Old

1.  Yesterday it was already dark as I was walking home at the end of the day. At one point, I passed a man holding on to a concrete half-wall, who was walking … weirdly. Carefully. I have a background in problems with walking so watched him for a few seconds. It wasn't a limp, it wasn't quite … anything else. I sighed. "Hey. Hey!" I walked back since at this point he'd already passed me. "Sir? Sir, are you okay?" 

He turned to face me, and that let me see he was an older man. He smiled. "I'm fine; I'm just old. Thank you, dear." I smiled back. "Okay, have a good night." A friend once told me that she likes to make homeless people feel like people, by acknowledging them. This guy may have been walking alone, but hopefully he felt good knowing he was noticed. 

2.  An out-of-town company is borrowing our conference room. There are several guys* representing this company, and they have back-to-back meetings with other companies for a few days straight. I know one guy – the one who made the reservation. This morning when he arrived he stood in front of my desk, doing that smile men do when they're trying to control their anger. I bit. "What's going on?" He unloaded, and told me how furious he was at his team, how he got sent to a meeting nobody else showed up for, only to find out it'd been cancelled and nobody had updated the Outlook invite to reflect that. Then he sighed, "Time to ream out the troops," before heading into the conference room. 

This evening we were chatting and he mentioned something about the boss being in the conference room right at that moment. "I thought you were the boss," I confessed. He corrected me with a grin. "I'm just the oldest." 

*  Everyone in the company that's renting our conference room is male and white. Every single person representing each company that's come to meet with that first company? Also male and white. I wonder if it's the industry (although what industry besides the KKK only accepts white males?), or the level of positions within each company (although that would be sad too).  They're all very nice. Perfectly gentlemanly and all. Just ... male. And white. 

Bad to Worse

Things are not going well. I know, things seem to never be going well with me. Sorry - that's just my life these days. If you want to read about something happy, go read a mommy blog - I'm sure someone's kid pooped in the toilet for the first time today.

First off, I broke the lease to leave my last place where I lived with 9am. I did this because 9am decided to break the lease himself (giving me less than 30 days notice) to move out to the suburbs, I couldn't find anyone to take over his place and couldn't afford the over $3000 rent by myself. So now we (collectively and separately) owe the leasing company $4600. Obviously I can't pay that, so I'm all, "Add it to the other shit I owe, what's another collection call when you already get over half a dozen each day?"

Last Thursday I went to the leasing office to talk with someone and get them to break down all the fees so I could see which could be attributed to 9am. My thinking was that I'd have him pay me, and I'd tell the leasing company that I'd take responsibility for the entire balance. I don't mind temporarily fucking over a company, but I prefer not to fuck over individual people. Unfortunately, the leasing company contacted me today to say 9am paid the entire thing to avoid having his credit affected, but asked them not to deposit his check and now they are waiting on me. Fuck. Waiting on me is a terrible idea.

Moving on. Because I am so short on cash, I did not want to think I had more in my checking account than I really do, so ages ago (like over half a year) I took out 9am's security deposit and have kept it in my night table in a bank envelope. I figured that after that meeting with the leasing office, I would deduct the things 9am should pay for and then re-deposit his money, and write him a check for the remainder.

Last week I bought a dozen eggs and a package of english muffins, figuring that would give me six meals (two eggs, one muffin per meal). On Friday I noticed that Wooffers took one of my english muffins. We do not have the type of relationship where we share food. She did not ask. She did not leave a note. I told my friend about it, and she suggested I sent her an email:

I noticed this morning that one of my English muffins was missing from the kitchen. Unless one of your dogs is capable of getting into the refrigerator and calmly taking one english muffin, I am going to have to assume that you decided to overstep your bounds and help yourself to something that was not yours to take. Please replace it ASAP, as I am on a very tight budget, what with having to pay steep moving costs twice in one quarter, and this is costing me one meal.

I was very saddened to learn that you would steal from me and my feelings are very hurt. I now do not feel safe leaving any of my belongings alone to be stolen from your home.

Please let me know that you have received/read/understand this email and feel free to express your feelings about this violation of my personal fridge space in your return email. I will expect a replacement muffin by end of day today, Friday, June 19.

I did not send that, deciding instead that although it'd be funny, I didn't want to deal with whatever reaction Wooffers would have, and besides, I'm moving in less than a week. Except, last night I went to make my very last box of mac & cheese. When I opened my cabinet to take out the box, it was gone. This morning, home alone, for absolutely no real reason, I sinned. I opened one of Wooffer's cabinets. Bet you can guess what I saw. That's right.

