My Skirt Fell Off In Parking Garage

* 5 years ago … It happened again. Different skirt, different lot. Meh!

As I was walking from my office to my car, my skirt hit the concrete.  I remained upright, standing there in front of God and everybody, in my top and underwear. I do not have a tan – on purpose, but I sure could have used one at that moment.  My legs look like abnormally long pieces of packaged chicken. Read: white.  Did have on nice underwear, but it just doesn’t compensate for the lack of skin color – in daylight.  Couldn’t grab the demon garment  because I was holding boards.  The wooden kind. Ignored the horrified screaming and running of garage mates and finally managed to pull that sucker up under my arms.  And took my boards to the post office to mail them.

Who mails boards? As in not- too- long- but- sorta- heavy boards?  Interior designers, that’s who.  I’m not a designer, I am the office ODDJOB.  Without the razor-brimmed hat.  My areas of expertise are research (“Here’s a picture of a painting.  We need to know who the artist is.  There is no information, no caption, no nothing, don’t even know when or where the picture of painting came from. Go!” I found artist and a silkscreen of painting to purchase in 30 minutes), food choices (“Everyone is dieting but I still think we should get a cake, should we get a cake?” Get the cake. Am genius), and mailing boards.

Had to stick my stomach out to keep skirt on in post office.  Happy foreign man says, “You want to mail boards?”.  I said indeed I did and the cost must be under $100.  He started laughing and speaking to himself in his native tongue. Am thinking that means cost will be well over the budget. Skirting the details,I return to office with humble, sad face.  Walked into designers bull pen, looking for my boss to tell her about expense.  That damn skirt went south again. My colleagues, all women, were nonplussed; they are used to my wardrobe malfunctions.  Paper-clipped skirt top to underwear and called it a day.

Did I mention I live in the city located just on the outskirts of  Hell?  Where it is 81-degrees at 7 a.m.? This morsel of info is only necessary because sweats are not clothing here, sweats are a perpetual state of the body.  Every body.  So skirt slippage was heat-related. As evening approaches, it is a brisk 80-degrees inside my house; the a/c is working its ass(?) off, making the same sounds that pierce the air when empty cans are put in dryer and dryer is turned on high. War zone ambience. Trying to relax and cool down.

Turn on the computer and get some news.  Apparently bird doo facials are all the rage in NYC; you, too, can have one for $180. So “Emperor’s New Clothes”, I can’t even wrap this.  My mind is grinding, so I’ll throw out an offer for bird poop facial aficionados …. you are most welcome to sit on my patio – all day long – for $10; you will be delighted by all the bird bombs that cover your entire self.  There is only one catch … bring earplugs… the a/c sound might disturb your bliss.  Come early and stay late.

Don’t even think I”m complaining, I’m not.  Based on what I read, hear, and see, I am beyond lucky.  If anyone needs a skirt fail, a scary loud a/c, a poop facial provided by numerous regional birds, and/or  boards mailings, you know where to look.

*P.S.  Always wear nice underwear, even if you aren’t riding in the car … you never know ….. just saying.

Later.  If I don’t melt…

Herding Unicorns

IMG_0317

Methinks herding unicorns is about as easy as hunting for a job.  As I am currently involved in the latter, I know of what I speak.  My Dad, the man who paid for my college education, suggested I apply to be a greeter at Walmart. While I’m sure Walmart greeting is a lovely occupation, I don’t think the blue apron thing is bulletproof and am far too snarky to smile for eight hours.  Unless the salary is a $500/hour situation.

My French friend, AJ, wants me to teach conversational English.  Bless her heart, she doesn’t know I have been a very bad teacher.  I don’t believe instructing her to say “Hell, no!”, “Are you kidding me?”, “Get lost!” and other pleasantries will be of much help.  At least she will never be bullied.  Could totally teach conversational cursing but don’t think the position exists.  If you’d like to take this course, it’s $500/hour.

