey, it was bad enough we had to leave early, we weren’t stopping to keep the klutz company). And, in a stupendously thoughtless act, our neighbors’ kid who came with us asked her to get up so he could switch sleighs since she was on the “good” one. Which she did. I would have given him a few choice words. Again, she is the kind one.
And I still love to sled. Like ice skating, it is a cold weather activity I can bear, and I want my kids to enjoy it as well (the elder has gone before - this was the younger's first time but she is fearless so we knew it would be fine). Now granted it was a bit chaotic - it was really, really crowded and the cops closed off the park to cars since everything was full. I was ready to turn around (I am tenacious on some things – you know like getting my way - but give up in about two seconds on others) but Big Guy (who I might add did not grow up here) knew a back entrance to the park. I did not ask how he knew it and am not sure I want to know. So off we went. We even met up with a friend of Mini-Me the Elder’s so that was nice as well. But you know something irked me...I wouldn't be my own snarky self otherwise.
There were people snowboarding! These are tiny little hills for sledding and perhaps some tubing. But snowboarding? First of all, snowboarding is hard and most people under any circumstances can't do it - when you are at the local park (read “free”) that percentage goes up to about 99% - I guess they figured what the heck, let me borrow a board and give it a try. You cheap bastards – go to a real mountain and take a lesson. When you fall off a sled, you fall and the sled keeps going on the ground, relatively harmless (especially the plastic ones). When you are on a snowboard, if you go down, it tends to go up, flying through the air, reinvented as a deadly projectile (and my parents thought trees were bad). Then there are the 1% (relax, it’s just the remaining percentage of the people, I’m not getting political here) who can actually snowboard. It is killing them that they are not somewhere on a real mountain, but they can’t pass up fresh powder and they go full speed for about 10 seconds down the hill. Does this really work for them? I mean, I love to read but the side of the cereal box does nothing for me. Meanwhile, I have a four year old who doesn’t know better and is oblivious to her surroundings (and a nine year old who should know better but is also oblivious) just waddling into their path.
And, I also have to give a minor snark-out to the people who got their kids pseudo-snowmobiles instead of sleds. If you are having trouble picturing this, it is basically a bike with skis instead of wheels. And they are sending their kid (they all looked to be between the ages of 5-9) down an icy hill filled with other kids on it. Yes, they have handlebars for steering. No, it did not look like a single kid knew how to properly steer it.
These hills are for sledding dammit! If you can’t do that one thing, stay away.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
But Customers *are* the Worst...
“I literally hate customers more than anything in the entire world. I hate them so much. They're terrible. It's all about them all the time and they demand everything."
“Children and old people are literally the worst I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”
“Children and old people are literally the worst I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”
-- Ronnie, former Boston Market Employee
So I was reading the Daily News today and happened upon an article about a Boston Market employee in Georgia who was fired when a higher upper at the company went undercover as part of some reality show (ugh, another one?), pretended to be an employee in training and then fired him when he uttered the above (and apparently then some) about customers while training her. Apparently, she simply could not bear his attitude because (obviously) customers are the reason for the existence of the company and why he gets paid and also because as a representative of the brand, something like this type of behavior would not happen on her watch (higher upper’s words, not mine). Sure, I see her point of view. But, just between us chickens? Come on, Ronnie’s right. Customers *are* the worst.
Look, I know businesses want to keep customers and earn money. But, the “customer is always right” mentality has created a league of monsters that the underpaid underlings behind the counter have to make happy while still staying within the boundaries set by their bosses to insure the place makes money. There are a million ways in which this is near to impossible and, just like poor Ronnie insisted, it’s best demonstrated by showcasing the old and the children.
The old: They place their order and then dictate every detail of its implementation. They want to know if the mashed potatoes are fresh, including details on when they were made and if the poor schmuck doesn’t know, they want him to bring out a new tray. Meanwhile he is stuck between the boss’ orders that a new tray doesn’t come out until there’s only two spoonfuls left and Granny who is glaring at him – the customer may always be right but the boss pays him (forget all that hooey about the customer pays them – minimum wage employees are not engaging in philosophical business model contemplation). Then he puts the chicken on the plate – but she wants all white meat, which he tells her costs more which garners a “WHAT?” Have you never heard of supply and demand Granny? The chicken has two thighs, two wings, two legs – the dark meat – and one breast – the white. Most people like white. Do the math. Now dessert comes with the meal, right? No, it doesn’t. “WHAT?” Forget it - when was that coffee made? And of course they’ll try to pay with an expired coupon which the cashier should “just take anyway.”