Know what else happened this morning? After the mac & cheese discovery I sat down to do the math for 9am's security deposit. When I opened my night table to take out the envelope, it was not there. That's $1399 that's missing. On Friday evening Barrett came back to help me pack again. I called her this morning to double check that we hadn't opened my night table drawer. We hadn't. I haven't had anyone else over. I can not think of any other way to handle this than to call the police.

In other news, I had my interview in the Tenderloin. You know how there are some men who think they're god's gift to the universe? They usually have slicked back hair. That's who my interview was with. Guys like that always hate me, for not being hot. The husband of an acquaintance of mine is this type of person. I once had to drop something off for the acquaintance at her husband's office, and when I approached him, he all but sneered at me. The other reason the interview didn't go well is because I was told they are moving. To the Bayview. I asked the guy interviewing me if the new office would be near the T-line, a train that goes out that way. He was emphatic in telling me no, it is way out there near nothing at all, not near any public transportation. I'm supposed to call Tony to tell him how the interview went, but I'm not sure what to say.

The reality is, it's a very small office, I don't fully understand what they'd need me to do, there's nobody to train me, even the attorneys don't understand the programs they have, oh, and they're totally swamped and way behind. Yeah, talk about knowing you're going to fail. If I had to describe the type of position I'd do worst at, this is it.

Meanwhile, now each time I leave the house, I'm feeling like taking my checkbook, jewelry, birth certificate, iPod, camera and passport with me (that's in addition to the wallet, keys and cell phone). I also want to write my initials on the bottom of all my food and have a list (that also leaves the house with me) of all the food I have.

Okay, I'm sort of kidding about the above paragraph. Sort of. I'm not kidding about calling the police about the money.

Free Beer

Got a call this morning that was pretty unusual. It was to temp at ... NOT a law firm. To do some transcription and data entry. It's not in the Financial District, which presented a bit of difficulty for me, because the bus didn't come. I actually had to call and tell them I'd be a half hour late. If I were less poor, a taxi would have been called.

They were so happy to have help though, that they weren't upset that I was late. When I arrived I was given a tour. It was a company that is an expert witness in construction. I was introduced to every single person there (between 10 and 15 people) and told what each one does. I was shown the unisex bathroom, and noticed it had towels and a small rug. We walked into the kitchen, and the woman opened the refrigerator to show me that there was beer and soda I should help myself to.

Beer. Free beer. I am working at a place with free beer. Totally wasted on me. What a shame. Where's the free hot chocolate?

Got lost on the way home, and wound up walking from 11th street towards the Bay, all the way home. Miracle I didn't get mugged. Lovely. Some day I will conquer the bus system. Maybe getting lost using buses is payback for sneaking on sometimes?

Sneak

Being poor can make a person desperate. Here in San Francisco, when you pay the $1.50 to get on a bus, the bus driver gives you a bus pass good for two to three hours. About a month ago, I noticed they were giving out longer bus passes. Ones that were good for about five hours. Not all the bus drivers, just some, on certain routes, at certain times of the day. I couldn't figure out any pattern to when they do it. Just figured it was an effort to help people out in this horrible economy.

I greatly appreciate when they do this, because it always makes my heart sink when I have to pay $1.50 to get to Trader Joe's and then another $1.50 to get home.

These bus passes all look pretty much the same each day; the only difference is the time they're good until. Date on top in big print, time the pass is good until in smaller print on the bottom. There are Muni cops who get on the buses every so often and ask each person to show their bus pass.

One night, on the way home from Golden Boy and Crazy Girl's house, the Muni cops were checking bus passes, and I only had ten minutes left on mine. This particular Muni cop must have had a quota, because his eyes actually lit up when he saw my bus pass. As his hand went to his ticket pad, I whipped out both my watch and cell phone to prove it was not yet 10 p.m. yet.

When a bus driver discovers someone sneaking on the bus they just kick them off. But if a Muni cop discovers someone who's snuck on, or is there past the time their bus pass allots, they are ticketed.

In the last few months, I've sadly gotten in the habit of umm... riding the bus for free. If I have a bus pass from earlier in the day, I'll just fold it in half so the date shows and flash that at the bus driver as I step on the bus. It always works. Always.