You may wonder what my skill set includes. This would be laughing, walking my dog, reading, and eating.  I know, amazing, right?  Seriously, I do have experience in many areas.  Just have to find that golden ticket.  And I will.  Maybe it’s canning cornichons, testing trampolines … the possibilities are endless.  My only prerequisite is a salary.

The very best outcome would be to do what I love while helping as many people as possible. Please do not suggest customer service.

Off to jump in my bed and pull covers over my head.  Because this is such a productive activity and representative of stong motivation and focus. Gah!

Later.

It’s Monday: Weekend Insanity Report & Advice Request

I just don’t know what to think. So I’ll just toss it all out there, as usual.

She’s A Bad Mama Jama

In my opinion. This morning, on Good Morning America, there was a story about little boys entering beauty pageants. Apparently, the toddler tiara set is now composed of 10% boy entrants. OK. But I was appalled when one of the boy pageant mothers said, “I can turn my little boys into girls. These are the girls I never had.” This is, to me, a prime example of why some women should never give birth.

Evening of Insanity

That would be last Saturday night. Am not being critical as I was right in the middle of the madness. Actually caused some of it. In my last post, I introduced the electronic yodeling pickle. I call him “Canute” as he is manufactured in Canada. I keep him by the phone; when telemarketers call, they are treated to a concert. I packed Canute along with some adult beverages before we headed out to a gathering Saturday night. Upon our arrival, I introduced the innocent but very talented pickle to other guests. Poor Canute. Before he even got one yodel out, his image was desecrated. “He looks like a green, bumpy d***0 <very personal people pleaser>. And given a new handle, The YoDo. Ridiculous. Improper. Obviously engaged in highly intellectual pursuits, Zorba and ParTay decided to use Canute for prank phone calls. Yes, these can still be done and yes, we stopped maturing at 13. I haven’t laughed that hard in about two weeks. Can’t repeat any more of conversations about Canute but you can be sure that the phrase, “in a pickle” was tossed about in a most unsavory fashion.

At the same event, The Prince asked me why I had so many “blog” comrades who are Brits, Aussies, and South Africans. Well, duh. First and foremost, they are brilliant. And write well. And are hilarious. Then I became thoughtful and realized yet another connection. I have Brit blood. I am obsessed with that medieval bad boy, Henry VIII. My ancestors include Lady Jane Grey, whose nine-day reign as Queen of England ended in yet another headless situation. Which could explain personal insanity, flightiness, and inability to focus on anything (including this topic) for more than two seconds. As well as unwanted comments about my behavior as that of “a chicken with its head cut off”. It is Queen Izzie, y’all. Which has nothing to do with original question.

Latest Search Engine Terms

The terms used to find me are just getting weirder.

  • Car fell off parking garage (obviously an insurance inquiry)
  • Skirt came off my head (not in the habit of wearing my skirt on my head but could happen under the right circumstances….)
  • Plastic panties (mind out of gutter, people)
  • Parking garage facial (hmmmm…no, too bizarre to consider)
  • Chief wiggle eye gluer (can’t fix this … try o-p-h-t-h-a-l-m-o-l-o-g-i-s-t)
  • My boss tucked my blouse in for me (tmi, ever heard of “sexual harassment suits”? Wear one.)

 Enough mischief for a Monday.  Which brings up another question. (Promise to take ADHD meds immediately after this). Ok, new business is a direct result of a blog friends’ suggestion. So, I need some more advice. Regarding marketing. For those late to party, I am selling candles. Great candles.  Am just rolling this out, am still in infancy stage, so my marketing plans has been to contact a few people a week. This has resulted in a nice start on my candle makers retirement fund. The introduction must be handled this way, so she and I can see just how much we can do. Now it is holiday season, people spend more money. Good time to bring out new but not accurate for ongoing sales prediction. My product is under market price. That’s my story and I’m bewildered where/what goes next. Any advice most appreciated.