The children: Actually, their parents but Ronnie probably still lives at home so can't blame them or he'll get kicked out. Look, I understand. If I find myself in a fast food place with the kids it’s a quick mid-day stop when we’re starving or a night when no one wants to cook. This is supposed to be *easy* for me and that means I need happy kids. But let’s be reasonable. Okay: order the sweet potatoes and ask the guy if he can make sure there is some marshmallow on there. Not okay: insist that the entire serving be scraped from the top so it’s basically all marshmallow, even when he says he can’t (again, that annoying boss who sets the rules on how and how much you scoop). And, why would you even ask if he can put a little less of each of three sides on the plate because little Johnny *really* wants potatoes and macaroni, and you want a veggie in there, but don’t want to pay for an extra side. Make little Johnny pick one or pony up and stop mumbling about how hard could it be and you'd think they'd want their customers to be happy. And, by the way, at some point during this exchange, little Johnny, who is likely really bored, will start knocking on the glass with whatever toy he brought in. His parents have learned to tune this out but it is probably grating on the employee because it JUST WON’T
Mind you, I’ve only gone along with Ronnie and scapegoated the kids and the grannies – and Boston Market - to make a point. At some point in time, customer service across all industries has morphed into increasingly demanding customers who must be sated or they will claim poor customer service. It’s the go-to argument to get your way – people now seem to consider an employee rude just because they didn’t give them what they want when they wanted it (that’s not to say there aren’t legitimate complaints about companies not giving a customer what is rightfully due them - I am talking about unreasonable demands not based in reality). Hell, companies gather focus groups to get input on what customers want – how about having some focus groups of employees telling the company about customer behavior so they can try to mold that?
Now don’t get me wrong – I don’t think it is in the best interest of a company to have an employee that hates its customers (and don’t get me wrong – there are some god-awful employees out there and I will give them a blog one day). But let’s be honest – customers are becoming increasingly easy to hate. And then when some poor guy is venting to someone he thinks will be a new fellow employee and understand (don’t we all need a fellow worker to vent to?) she goes all Linda Tripp on him and gets him fired.
Ronnie, I think you may be a little crazy and perhaps in your next job you should go with something a little less people oriented and you should get to know your co-workers a little better before opening up to them. But regardless of where we work, we all have customers and I for one want you to know - I understand…
Sunday, February 3, 2013
The Ice Skating Rink was so Calm a Moment Ago...
So, Mini-Me the Elder has a jones for ice skating. It started last year and we got her ice skates for her birthday - after which of course she went one more time and that was that for the year. I was worried that it was a passing fancy (not because she needed a hobby or something to fill her time, but because if you remember from about 30 words ago, we *bought* ice skates). She did however pick it up again this year and we are trying to make a weekly go of it. I enjoy it. I'm not a great skater but can hold myself up. It is an outdoor rink and despite my dislike of the cold, it is actually kind of refreshing to be out there moving, particularly since it has been sunny on the days we've gone. We usually go to the first Sunday morning session (so quiet) but this week could not, so went Saturday AM instead. And for about 20 minutes it was us and two other women gliding around the ice. Ahhhh - so nice.
But then, just like they do on the LIRR, the hockey fans showed up and ruined everything. I know hockey fans, you are considering me quite unkind right now and I suppose it isn't very nice of me to stereotype like that (although anyone who has ever ridden the LIRR after a hockey game knows you are the worst). So rather than pinning it only on hockey fans, let me go a little broader and say Dads with their sons showed up.
Seriously, one second it was like this serene white wonderland that we had to ourselves (and yes I understand that concept is more important to me than Mini-Me). There was just one rink guard who hung out over on the side; unobtrusive but there for when I needed him (what a lie that would turn out to be). Then next thing you know they invaded. They all arrived at once, like 20 of them (Did they come together on a bus? Did they think the session started later than it did?) and suddenly they were everywhere. Little guys who couldn't be more than 3 feet tall wearing jerseys that came to their knees and decked out in helmets and all sorts of body padding. They needed it - they zoomed around the ice at ridiculously high speeds in every direction (Hello? You are supposed to go in one direction - the one we are going in. Rink guard? Why are you are still just hanging out over there doing nothing? Oh, now I see the headphones. Aren't my taxes paying for you?) and they just kept falling. The slightly older kids, about 9 or 10, also mostly in jerseys and every once in a while a winter jacket (that I just know their Mom made them wear) alternated between zooming around and across the rink and wrestling in the middle (yes, on the ground wearing ice skates with sharp blades) and throwing stuff at each other (gloves, hats, all sort of stuff). And the Dads. They also had a dress code- every one of them was wearing a hoodie sweatshirt and sweatpants. They too zoomed around the ice (at least they went in the right direction) with their hands in their pockets. Yes, that's right. They all had their hands in their pockets the whole time. I guess they were cold. There were a few teenagers thrown in for good measure (older brothers? cousins? who knows) and they zoomed too. Toddlers, boys and men just zooming everywhere - the toddlers stopped by falling or skating straight into a wall while the boys and men came to sudden stops with both skates and ice flying up everywhere. My peaceful wonderland turned into thunderdome in about 2 minutes. I was...not happy.
