Office Etiquette

I was 22 when I got my first office job. All my work experience had been retail and bar and restaurant and I was completely unprepared for the office life. It was the only job I ever got fired from. I was told, “It’s just not working out.” And I agreed whole heartily, but that didn’t stop me from crying. I cried so hard, I got the hic-ups. But I shook hands and thanked them for giving me a chance.

It was the idea that “we are NOT created equal” that I got hung up on. For example, just because the VP of Operations and the Accounting Department get 2-hour lunches, doesn’t mean I (the receptionist) get 2-hour lunches. Sometimes I wish someone had pulled me aside and explained this to me. Twelve years later, I still struggle with this concept, but at least I know to keep my mouth shut.

There are examples of office etiquette that can be (and should be) taught. A young, fresh college grad might need to be reminded that cleavage is generally frowned upon in the professional office atmosphere. There is no place in the office for terms of endearment. This includes “Sweetie”, “Sunshine”, “Hun”, and even “Dude”.

And then there are things that should go without saying. I can NOT think of a single incident where it is appropriate to share the volume of your “flow” with a coworker. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever…NEVER! I don’t want to know how many feminine hygiene products you’ve gone through. I don’t want to know that your cycle is mixed up because you’re going through menopause. I’m totally grossed out knowing that you had a “blow-out”! SAVE IT, LADY!! Fact of life or not, that shit has NO place in the office. I don’t want to know about cramps, irritable bowel syndrome, incontinence, or yeast infections. In fact, if the source of your worries is in anyway associated with your crotch or your crack, save it for your diary.

Thank you.

Wrong Number

The name of the company I work for gives people the impression that we offer advice on health issues. We don’t. At least, that’s not what our company does, but if you get me on the phone…

I had a guy call once to ask if it’s safe to eat canned food that had been frozen. My reply to him? “Why, that’s a good question…let’s see what we can find!” I Googled Green Giant and referred him to their hotline. The answer is no. Green Giant does not recommend eating canned food that has frozen (he didn’t store it in the freezer, rather in his garage and it got really REALLY cold that week).

Lots of people call to ask for physician referrals. One woman started the call by saying, “Please don’t laugh—this is not a prank call…” I knew right away it was going to be good. She was looking for a physician who performs colon cleansing. I referred her to the “holistic medicine” section of the yellow pages.

A sweet old lady called one day because she was worried about her neighbor. Her neighbor was an elderly woman trying to care for her adult son who suffered a serious brain injury. The caller was concerned that her neighbor was too poor and too old to be responsible for caring for another person and she wondered if there was someone who could help her neighbor. I gave this lady the phone number for the Colorado Medicaid office.

I had one woman walk into my office looking for help. Her grandchild was in Nevada and she was trying to get her daughter and the baby moved to Colorado and was having a really hard time with Medicaid. Apparently, the baby had serious health complications and was covered under Nevada Medicaid. She was told that if mother and child moved to Colorado, they’d loose coverage. The poor woman went from stark raving mad to bitter weeping back to raving mad. I felt terrible and there was nothing I could do…so I held her hand and sympathized best that I could.

The lady that called yesterday (prompting this post) was calling from Planned Parenthood. She JUST found out that her friend’s daughter was pregnant. The friend (suspecting that her daughter was having sex) kicked the 17-year-old out of the house. Caller took the girl into her home, but doesn’t want financial responsibility. She wanted the phone number for Medicaid and WIC. I don’t know WHO this woman thought she was calling, but I looked up the numbers for her.

I hope they all find what they need.

Hair

I found another gray hair today. I have had one for several years. Just one. But then today, I found a second one and it’s flippin’ beautiful. I noticed it while I was washing my hands in the bathroom. I leaned forward a bit and kind of turned my head from side to side real slow, “Is that a gray hair?” I asked. I finished my hands and reached up to touch the hair. It’s a tad courser then the rest and it sparkles. It is almost beautiful enough to make me stop coloring my hair. My natural hair color is mouse brown and it always looks like it needs to be washed, so I lighten it to “medium golden blond”.

Speaking of hair…let me ask you this, why don’t we all just shave our heads and wear wigs? I’m serious. I have been really putting some thought into it and I’m going to start pricing wigs. My husband thinks it is the same as asking a dentist to pull all your teeth so you can get dentures. But he’s wrong. First of all, there is no pain involved in shaving your head. And the benefits of a wig, I think, far outweigh the benefits of false teeth. And the expense of false teeth…I imagine you could buy dozens of wigs for the cost of just pulling your old teeth, never mind how much it costs for the new ones!

So what do you say girls? Who's with me?