Later. and merci…

Monday Madness

I’m drinking my coffee and reading the “news”. Ha! It may be early, but the weirdo stuff is already popping up. In our first category of the day – and considering it is Monday – we have work.

Creativity in the Workplace

In a story by Rachel Farrell on MSN.com, “unusual job titles” are revealed. Some of these include, but are not limited to, Chief Wiggle Eye Gluer, Overseer of Order, Director of Storytelling, and Head Worm Wrangler.  Others listed were Marble Lady, Chief Sparkle Officer,Chief Fun Officer, and my favorite, Director of Chaos. These are real titles at real companies. But I think a few of these could possibly be applied elsewhere as well.

  • Head Worm Wrangler:  Heads of Congress and Senate (duh);  Andy Cohen, Sr. VP of Production and Programming for Bravo, for risking his life to bring us the delightful “Real Housewives of….the Eleventeenth Circle of Hell“.
  • Overseer of Order:  Mothers everywhere (no currency distribution).
  • Director of Storytelling:  Press Secretaries, HR Employment Interviewers, anyone who says, “Let’s have lunch”.

Sparkle? Nah. And the idea of forced hijinks requiring a Chief of Fun at work sounds like a the perfect place for a Wiggle Eye Gluer. I am the Chief of Chaos in my own home and that doesn’t pay well.  I’ve decided the best job in the world would be to work with Peggy, on the hilariously genius Discover Card commercials created by  The Martin Agency.

Loyalty3.jpg

The other story that caught my eye – and blew my mind – was about an implant removal. A 28-year old woman with a pretty face recently had her size M chesticle implants removed. Yes, that would be a,b,c,d,e,f,g,h,i,j,k,l, M! World’s largest. Excuse me, this just brings up sooooo many questions. How in the world would you a.) walk upright, b.) find something besides a bedouin tent for clothing, and c.) do that to yourself in the first place? Good grief, she’d have to go to a truck weigh station for a mammogram. But that won’t be necessary as she’s suffered from life threatening infection since her surgery in Brazil, requiring removal of implants and most of her breast tissue.

Must take a tonic and lay down. Overwhelmed by nonsense.

Later.

Here a snark, there a snark, everywhere a snark, snark

Life around here is so bloody boring, I’ve taken to re-reporting news, lying, and confirming suspicions that I’m demented. My family must be so proud. But I digress …..

Broken News

Florida Reverend Terry Jones isn’t going to burn the Quran after all. But the story keeps changing by the hour.  Methinks he’s been influenced and encouraged to back off! This guy has blown smoke up  global petticoats, getting all sorts of attention.  And nine years later, Osama bin Laden has yet to be located. My head just exploded.

 

Msn.com offered up some pretty interesting – if not totally weird – stories today. The first one I read, about Old Salty Restaurant in North Carolina, was entertaining. Allegedly the Old Salty owner has posted a sign which reads, “Screaming Children Will Not Be Tolerated.” Gotta love her. She says business is better than ever. There are, of course, discrimination issues boiling. Call me a knucklehead, but I didn’t know that screaming children who disrupt the ambience in a restaurant were under attack. I’m with Old Salty, but I think she should add the following to her sign: “Parents Who Sit There and Let Their Children Scream Will Not Be Tolerated, Either”.

The medical news was repulsive. One of my good doctors told me that a generic medicine can be as much as 25% different from the more expensive original. I found that dismaying until this morning. In a story by Maria Szalavitz, it was revealed that our medicines – depending on what you need – can have sewer swill, nun urine(!), rooster combs, Gila monster slobber, viper venom, and/or sea-snail poison as ingredients. Don’t even get me started about the nun urine. Remember, my head already exploded.

