Twenty-Four Hour Notice Appreciated

Saturday night the (glorified) SO and I hosted our first game night. It was something we had wanted to do for a while. Months ago we made plans with two couples. We planned games to try (no monopoly!) and food to serve (nacho bar!). Last week I confirmed the time and date with both couples. We were ready.

I woke up early Saturday to get all my errands finished. I splurged on new wine glasses and fresh blueberries. Everything was coming together. The first couple called to say they would be late. No problem. The second couple (the one I planned the whole party for) called 15 minutes before they were supposed to arrive. I assumed they needed directions. Wrong. They were calling to cancel. She decided she wasn’t feeling well. They wanted to reschedule.

Are. You. Kidding. Me.

We still held our game night. We had a blast. Part of me is upset that they blew us off like that. You didn't know any earlier than that? If I were a doctor’s office, she would be charged for the appointment.

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I Find Your Underwear Offensive

I need feedback. A few weeks ago, I was at a bar. It used to be my favourite but with management changes, it's gone downhill. We were there for early St Patrick’s Day festivities. Within 20 minutes of being there I was upset. First I couldn’t get served, and then when I did my beer was stale. Then a homeless lady interrupted me in the washroom and shoved her way in (before letting me out). All of this I could ignore.

What put me over the edge was what I saw the bartender do. For St. Patrick’s Day, both of the bartenders were wearing kilts (adorable). The younger of the two was absentmindedly leaning over the bar. In slow motion, I watched her flip her kilt up, stick both hands into her underwear, and yank out a wedgie. Arg! It’s not socially acceptable to put your hands down your pants, why can she put them up her skirt in front of the whole bar? No one else seemed to care, but I’m still bothered. If nothing else, the fact she had underwear on with a kilt should be offensive. Right?

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The Carnie And The Convict

A new week brings new visitors. We're still getting a steady stream of job applicants. My favourite so far was from a former carnie. For six years he traveled with a carnival. I liked his attitude; sadly he had no qualifications to work here. Many of the walk-ins have no idea what our company does; nor do they care. They apply to qualify for their unemployment checks. I get why they require job searches, but blinding applying at random companies isn't productive. Regardless, I don’t mind signing the forms providing you seem to care.

One gentleman doesn't even try. He throws his unemployment form down and demands I sign it. Last week he brought in two! Out of fear I signed, but deep down it bothers me. It's blatant abuse of a system designed to help people.

On a brighter note, a different gentleman applied yesterday. He made sure to tell me that the president knew of his qualifications and that he was recently released from prison. With honesty like that, how can you not love him?

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Don't Shoot The Follower

The line between bullies and pushovers is tiny. If there was any doubt, I lean heavily towards the latter. I’ve never liked to be a leader and before I was receptionist, I was quieter and shyer than I am now. Part of me wishes I could work the system better. Unfortunately, the battle is decided by who is the most argumentative.

Imagine you’re at a crowded restaurant. Two people have the same problem; they need a table. The pushover would accept the server's apology and wait patiently. The bully, on the other hand, would yell and argue. You know how this ends, right? The bully would get a table, free meal, and an apology because they didn’t want to put up with him. The pushover would eventually get one (maybe with nicer service).

It doesn’t seem right that people get rewarded for being rude. At Disney, the more you complain, the more they pacify you. Part of me is envious of them for speaking up and getting what they want. The other part would rather sleep with a clear conscience.

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Volunteering; The Emo Edition

Last night I spent five hours standing in the rain serving beer. Voluntarily. It was miserable. I should have been at home sleeping or watching season 7 of Voyager. Instead I was standing in the rain with numb fingers and a drenched hoody. Halfway through the concert (that played late despite the weather), I was questioning why I was there.

I enjoy volunteering and do it often. Even if I receive no perks, I’m happy to do it as long as I’m enjoying myself. When I started working fulltime I made it a priority to continue volunteering. I work longer days or get up early to fit it in. Last night was the first time I regretted volunteering.

This particular gig is annual. I merged into it through my college internship years ago. In the beginning, I knew most of the people and we worked hard. Then they fired our coordinator and many of the other volunteers left. The working volunteers I knew were replaced with drunken strangers. It’s not the same and the rain felt like a twisting knife.

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What's In Your Cup?

In our office, we have a three-pot coffee maker. Anyone who reads my twitter knows I have a love-hate relationship with coffee. I occasionally drink it at work out of desperation. The coffee is swill, but I cope because I don’t want to be a coffee drinker. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot to like about coffee. Besides the caffeine boost, it’s fresh, hot, and free (unlike many other beverages).