On Friday night I was waiting for a bus in the Castro when my father called my cell phone. My bus arrived and right when I was about to say goodbye to my father he said my mother wanted to talk to me. So with cell phone in the left hand and folded (and expired) bus pass in the right, I boarded the bus and started walking towards a seat.

"Hey!"
I turned back towards the bus driver, mentally looking through my wallet to see if I had $1.50, fully prepared to act like I hadn't realized my bus pass had expired a half hour earlier.
"Please move your finger so I can see the date," the driver said to me.
My mother kept talking as I slid my finger off the date. The driver nodded, thanked me, and proceeded to kick off an Asian boy who was trying to sneak on behind me.

Joseph, The Partner Who Got Fired - Part 1

Twenty comments. You guys always come out of the woodwork when I throw something up here that invites voting. Practicing for November, huh? Though for all I know someone is corrupt and all you anons are really just one person. So you want to hear about Joseph, the partner in South Florida who got fired. Alrighty. I need a break from all this election shit, and maybe you do too, so let's talk about how shit went down in Florida. And Meeks? Here ya go. One, Two, Three, Four, Five.

I had temped at this firm previously, and liked them just fine. They're one of the biggest firms in Florida, and when I interviewed with the HR guy we'd already known each other from my temping days. (See? Different coast, same job problems. You really can't run away from yourself.) He had me sit in the little interview room next to his office while he went to fetch Joseph. All I knew was that it was IP (intellectual property) law, the guy had previously had his own practice, lived in Miami, and had come to the firm as a partner.

And then I met Joseph. He was jewish, with clean fingernails and a big smile, and was what I call "dad-age." I flashed a jewy smile back at him, and we chatted. "Have you worked in patent law before?" "No, but I hadn't worked in Florida before I moved here either," I tossed out, displaying a confidence I didn't really have. Joseph explained that he'd just come to the firm recently, and the department was small, but hopefully growing. He did patent law, had a female attorney who did trademarks, and he was excited. I nodded eagerly, "It sounds really exciting." I am such a kiss ass in an interview, it's disgusting. And yet I keep doing it, because it totally works.

Right when I started, like the first day or two, Joseph stressed to me the need for confidentiality. Most attorneys do this. Just a breezy thing in passing. "Hey, you know you're bound by the same confidentiality I'm bound by, right? Okay, just making sure." No big deal. He had stacks and stacks of files all around the floor of his office. Pointing to the files, I asked if he wanted them filed. No. He wanted to go through them - they were client files from his private practice and needed to be incorporated into the current firm's file format. I offered to come in on a Saturday, and help. Overtime is my friend.

The next bright Saturday morning found me driving through downtown Fort Lauderdale, on Broward Boulevard, feeling slightly uncomfortable without the homeless guy on the church steps. He used to ask everyone for change as they walked to the parking garage a block and a half away, Brasserie, Las Olas Boulevard, during rush hour. Once a lawyer was walking in front of me when he got asked for change. The lawyer leaned toward the homeless guy, and said, "Change comes from within," and kept walking. Since I felt like I'd just been punched in the chest, it's hard to imagine how that homeless guy felt.

I crossed the street, stumbling into the side entrance of the building (which was a Starbucks), and Nat, the gay owner rushed right over, asking if I was okay. Words escaped me. Shaking my head I gestured towards the lawyer in front of me who was striding to the elevator banks, and gave his back my middle finger. Nat was cool. He'd been there a long time, and just nodded to me. "He never tips either." I never gave that homeless guy on the church steps any money, but I always looked him in the eyes and said, "No, sorry," which is what I say these days too.

It would make a good story if I told you that attorney was Joseph, but that's not true. I just wanted to mention this homeless guy because he was the first one I interacted with on a regular basis in my life. That church had a daycare, and a fenced playground. Each day when leaving work the kids would be outside playing and screaming. I don't know if other people liked it or not, but I did. I liked to imagine they were screaming with glee that work was over for the day.

Critical Attack on Critical Mass

I've written about it a few times before, but just recently found out there's a critical mass in other cities. Namely, New York.

The idea is, if you have a bike, use it on Critical Mass day, instead of a car. In San Francisco, this is popular. This is accepted. One of these days I will get my shit together and take some pictures for you so you can see that even on non-CM days, there are still lots of people on bikes in the street.

Anyway, this morning I found out a cop in Manhattan body slammed a guy biking along, making him fall over. I watched the video, and during the slow-motion part you can see the cop actually runs to make contact, despite the biker trying to veer away from the cop. The cop is now on desk duty, but I don't think that's enough. Let's say the biker called out, "Fuck you, Pig!" as he tried to ride by. Even under that scenario, the cop still is not within his rights to do what he did. Maybe the biker gave the cop the finger. Still.