For those of us watching our budgets, which probably includes 99.9 % of the population, Investopedia had a piece on overpriced products.  This list included movie popcorn, greeting cards, college textbooks, bottled water, printer ink, and brand name fashion. Who can afford to buy the popcorn if they do go to a movie? Plus, it’s my personal opinion that the “butter” is strangely similar to suntan oil. The college textbook scam has been going on since …. college had textbooks. As for bottled water, the article said at least 48% came from the tap. Which means I will be offering izziedarling kitchen hogwash for the very low price of $4/bottle in a store near you soon.

Liar, Liar, My Pants Aren’t On Fire

I told a boldface lie yesterday. Tried to tell the truth but it was rejected. An elderly man was sitting in a taxi across from my townhouse. I had to take Cooper (a.k.a. spawn of Cerberus) on a walk. Walking past the taxi, the gentleman asked me if Coop was a Border Collie. I said, “No sir, he’s a JackRat.”  He asked me again, “Is he a Border Collie?”. I said, “No sir, he’s a Jack Russell”. He asked me the same question again. I said, “Yes sir, he’s a Border Collie”. Now Cooper is about as much of a Border Collie as I am, but the man wanted to hear what he wanted to hear. So I lied.

Sad but True: Am Nuts

I read this thing online that outlined how to answer surveys and make money. I was all over it – work in nightgown, tell the truth, and make money? Really! That was three days ago and guess how much I’ve made? Two cents. Swear, that would be one penny and one penny. So, let’s all go to Old Salty and have a round of Gila Monster slobber on me! Oh yeah, leave your screaming children at home … or with Reverend Jones; I have a feeling he’s going to be on a new career path.

Later.

Swimming in the Shallow End

 

What a coincidence! I find myself starting out anew (again!) and “Eat, Pray, Love” is in movie theaters. Maybe I should go to Rome, India, and Bali to find myself. Oh, wait. I’m not independently wealthy. Oh, wait. I have responsibilities that require my attention. Oh, wait. I am too old to run away (hint: celebrated sixth birthday awhile back). Oh, wait. I have love, family, friends, and a life I’m not walking away from, no matter how twisty it is. The only commonalities I share with Elizabeth Gilbert are divorce and a yoga practice. 

 

When I read her book years ago, I admit, I enjoyed it as a fantasy mapping the personal journey of a privileged woman “find” herself in exotic locales. Period. The hype, the hysteria, the overblown promotion of the movie is ridiculous. It’s just a book, just a movie, just entertainment, just about as “deep” as a pie pan. There’s a place for entertainment and no, all movies can’t be “The Hurt Locker“, but EPL is NOT the new lifestyle bible for women who find themselves up a creek without a paddle. This is not an Oprah moment, ladies.  I don’t want to have to bring this up again.  Now, on to other nonsense I’m thinking about: 

  • I hit hobbies hard and then lose all interest ( a few of the million projects shown below).

Kanzashi silk flowers

 

needlepoint

 

knitting

 

  • It’s absolutely nuts to have a rigid life plan. I believe this because no matter how hard you try to stick to wherever it is you think you are going, there will be all sorts of hijinks on the journey requiring you to jump, stoop, turn left when you want to go right and vice versa. Needless to say, my life plan is … flexible.
  • Job suggestions so far: move to a tourist town in the middle of Texas and start a cleaning service for all the B&B’s (fail); become a demo lady at Sam’s or Costco, cooking tidbits in a weird pan and handing them out to the starving shoppers (I don’t think so); apply for staff position at French château making beds and washing dishes(change of scenery, wear REAL French maid costume every day, polish up my foreign cuss words – this one might have legs, cin); reactivate my real estate license (kill me first, please). These are all good jobs that I wouldn’t be good at but never say never, right?