Oh sure there were some women and older people. But they were outside the rink filming thecretins adorable children and their fathers. Mind you, I could not have matched up a father with a child if I tried as not a single one went near a kid except when they skated past them and shouted out some stuff about going faster or watching the blades (to the ones wrestling on the floor I assume).
I am a rules oriented person with daughters. Needless to say this all assaulted my senses. Every time a little kid came straight at us from the wrong direction I'm all "hello, wrong way buddy. " "Where is the rink guard?" Every time the group of Dads zoomed past me I was all "do you think you could watch your kids a little closer?" And as for the tweens (or whatever the marketers call them these days) they got a few well placed "who throws stuff on an ice rink?" and "do you know what could happen if I fell on one of these things?" and "we're trying to skate here."
Now mind you this was all me. Mini-me the elder just kept skating around and around the rink at her own little pace (getting her "ice legs" as we call it) ignoring the mayhem around her, smiling and having a grand old time, completely clueless that the boys were ruining our peaceful morning. And lest you think I am planning to raise a hypercritical and hypersensitive snark like myself, I will have you know that all of my above comments were mumbled to myself and she didn't hear any of it.
But we're going back to Sundays...
But then, just like they do on the LIRR, the hockey fans showed up and ruined everything. I know hockey fans, you are considering me quite unkind right now and I suppose it isn't very nice of me to stereotype like that (although anyone who has ever ridden the LIRR after a hockey game knows you are the worst). So rather than pinning it only on hockey fans, let me go a little broader and say Dads with their sons showed up.
Seriously, one second it was like this serene white wonderland that we had to ourselves (and yes I understand that concept is more important to me than Mini-Me). There was just one rink guard who hung out over on the side; unobtrusive but there for when I needed him (what a lie that would turn out to be). Then next thing you know they invaded. They all arrived at once, like 20 of them (Did they come together on a bus? Did they think the session started later than it did?) and suddenly they were everywhere. Little guys who couldn't be more than 3 feet tall wearing jerseys that came to their knees and decked out in helmets and all sorts of body padding. They needed it - they zoomed around the ice at ridiculously high speeds in every direction (Hello? You are supposed to go in one direction - the one we are going in. Rink guard? Why are you are still just hanging out over there doing nothing? Oh, now I see the headphones. Aren't my taxes paying for you?) and they just kept falling. The slightly older kids, about 9 or 10, also mostly in jerseys and every once in a while a winter jacket (that I just know their Mom made them wear) alternated between zooming around and across the rink and wrestling in the middle (yes, on the ground wearing ice skates with sharp blades) and throwing stuff at each other (gloves, hats, all sort of stuff). And the Dads. They also had a dress code- every one of them was wearing a hoodie sweatshirt and sweatpants. They too zoomed around the ice (at least they went in the right direction) with their hands in their pockets. Yes, that's right. They all had their hands in their pockets the whole time. I guess they were cold. There were a few teenagers thrown in for good measure (older brothers? cousins? who knows) and they zoomed too. Toddlers, boys and men just zooming everywhere - the toddlers stopped by falling or skating straight into a wall while the boys and men came to sudden stops with both skates and ice flying up everywhere. My peaceful wonderland turned into thunderdome in about 2 minutes. I was...not happy.
Oh sure there were some women and older people. But they were outside the rink filming the
I am a rules oriented person with daughters. Needless to say this all assaulted my senses. Every time a little kid came straight at us from the wrong direction I'm all "hello, wrong way buddy. " "Where is the rink guard?" Every time the group of Dads zoomed past me I was all "do you think you could watch your kids a little closer?" And as for the tweens (or whatever the marketers call them these days) they got a few well placed "who throws stuff on an ice rink?" and "do you know what could happen if I fell on one of these things?" and "we're trying to skate here."
Now mind you this was all me. Mini-me the elder just kept skating around and around the rink at her own little pace (getting her "ice legs" as we call it) ignoring the mayhem around her, smiling and having a grand old time, completely clueless that the boys were ruining our peaceful morning. And lest you think I am planning to raise a hypercritical and hypersensitive snark like myself, I will have you know that all of my above comments were mumbled to myself and she didn't hear any of it.
But we're going back to Sundays...
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