A cop's job is to serve and protect. (Insert your own joke about serving here.) I am not really clear as to why this police officer wasn't suspended without pay. Damn, I wish I worked at the law firm that represents the PBA so as to find out the details.

Can a person get away with making a citizen's arrest on a cop?

Okay, so the article has been updated. Apparently Critical Mass is not a protected program in New York the way it is in San Francisco and it seems NYPD feels right about arresting bikers. If I am remembering correctly, there are bike lanes to the right of the car lanes in New York. That's where people on bikes are supposed to ride, I guess.

So if the bike riders are not staying in their little bike lanes I can see why they are being arrested. Obstructing traffic and all. Okay, that's fair. However. Are you really supposed to be pulling people over for arrest by body slamming them to the ground? No, no you are not. What if that boy had hit his head wrong and broken his neck? What if in the midst of body slamming the biker, the cop caused the biker to fall into an innocent person on the sidewalk?

Is anyone else offended that Christopher Long, the guy on the bike, is mentioned by name, but the cop's name was not released? I am having a hard time seeing the fairness of all this.

Finally, I've Crossed Over

No, not to the dark side (I've been there since I was but a wee 5th grader wearing all black). No, I've crossed over into being a city person.

People ask me if I like living in San Francisco, and I do. But I sometimes qualify that answer by saying this is the first city I've ever lived in, so it's not quite fair to compare it to when I lived in New York or Florida. I've liked San Francisco since the day after I got here, and even the time I got attacked by a homeless person, I didn't hate it here. Nor did I hate it the night I got very lost in a bad area trying to go to a friend's house and wound up calling another friend crying, to help me.

The one thing that's consistently made it hard to adjust to city life is not having a car, and thus, using mass transit. For months after moving here, I never took public transportation by myself, and then finally graduated to only taking the N Judah, and only for two stops. To get to the supermarket and back. I am not one of those people who is ever late, but here in San Francisco, home of people who think nothing of flaking, I am sometimes late due to getting on the wrong train (or the right train going in the wrong direction).

This weekend I had houseguests who are from the country; two of the three were not at all familiar with mass transit. On Saturday we took a bus up to Market Street to catch the F Market because naturally we were going to Fisherman's Wharf. As M saw me yank on the string that runs along both sides of the bus, she shook her head, saying she didn't understand how it all worked. How did I know which bus to get on? How did I know where it was going? How did I know where to get off the bus?

And so I started talking. I pointed. I explained. I spun her around by the shoulders to see bus numbers. I showed her bus signs posted on the street. Possibly most importantly, I told her that after four years, I still sometimes get lost. I talked until my throat hurt, and then I talked a little more.

Sometimes she nodded, sometimes she stared in shock, but at the end of the night, I think she was a little less intimidated by the idea of one day doing this on her own. I hope she does it. I'll let her know she can call me crying when she's lost in a bad area at night.

How To Turn My Day Around In One Easy Step

Remember in Ferris Bueller when Ferris was racing through backyards to get home before Jeannie got there and busted him? And as he was running through a back yard with two girls laying out he came back to say hi to them?

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Growing up, we had an awesome dog. She was outrageously well-trained. You could say to her, "What do you want?" and if she wanted to go for a walk, she'd lead you to the coat closet where her leash was hung. If she wanted to go out, she'd lead you to the back door. If she wanted more water, she'd pull her water dish out a couple of inches with her paw.

Our dog never jumped on anybody. Ever. Except for one guy. This guy my dad's been friends with since high school - she'd jump on him, and only him. I don't know what it was about him. I mean sure, he's a very nice guy (great cook), but the pooch must have sensed something about him that wasn't on human radar. Maybe she knew it was because he loved her so much that he went out and got the same breed of dog.
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There's a Blind Guy who lives in my building. He's really nice. I met him in the elevator; his dog jumped on me. She's a big dog - a golden labrador. Blind Guy and I run into each other at least twice a week, so his dog has gotten to know me. A couple of weeks ago - during the crazy rain - the guy seemed to be having a hard time. I came upon him and he had one arm in a sling, and wasn't holding his dog's harness.