 

  • Suggestions for the interim time: buy a lobster at the grocery store and take it for a walk, hop on one leg all day, send excited replies to all the male enhancement spam that is sent specifically to me even though I’m not male and have no equipment to enhance; drive around and wag my finger at nose pickers, go to the courthouse and marry my dog; the possibilities are endless …
  • Do anonymous good deeds all day long. Key word: anonymous. This is fun. But I can only be good for a limited amount of time. Like 30 minutes.
  • Explore new hobbies … learn to cook Elvis Presley’s favorite foods, collect pantyhose, raise sea horses for fun and profit, wear a fake nose and see if anyone notices, count how many balloons I can blow up before passing out.

All kidding aside, there is volunteer work to be done. There are responsibilities to take care of. And, I can always kick up the fine art of procrastination a couple of notches despite the fact I’ve already got a black belt in that category. One thing I won’t be doing is going to see a certain movie based on a certain book …. 

Later.

Just. Not. Right.

Reading the news today, I was struck by two stupid standouts:

  • Justin Bieber is “penning” his “memoir”.  He says he’s “still living his dream”. Let’s hear it for Justin! He is 16 years old. A memoir? His baby book, perhaps? And as for “still living his dream”? He is 16!  Spare me.
  • Giselle Bundchen, bless her poor little model heart, should stick to what she knows… which would be the runway. Her recent comments about breastfeeding have enraged mothers everywhere. She allegedly said there should be a “worldwide” law that mothers must “breastfeed their babies for six months.” Last time I checked, Giselle, you were a model, not a pediatrician, an authority on raising children, or a nutritionist. In her defense, she did manage to remove both of her feet from her mouth long enough to issue an apologetic explanation of what she meant to say. Spare me x 1000.
  • Tom Brokaw did a documentary on BOOMER$; it aired on CNBC Sunday night. The information presented was interesting and thought-provoking. One segment really hit a nerve with me. A man, professional, had been out of work for two years. This man is well-educated, well- spoken, well- dressed, and well-kept. The problem is … he is 52 or 53 years old. He has applied for hundreds of jobs over the past 24 months – some that would be perfect for him, many of which he is overqualified for AND pay 1/4 of what he made pre-layoff. And still no job. This situation is not limited to men. Women fill this boat, too. If you own your own business or have a talent/profession that is in demand, no problem. Otherwise, experience does not count. A great track record does not count. It’s all about age. In the job market, the older you are, the less respect you get. And if you are lucky enough to get employed, don’t count on any benefits. And you’d best budget around a minimum wage salary. This is just my observation. And I believe these practices are patently wrong on many levels. Experience should count for much. Age, if used correctly, should be respected. A daily dose of humble pie is NOT nourishing. Pressing onward through humiliation should NOT be an occupation. The pay sucks.

Rant over.

Later.

Let’s Make A Deal: A Novel Idea

Having recently quit my job, it would be prudent for me to secure another. Have a friend who found a great job through Monster. com;  Monsters scare me, ergo I’ve got other ideas.  Instead of revving up my resumé, networking my ass off, all the while beseeching the heavens above for a massive dose of divine intervention, I’ve decided to take a different approach regarding employment.

Serious employers may apply for my services. I will review all applications and if I think we might be a “fit”, I’ll get back to you. Have been around the block enough to know that a job on paper is NEVER the job in reality. I will address my expectations, my strengths as an employee, and the bottom line.

My Job Expectations

  • This is the Win-Win Process. No time wasted. Nothing lost. No bad coffee, forced laughter, or stupid questions necessary.
  • I thrive in creative environments, wither in Mad Men/Women offices.
  • You will get what you pay for in terms of my output.  I have experience in many areas. I have moments of brilliance. I have quite a bit of experience under my belt. If you appreciate this, encourage me, and pay me well, you will get 110-percent from me. If you are looking for a “deal”, pay less than my daughters make babysitting, please crawl off into the virtual bushes right now.
  • When I work for someone, whatever happens in the office stays in the office. I do not have loose lips. Before, during, and after employment.
  • If I like you and the job, I operate on the Rule of Three: you have a problem and need a solution. I will develop three options, then present them to you. You select one. It works. You are brilliant. I don’t care about the credit because you pay me so well to do what I do. Now that’s a hands-down, flat-out Win-Win. If you don’t understand this, join your friends in the bushes.
  • I get sassy when bullied. And then I cry. You have been warned. Other deal breakers include brow beating, nit-picking, and using a loud voice to make a point.
  • Let me know what you want me to do and I’ll do it. If you have a vague idea, let’s discuss it, hone it down, and get to the meat of the matter. Unfortunately, I was not born into a gypsy family. I don’t know what you want unless you do.  Plus, I would never want to put Madame Poot.com or the Psychic Network out of business.
  • Part time or very flexible hours a must. For me, at least.