Remembering Thanksgiving

Holy cow...has it been a whole week? (...yeah..a week and then some!) I must have dozed off or something.

Tis the week of turkey. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday...at least it was my favorite holiday when I was growing up. I feel that starting to fade some. When I lived in Carolina, spring was my favorite season. After living in Colorado for a few years, I emailed the family to report the latest snowstorm. We got 36 inches in 2 days one March. My eldest brother replied to me with a Carolina weather report. It was such a beautiful description, I closed my eyes and could see it, feel it and smell it. I wish I would have saved it. You can't beat spring in Carolina. S pring in Colorado equals snow. Really heavy, sloppy, wet, nasty-ass snow. YICK!

Being away from my family for so long is starting to change my impression of holidays, too. As much as I love my husband and my daughter, and any of our friends that we may end up sharing the day with, it just isn't the same as Carolina.

We moved from Texas back to Carolina in 1980. The first year or two that we lived there, my parents invited Virginia Clemmer to our home for Thanksgiving dinner. Ms. Clemmer was an elderly woman who lived alone. She was in relatively poor health, she didn't have much money, and what money she did have, she gave away. Her home was pretty run down, she didn't have any family, and she was the sweetest woman in the world. The next year, she told my folks that she had a couple friends who didn't have any where to go, and would we mind having them, too. As the years passed, the guest list got bigger. Eventually, we moved into the church's school cafeteria, then into the church's multi-purpose room.

The last time I participated in this dinner was 1993. We served more than 200 people. The entire community got involved. We had dozens and dozens of volunteers. Some came early to set up tables and chairs, to cook, and serve. Some drove all over the city to pick up elderly and bring them to the church. Lots of people donated food, and still others came when the party was over and helped wash dishes. We served dozens of turkeys and hams. There were more casseroles and pies than you could count.

And the company was fantastic. There is so much to learn from senior citizens. But they weren't all old or lonely. Lots of families joined us for the day, too. We'd gather for 3 or 4 hours, then pack to-go boxes for everyone and drive them home again.

These people were SO grateful. They hugged us and thanked us profusely, tearing up as they told us how much they looked forward to our party every year.

It was empowering to me. To know that I could have so much impact on another person's life. It was such a learning experience for me. I learned how to communicate with adults. I got to see how adults communicated with each other. I learned what can be accomplished when we all work together.

I've been in Colorado since 1994 and I haven't participated in anything that even comes close to those dinners in Carolina. It makes me sad. I feel the holiday loosing meaning, and that scares me. This memory is part of who I am and I can't loose it.

I took my first step this year by donating a turkey dinner to the local food bank. I took my daughter with me to the store to purchase everything you need for a fabulous feast (we even threw in some cinnamon rolls for breakfast). We boxed it all up and delivered it to the food bank on Sunday. It was pretty cool. Next year we'll do it again. And when my daughter is a little older, we'll go serve food at a homeless shelter. Until then, I'm going to keep telling my story in hopes that it will stay alive in my heart.

So what's your greatest Thanksgiving memory?



ps. I shared this memory with my mother one day and she chucked and said, "Well, it didn't happen exactly like THAT." Which leads me to believe that Virgina Clemmer played a much greater role in this story than I gave her credit for. I can say this, I attribute the idea to her. I don't believe this incredible dinner would have ever happened had it not been for Ms. Clemmer. And 17 years later, that Thanksgiving dinner is still being hosted.

Good and Evil

I was raised the seventh of eleven children--five boys and six girls. The age span between the oldest and the youngest is 16 years, so we pretty much all grew up in the same house (the oldest moved out when I was 8 or 9, I think). When you live with that many people, you learn compromise and diplomacy at an early age. We bickered and fought and poked and teased, but more than that, we loved and respected.

I moved to Colorado in 1994 at the ripe age of 21. The first three years I lived here, I tended bar at a neighborhood pub. The same people came in every day, sat in the same seat, drank the same drink…day after day after day. They were mostly in their mid 30s to mid 50s and they took a liking to me instantly (of course). Even more than their relentless teasing about my southern accent, they laughed at my naivety.

I insisted on seeing the world as a happy place. I assumed all people had the best intentions at heart. I remember one conversation in particular with Rock-n-Roll Steve.

Side note: there was more than one Steve, so we had to nick name them to keep them apart—sometimes we used physical characteristics as with Big Tom and Little Tom, and sometimes it was beverage choice as with Bud Light Bob. Rock-n-Roll Steve wore a mullet. I worked there for three years and to this day, I couldn’t tell you the last name of a single patron.

Steve said, “One day you’ll see the world for what it really is.” My reply to him was something along the lines of, “I hope not…that would be sad.”