Of course once she saw me the dog ran over, leaving him standing by himself. Good thing I was only about ten feet away. Walking towards the guy I said hello to him, and he smiled as we talked about the awful weather. The dog followed me, and eventually was back at Blind Guy's side where she belonged. He told me she never runs away like that, and also never jumps on anyone else. I assured him I didn't mind the jumping and asked if he was okay. He said he was, despite the arm-in-sling, so I just hung around until he got the dog leashed up, in case she'd follow me if I walked away. Maybe she can sense in me whatever my dog was able to sense in my dad's friend.

Lately I've been waking at 4 a.m. That's dangerous for me, because what happens is that I fall back asleep at some point between 7 and 7:30 a.m., right before my alarm goes off, and then I sleep through it. I hate being late for work, and hate rushing around to get ready. It sets the whole tone for the day, and I hate it. Yet the other morning, that's what I found myself doing when I'd overslept.

Cranky as all hell as I ran down to the street, I tried to guess if it'd be faster to wait for the next bus or walk to work. Walking won, and I zipped across the street in four seconds, dodging slow-moving people, silently cursing them out for being so fucking slow. Can't they see how much of a rush I'm in? Would it kill them to move a little faster?

Blind man's dog was at the corner, and her tail thumped in happiness when she saw me. For the first time since I'd woken up I smiled as I rushed past, not stopping to say hi to Blind Guy in my hurry to get to work.

Screw it. Like Ferris, I turned around and went back. Also like Ferris, I made it on time. And with a smile. Life moves pretty fast sometimes. If you don't look around once in a while, you could miss it.

The Non-Post

I am too tired to do a real post. So all you'll get is this fake one. See? It's not even really here. Figment of your imagination.

However, I know that sucks. I know some people wake up very early in their houses when everyone else is asleep and just like in the commercials, they get a cup of coffee and sit down to read. I'm so sorry I'm disappointing you. This does not mean that I'm going to do a real post for you. Because I'm not. But I will give you this: I've made notes for the two ideas I had rolling around in my head this morning. And one of those posts is roommate-related, though not in the way you're thinking.

I'll try to bang something out this weekend, and get one of the two going on Monday.

So for now I leave you with these random tidbits:

1. I saw Cat Lady today. She was late for work. She looks exactly the same.
2. One of the partners I work for had me type up three notepads worth of notes he made during three different depositions. This sounds easy, but really, it's tedious as all get out and lawyers write almost as badly as doctors. The partner e-mailed me a thank you for the good job I did, and cc'd the HR chick.
3. I ran into said HR chick on the bus going home today, and it was not at all awkward.
4. Tomorrow is jeans day!
5. This whole idea of having blog-friends is really weird and really nice, all at the same time.
6. I was e-mailing with someone a couple of weeks ago and banged out a mildly funny scenario to her. It was some damn fine writing, if I do say so myself. But I feel like it's cheating to take that and make it into a blog post. Tempting as hell.
7. Thanks, and... sorry Jimmy, we're out of time.

This morning I walked to the bus stop behind a couple - an Asian girl and a white boy, who held hands as they walked.

He was barely taller than she was, and they talked quietly to each other. They each had a messenger bag; hers was yellow and faded, with a white design - maybe it was small flowers or polka-dots or something. His was green, my shade of green, equally as faded as hers, with chinese* writing on it.

When we got to the corner they leaned close to each other, and as the light changed they kissed, and she walked West while he walked North.

*To my Asian readers, what is the right way of saying that? I know there are tons of dialects, but I can't look at writing and know if it's Mandarin or Cantonese. Am I supposed to guess because since you weren't there, you won't know if I'm wrong when I say the writing was Mandarin, or am I supposed to leave it at Chinese, because at least you'll know exactly what I mean and will picture the right thing in your head?

Wellie ... No

About a year ago I noticed Wellies, and thought they looked like so much fun to have, that I wanted a pair. Or Two. Or Four. I kept looking around at stores that sold them, trying to figure out which ones to buy. Which ones would make me happiest, yet also go with the majority of my clothes.

Every time I was in a shoestore, I'd go look at their Wellies. Every time it rained, and my no-brand black boots that I've had since I was 17 kept my feet dry, I'd look down at them and think, "Who keeps shoes for a dozen years? These aren't even Docs or anything. It's time I upgrade."

Yet I just kept looking. And looking. And out on the street, when I'd see someone walk by in their Wellies, I'd eye them wistfully. I resisted the urge to stop them and ask. Where did you find those? Are you happy with your choice? Did you buy more than one pair to go with all different outfits?