My Strengths

  • While I prefer to wear jeans to work, I do “clean up” well. You would have no problem with me representing you at The White House or White Castle.
  • Have written so many words for others, I am almost transparent. Can be wonderful or wicked – with words – depending on circumstances.
  • Can lift 10 pounds maximum.
  • Will “just say ‘NO'” if asked to if you ask me to do something illegal. Other deal breakers include requests to pick up drunk wife/husband, children,dogs, or laundry; perform household chores in your household; reveal my business which is none of yours; and I’ll add more to the list if you and your enterprise make it through this first round. *Rethinking the pick up deal – will pick up stated items for $200 per offense. See, I’m a diplomat, too!
  • Can write, think, create, knit, teach yoga, bake bread, make jewelry, and visualize.
  • Love to research. Amount of love poured into research depends on topic.
  • Cannot whistle. Please don’t ask me to. Very sensitive about that.
  • Am a happy morning person.  Every business needs a happy morning person.

Bottom Line

  • My experience is worth the price you will pay me to work for you. No insulting offers necessary.
  • While I cannot apply the optimistic phrase, “the world is your oyster” to my talents at this point, it doesn’t mean I am not optimistic or untalented. I have eaten that oyster. See: experience. Actually, I’m overflowing with joy and optimism that the word “overqualified” will not apply to me again. RE: job. In. this. lifetime. Fingers crossed.
  • See how I’ve avoided talking about the bucks – big or otherwise – until now? I mean, I’ve hinted but … I’ll be straightforward. I do not want to work because I need more stuff. I like to have a place to go in the morning. Am at the tail end of college tuition, etc. One out, one more year for the other. And, have no illusions that after I stamp that last college semester PAID, wedding bells could ring … simultaneously. Then there’s me and the dog.  Fortunately, I am not desperate. And I will be picky. So, if you have good ideas and wonderful offers, bring ’em on. Like I said, I’ll get back to you.

Later.

*For the love of God, do not send me anything that is repulsive, gross, explicit, cold callish, telemarketing, blah blah. My “delete permanently” button works very well. Just sayin’.

Amazing! True! Repulsive!

Went to my beautiful, happy office this morning. Flipped all the switches and went to work. Gee, I think I’ll print this report. Push the print button on the computer, twirled around in my chair to reach for the result. My, oh, my … all the buttons on the printer are going insane. Hmmmm … let me open the paper tray

G-R-O-S-S

Screamed and ran. Duh.

Later.

Customer Service: How to Deal Both Ways

I’ve worked in retail.  Sometimes on purpose, other times out of desperation.  Either I’ve had a breakdown or a breakthrough (a la Kelly Binsimon).  Retail customers with hate in their hearts are drawn to me.  Which means a) like seeks like, b) I’m an idiot savant when it comes to dealing with the chronically horrid, or c) other sales people can run faster than I can.

Fast Food Operations: I know, I know, sometimes the people working behind the counter just don’t get it. Nor do some of the customers on the other side of counter.  I’ll be brief here – don’t act out, throw your weight around, and/or berate your servers.  They are people just like you.  Behave yourself.  As with any commercial endeavor, there are brilliant and dim employees (see: customer service/cable company). It is most important to mind your manners in a food establishment.  You will find yourself way too familiar with the loo, should you decide to throw a bitch fit over a poorly constructed hamburger.