Fast forward to 2007. My good friend was bitterly disappointed by her mother this week and she wrote about it on her blog today. The 21-year-old me doesn’t comprehend this kind of behavior because the world I grew up in was so different. I’m shocked and saddened by her story. But then I read the words of support written to her by virtual strangers. These women have extended sympathy, love, and encouragement to someone they most likely have never met.

So where ever you are, Rock-and-Roll Steve, I am seeing the world for what it really is. For every natural disaster, there is hundreds, thousands, millions of dollars donated in support. There are homeless people sleeping under bridges, wrapped in wool hats and scarves, hand knit especially for them by strangers. There are volunteers in hospitals playing games with sick children so mom and dad can take a break. And a couple weeks ago, outside of the grocery store I saw a mother with her elementary-school-age child collecting canned foods for the food bank. They stood next to cases of donated food.

The world is good, Steve...the world is good.

Name Dropping

I'm new to all this blogger stuff. My girlfriend, Ruth at 5elementknitr introduced me to it all and has been kind enough to show me around. I started reading Uberstrickenfrau after she dropped a few lines on my blog. I really enjoy reading her blog and added her to my favorites.

I was there yesterday, reading the sidebar and stumbled upon a gem of a quote. It was so beautiful that read it three times:

“If we are lucky, a few times in our lives, the wall of our mental house falls down-or explodes outward- and we get to step over the broken rubble and walk this entirely new landscape of mountains and possibility and giant sky and new pathways full of knowledge and our own potential to grow, change and eventually, contribute something. There is possibility. And ponies. And the world expands." Enchanting Juno

I Googled it to learn more and was delighted when my inquiry lead me to yet another blog!

All three of these women are fantastic writers and their blogs are as thought-provoking as they are entertaining. I invite you all to visit them regularly.

Me, self-righteous?

I believe that “self-righteous” is one of the ugliest human traits. When I think of a person that is “self-righteous”, I think of a person who believes that his/her way of doing something is certainly the best—if not the only—way of doing it. This person is smug and intolerant. I don’t ever want anyone to think me “self-righteous”.

The problem is that I am self-righteous. My way is SO many times the best—if not the only—way to do it. I know what is best and I DON’T like people telling me I’m wrong.

If you’ve heard it once, you’ve heard it a million times, “The first step to getting help is admitting you have a problem.” I know that I have self-righteous tendencies. And I know that this is not something I want people to think about me, so I must suppress these tendencies.

Because I also believe that (to an extent) what other people say and do is not a reflection on me, regardless of my relations to that person, I find myself in constant conflict.

Yesterday, my daughter chose to wear clothes that didn’t match to school. I gently suggested that she change her clothes. I said that although her shirt was as beautiful as her pants, they didn’t look beautiful beside each other. She defended her choice by pointing out that the pants had many of the same colors as her shirt. These clothes didn’t just “not match”, they clashed SO badly, that I couldn’t even tell her what was wrong (just LOOK at it, for crying out loud!). So I let her wear them.

I spent the majority of the day reminding myself that this does not mean that I’m a bad mother, only that my daughter has a unique sense of fashion.

She told me later that night that I was wrong. No one had laughed at her, as I suggested they might.

Okay, fine, no one laughed at her…but it still would have looked better with the solid shirt.

Clean the Clutter!

I walk a fine line between cozy and clutter. I don’t notice it as much in the summer because all my windows and doors are open--my house feel bigger. When it gets cold, I get claustrophobic. I start noticing how much crap I have in my house. It’s the papers that make me crazy. I “need” to save them, but I don’t have anywhere to put them. Where should I keep the student handbook? Or the FYI booklet for Brownie Scouts? What about the recipe I ripped out of the news paper or the crochet pattern I printed off line? I keep it in neat little piles and I move those piles all around the house until I get fed up and I throw them all away.

A couple years ago I labeled a three-ring binder “Suppa Time Favorites” and filled it with tabs for “appetizers”, “soup”, “beef”, “chicken”, “pork”, “sides”, “desserts”, and “holiday themes”. This way, every time I find a recipe on line or in a magazine, I can print or copy it and file in my binder! It’s bloody brilliant—so brilliant, that I developed a similar binder for crochet patterns.

You know that line about the road to hell being paved with good intentions? Guess how many recipes I have in my binder? Three. Only three. And the crochet binder—well, it’s only a week old, but I only have one pattern in it. Now guess how many recipes and crochet patterns I have floating around my house? Then again--don't. We don't want to know.

This weekend, I pledge to Clean the Clutter. I am going to find it a home, or throw it out, so help me God help me.