Then I started paying attention to more than just the Wellies themselves. I noticed how rubbery they are. And how they looked with people's outfits. I realized something. They looked kind of awful. Basically, they only look good with either jeans that are rolled up a little bit (and even that is iffy), or with leggings. I suppose they look alright with skinny jeans tucked in, but how many people actually look good in skinny jeans? Right, like six. And two of them live in New York, three live in Europe, and the last is Ashley Olson.

The main reason I want Wellies is for going to and from work. My work clothes will NOT look right with Wellies. Not even with plain black ones. It's not like I muck stalls. Or go camping. Or fishing. Or spend time in commercials for Irish Spring. I don't even spend time tromping through the English countryside with my dogs on the weekends. In fact, I can only wear jeans on Fridays, and I don't own any leggings. I used to, but then I finished sixth grade.

For the last few weeks it's been raining almost every day. Maybe Mother Nature thought I missed living in Florida (I don't). Anyway, the Wellies are all around me (just like signs*). The other day I realized something. I'm not going to buy Wellies. Not just because I'm in debt up to my eyeballs, but because I'm perfectly content admiring them in stores and on other people's feet, without actually owning any myself.

Think of me next time it's raining, and put on your funky Wellies. If I had a car, I'd honk and wave, but I don't, so I'll just smile quietly instead. You know, as opposed to smiling loudly.

*First person to tell me what that's from wins a prize (not Wellies)!

Bus

When I take the bus home from work, there are about six kids on it, all Asian, all with siblings, all with book-bags on their way home from school, all accompanied by a mother or grandpa, all clutching a snack or falling asleep.

Nobody ever talks to anyone they didn't get on the bus with, except the time that girl dropped her credit card after paying her bill by cell phone, and the guy a few rows back was all, "Miss! Excuse me, Miss!" We all just listen to our iPods and check our voicemails and read and sit wearily, zoning out until the bus gets to our stop. There may as well be a sign at the front of the bus that says, "Quiet! People have had a long, hard day."

Yesterday a little girl about three years old was sitting across from me, with her mother on one side and older sister on the other. She reached into her mother's bag to withdraw a baggie filled with sucking candies. Unwrapping one, she popped it in her mouth and happily sucked away, only to have it fall out of her mouth and down her shirt when the bus went over a big bump.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the woman sitting next to me try to hold back a smile as we watched the mother fish out the candy from inside the little girl's shirt. The girl was blasé about it, and reached into her mother's bag for a second candy to suck on. A good song came on and I looked forward, out the front windshield of the bus, to see how close we were to my stop. I zoned out.

And then out of the corner of my eye I saw the little girl not looking right. She was choking on her candy, eyes wide and scared. Her older sister continued to ignore her. The woman sitting next to me was clearly concerned, and just as I was about to tell the mother her daughter was choking on her candy, the little girl coughed it up and started to cry.

The mother realized what had happened right away, and patted the girl's back as she put her head in her mother's lap. It turned out that everyone nearby had it, and there was a collective sigh of relief.

She is my favorite of all the kids who ride the bus, only second to the little blond boy on the morning bus who likes to inform me when it's raining and I'm not wearing rainboots.

Happy Birthday Critical Mass

Today marks 15 years of bike riding through the streets. San Francisco is the only place I've ever seen it, though critical mass is supposedly done in over 300 places.

I think it's partially about bike-riders being able to share the roads with cars and also about reducing pollution. Both things I support in theory, though not in practice by riding a bike. One thing I don't like is that Critical Mass is not held to traffic laws. They get to ride through the streets, but don't have to stop at red lights.

To pedestrians such as myself, this sucks, as it causes people walking to have to wait over ten minutes to cross a street while hundreds of bike riders ignore red lights (with the police - on bikes themselves - looking on). Right now the city is working on creating traffic lanes that are designated for bikes. Maybe their next bike-related project will be encouraging bike-riders to adhere to traffic laws.

A girl can dream.

So Little Time, So Much To Bitch About and Share

1. E-mails - to everyone I send e-mails to, I'm sorry. There's something wrong with my e-mail program that causes a question mark to be inserted at the end of every sentence. Remember on Party of Five when Charlie went to a parent-teacher conference at Owen's school and he accidentally made fun of the teacher who claimed she had "upspeak"? Yeah, I don't have that. I'm really not that indecisive.