BoutiquesIt’s been quite awhile since I worked in a very upscale boutique.  One customer stands out.  She was a shrew, a purple-wearing harridan with quite a mouth on her.  Whenever she pulled into the parking lot, someone would scream, “Velma!” and the salesgirls would run for cover.  They were faster than me.  So I had to help Velma.  She would stomp into the shop, huffing and puffing, while searching for someone to shred.  That would be me.  My first go-round with Velma left me in tears.  My second adventure with her was wonderful.  The minute she started to berate me for being alive, I said, “Velma, shut it down.  I have some new purple togs over here that would look fabulous on you.”  She was putty in my hands.  She was lonely and angry and had no one to take it out on, so she went shopping.  And everyone was mean right back to her.  She was shocked I didn’t cower at her fire-breathing antics.  And as long as I worked there, I was her girl.  Am not bragging, all the salesgirls still ran and there I stood… abandoned when a flash of purple was spotted lurching through the doors.

Men’s Store:  This was one of my favorite experiences as men are so much easier to deal with when it comes to clothing.  On the outset, I would tell each and every customer, “I don’t do inseams”.  Just so they knew.   I could have put  tutus on all those men – if I gushed over how fab they looked in their tiny tulle skirts – well, one word comes to mind. SOLD. Easiest job ever.  With two exceptions. Lockjaw and Big Fatty.  Lockjaw entered the store with a major attitude.  He was picking through the savagely bright-colored slacks.  I asked him if he was a Longhorn fan – I mean, he kept going back to the same pair of bright orange – UT colors.  He looked down his pompous nose at me, jutted his entitled chin out and said, “I went to Dartmouth.”  My brain said, “You prick”, but my mouth said, “Hmmm…Dartmouth …. never heard of it.” His Ivy League abuse continued until I crossed my eyes and stuck my tongue out at him. Very mature, but it tamed his inner beast. Big Fatty was another story all together.  My boss thought it would be really funny to hook me up with this perfectly nice man/customer.  “He’s rich”.  Like that means squat in the whole scheme of things?  He may have been, and he was nice, but he had a serious weight problem (like he’s probably dead, really), his english wasn’t too great even though he hadn’t ever left Texas, and he looked at me like I was a sizzling rib eye right off the grill. No, no, no!  My *&^% boss gave him my cell number, which he called.  Being the perfect coward I was, I never answered.  One day, I saw him headed into the store.  I ran in the stock room and hid under a pile of rejected clothing.  My boss brought him in there, uncovered me, and left the room.  Mr. I’m-Gonna-Have-A-Heart-Attack-Any-Second loomed over me and said, “Why won’t you go out with me?”.  I told him the truth. “My issues have issues”.  That was all it took for him to make his escape, but I think I heard him mutter, “Crazy Bitch”, under his breath.  I promptly confronted the boss man, told him I didn’t need a pimp, and walked out the door.  Men!

On the flip side, after too many FAILS raging at customer service agents, I changed my tactics.  If I have an issue, I do not stop until I talk to a human. Have actually spoken to a person at Google, that is how persistent I am.  When said human answers phone, I always start with, “Hey Bon Qui Qui, how’s it hanging?  Having a good day?  How are the kids?  Always make nice, then the followup:  “I know this isn’t your fault at all, but I have a problem ….”.  Transfer call, transfer, transfer … could be transferred 20 times – and could  be on the phone dealing with one problem for 10 hours.  But this process is lined in gold; by the time I get to the top of the transfer heap, the company is terrified by the sheer number of call monitors on one customer and my wish is granted.

Guess I’m having a Rodney King moment here … it may be easier to be mean and ugly (Guilty!), but being nice, on purpose, is the high road.  I said, AT FIRST.  If you are nice and still encounter attitude, all bets are off. 

Later.