After working here for five years, I recently learned how to make the coffee. I rarely drink it but I enjoy making it. One thing bothers me. We normally have two pots of regular brewed. People are constantly drinking from the freshest pot, leaving the other pot half full. Maybe I’m irrationally annoyed, but wouldn’t the logical thing be to drink from the older pot? Finish it up before starting a new one? We would all like the freshest coffee but some of us are considerate enough to resist. Maybe I’ll start flipping the pots so they think they have the freshest one. Yeah, that’d make me happy.

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Work Smart, Work S-Mart

This week I’m covering for Order Processing. I was trained all last week on who to notify if a firm release was pushed up and how to check vendor’s websites. It’s easy work. I may obsess a bit about screwing up an order, but that’s normal. My biggest problem is everyone else. The lady who trained me told everyone she would be off this week, that I would be filling in for her, and to not to worry about a thing. Two department heads called me this morning confused. “So, uh, what exactly are you doing? We weren’t trained on this.”

I’m covering the mass majority of the order processing. Other than the odd balls, they don't have to do anything. Yet they’re confused. How do you reassure them without beating them over the heads? I wonder if a third e-mail would help them.

Regardless, I’m happy to report that the hardest day is over. Monday has a metric ton of new production releases to go through and verify. The next four days combined might be equal to today’s stack, but it’s unlikely.

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Red And White All Over?

Oh Canada Day, you’re at the same time every year, aren’t you? I look forward to it, even if I have no way to recognise it. Patriotism is a strange thing. It’s even stranger when you have no one to celebrate with. (Maybe I feed off others like a pride vampire?) How do you celebrate a country? There are obviously no parades or fireworks here in America. I didn’t even wear Red and White like my mom. At best, I'll wish everyone a Happy Canada Day. It brings up questions but I generally enjoy fielding them. The biggest thing to remember is that it’s not a day of independence; think of it more like a birthday.

It also opens me up to the standard Canadian jokes. I think those wore thin in 2002. I was involved in a discussion today about pizza. I didn’t contribute because it was boring. Someone decided this must be because we didn’t have pizza in Canada. Surely I was confused. I didn't bother coming up with a witty response (if I had, imagine something witty about Canadian pizza toppings).

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Cane Shaking Strange

Oh music. Next to current events and television it’s a popular topic to discuss. It tells you a lot about the person, yet remains comfortable and unintrusive. “What kind of music do you like?” they ask. “Aren’t you clever?” I think. Jokes on them because I don’t have an answer. I couldn’t tell you who my favourite band is, or why I like a certain song. I rarely listen to music and when I do it’s quickly forgotten.

In college, I used to work at my computer and listen to talk radio. I know I’m probably not old enough to admit this, but I like talk radio. I enjoy the banter, the stupid callers, and the format of the shows. I never understood all the people that sat in their rooms and listened to music for hours. I guess it was a fun way to pass the time? My sister used to tell me to do that, but I didn’t understand the stereotype.

I'll stick with my Alan Combs, Bill O'Reilly, and George Noory. In the meantime, keep listening to your music, don't worry about me, and stay off my lawn.

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You Did A Very Bad Thing

Even though phones are obsolete, I expect you to know how to use them. Here are some examples of things that don’t work (at work).

1. Not paying attention. If the ringing stops, that’s your cue.
2. Yelling. Just because you can't hear, doesn’t mean I can't too.
3. Being rude. I’m sorry your husband cheated on you with your sister, but I'm not to blame.
4. Vague questions. I don’t know Mike who works in the shop. I need a last name or a department.
5. Vague ideas. If you don’t know why or whom you’re calling for, WHY did you?
6. Flirting with the receptionist. It’s creepy.
7. Calling for no reason. If you could have called him at home, you should have.
8. Assuming because you called, they have to answer the phone. They do have free will.
9. Rambling. Be clear, but not specific.
10. Guessing games. No, I don’t know who this is, don’t have caller ID, and don’t want to play this awkward game.

Most of these apply to work, but I’m sure someone, somewhere feels my pain. Right?

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People Suck; Home Edition

We live in a condo. Our building has 10 units. There are 2 on each end and 4 on each side. There are common sense rules for living in a condo. The typical be kind to your neighbour and be courteous to your surroundings junk. Normally things are good, but they're never perfect. Currently someone’s blasting beep bop music as if they lived in a barn. It's impossible to tell who’s to blame. Worse is our condo association’s solution: Call them and let them handle it. Which is great except they only work 8-4 during the week.

I talk to our neighbours in passing and they complain about it too. Yet no one’s to blame. How does that work? The only neighbour I trust is the 86-year old in the unit below us. He told us he doesn’t like to be disturbed. He also sits at his window to make sure no one parks in his assigned spot. A few months after we moved in (and periodically since) he asked if we still lived here because he couldn't hear us. I wonder: Could the least likely suspect be the guilty one?

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