2. (Not) Dancing With the Stars - no shock that Josie went home. But can we just discuss how much I hate fluff shows like tonight's was? Just bang out the results in the first segment, break for commercial, and then just bring out Dolly Parton's boobs and Savion Glover for the rest of the show. Stop talking so fucking much! NOBODY cares what that dork is talking about!

3. Customer Service - I'm a huge fan of good customer service. Let's talk about the good and bad customer service I've received this week.
3a. Burke Williams Spa - I decided yesterday that I "needed" to get my eyebrows waxed and it was the first place I thought of to try, not having any personal waxing experience in this city. You should go, you should ask for Robin. She just moved here from LA, and was great. And not only because she gave me a slew of free samples to shove in my pocket.

3b. Whole Paycheck - Though I am not a foodie, there are specific foods I like better than others, and DeBoles spinach fettucini is one of them. Whole Foods will order it by the box for me, and sell it wholesale. Me likey. The other day I went to pick up my box of pasta, and the guy told me there'd been a terrible accident. Somebody opened up the box they were holding for me and SOLD one of the boxes of pasta! He told me to go pick out any pasta off the shelf that I wanted, they'd give me that for free, and still sell me my big box of pasta wholesale.

3c - Safeway Delivery - they were scheduled to arrive last night between 7 and 9 p.m. At 8:41 p.m. I called Safeway to ask when I should expect the dude to arrive. They told me to call them if he didn't arrive before 9 p.m. I asked how that would work since they close then too. The guy gave a big sigh, saying, "I suppose I *could* call the driver on his phone..." to which I replied, "Thanks! I'll hold!" He came back saying the driver was running late and would be arriving between 10 and 10:30 p.m. That pissed me off. I'd specifically not started dinner because I didn't want to have food all over the counters when the delivery guy arrived. So I asked when somebody was planning to tell me the driver would be arriving late. Dude on the phone didn't know. The driver arrived at 9:22 p.m., and never apologized for being late. Despite my anger, I did tell the driver to be careful of the stove, which was hot, as by that point I was cooking dinner.

4. Loose Earlobe Lady - yeah I know, you thought there'd be no more LEL stories. SURPRISE! I was at an interview the other day, and the HR woman looked at the last firm I worked at, and told me she'd interviewed Loose from my firm, did I know her? Why yes, in fact we sat next to each other. Say Green, why did you leave Last Firm? Because they moved my department to the East Bay and I live in the city and didn't want to commute so far. Ohh, that makes sense. So does Loose live in the city also? Nope, she lives in the East Bay. Was her last day the same as your last day? No, she left about three weeks or a month before I did. I just left it there. If I said anything else it'd have been rude. I had a second interview with the firm today, and the attorney liked me a lot, but wants to interview more people. In telling a friend about it, I confessed to being worried. "What if he interviews someone else and finds someone better than me to hire?" Her response was perfect. "He won't. Look who's out there - Loose Earlobe!"

5. Bank of America - Trixie is away on a long trip (party at my house!) and left me the rent check for October before she went. She forgot to sign it. I brought it to the bank today, and the guy deposited it without blinking or saying a word to me. That SUCKS. To know my bank is that lax in their procedures? Horrible! Bank of America, for SHAME!

As annoying as all this is, I realize it could be worse. How's your customer service been lately?

Enough

The whole firm knows about the new office that's opening soon. Everyone has questions.

Who's going?Can I go?
Are you going?
What are you going to doooooo?
Are you going to take the boxes of files in the empty office where Labor & Employment used to be?
What will you do about office supplies?
Can you work remotely?
Do you have a car?
Are you going to commute?
Do they need a secretary? Remember that copy room girl who left when she had her baby? She'd kill to work out there.
Are they taking a word processor?
Will you come into the city for the breakfasts and other parties?When you go, can I have Tuna's office/your chair?

I am not exaggerating when I say that two to three times each day people are coming up to me to talk and ask me about it. Really, I'm sure you can understand why I don't want to talk about this. It's bad enough I have to talk to my roommate and my family about it (no offense guys). Thank you, but I don't need suggestions, I don't need links to jobs, I don't need reminders to look for a new job (I just accidentally typed 'jew job' - perhaps on a deep level I've been uncomfortable working in such a Christian-centric place all this time?) and I don't want to be reminded forty times a day that the clock is ticking.

Nobody EVER needs to point out anything negative about me or my life to me. Please trust me when I assure you I've thought of it. Whatever it is, I've thought of it and worried about it already. Way ahead of you. Now you don't have to wonder what I've been doing awake since 2:30 a.m. - you know. I've been staring into my pillow thinking about how exactly being homeless will work for me now that I don't own a car anymore. Really, if you've thought something negative of me, I've already taken that thought to the tenth power at a minimum.

Why Cat Lady came up to me THREE TIMES yesterday to talk about The Move is beyond me. Especially since the very first time I looked her straight in the eye and said, "I really don't know, and can't talk about it anymore." Cat Lady coming to talk to you is nothing you want to experience. She's the one who had the gastric-bypass surgery. When a person has that, they're supposed to change their dietary habits. Significantly. Cat Lady didn't. Which is why she has all sorts of OTC drugs spread along her desk to treat various digestive issues. I'm not sure if that's why her breath is awful, but it is. Of course she's prone to standing too close to people when she talks with them.

Have I ever really discussed Cat Lady here? Maybe I haven't. Maybe since I won't be dealing with her soon, I should. Cat Lady is an older woman who rents a house and has a male roommate, and some cats, one of whom is named Romeo (LEL came up with the name). Cat Lady thinks everything about herself is fascinating, and doesn't notice when people's eyes glaze over as she blabs on and on about her cat's antics. Cat Lady is President of some Secretary Association or some shit like that.

Cat Lady says very harsh things about people. She told me that the receptionist is very jealous of her because she had a decades-long relationship with a man years ago. That another secretary wears black suits all the time because she thinks it makes her look thin, but it doesn't.

She likes to be viewed as an authority on ... well, anything. Cat Lady presents her opinions as facts. She thinks any joke she makes is incredibly witty, and anything she says is deep. Cat Lady's favorite game is to walk by my ponywall and push any papers up there over the edge, so they fall onto my desk. Her second favorite game is to walk by and tell me, "Clean up that mess!" She thinks she's hilarious. I think a swift smack to the back of her head with a frying pan would make me feel very good.
I would love to sit down (with many feet between us so I didn't pass out from her halitosis) and psychoanalyze Cat Lady. People whose self-confidence crosses the line to arrogance always fascinate me. How do they get that way? Do they realize they're like that? Are they happy being that way? Do they look down on anyone around them who isn't that way? Would they aim to raise their children to be that way?

But that won't happen. Instead, I'm putting out the word here, because this is the only place I feel I can do it. Don't call me, I'll call you. You know I have a big mouth. You know I won't be able to resist blabbing to the world once I have a new job. I know your asking is your way of showing you care. And I truly appreciate your caring, more than I can express. But I am a green and yogurty person, who feels your asking as pressure on me. And as I said above, I put tons of that on myself already.

Hey Green, How's Work Going?

Thank you so much for asking! It's going well, but it won't be for much longer. Here's the breakdown. I work in a specific department, that has a grand total of three attorneys in the San Francisco office of the firm. The Cowboy is the head of the department, and is moving it closer to his house. He is taking the other two attorneys with him. The names of those attorneys? Tuna and Nice Partner. Thus, I am out of a job. But wait, you work for Name Partner too, what about him? Well, yes, thank you for paying attention. The truth is I don't do much work for Name Partner at all, and he can be absorbed by someone else. Thus I am left for nobody to work for and am being axed.

But wait, can't you go to the new office? Or work for some other attorney at your current office? Can't they just pull a position out of their asses?

One at a time, shall we?
1. I live in the city, the new office will be in the 'burbs. I do not own a car and currently have no intention of buying one. I am not willing to do a reverse commute. I would spend at LEAST three hours commuting if I went to the new office. I already have a hard enough time in the winters, leaving work when it's dark out. Getting home even later would drive me to an unsafe level of depression.
2. Gay HR Guy said the corporate attorney they were trying to hire (who they were thinking of throwing me to) fell through. He doesn't know why (bullshit), but that guy isn't coming. There was talk of one of the grandmas retiring this summer, but that's not materializing either. Basically, no grandmas are leaving (unless one kicks the bucket unexpectedly), and no new lawyers are coming in.
3. As much as they like me, and Gay HR Guy assured me they do and I believe him, no, they simply can't pull a position out of their asses. The firm doesn't use floaters, and no, there just simply isn't anywhere they can stick me.

You may be wondering when exactly this happens. I am too. Gay HR Guy spoke with me last Wednesday and he didn't know either. But he did suggest I start looking, said I can use him as a reference, and that I can take off whatever time I need for interviews. Anyone want to meet me for a two hour lunch?! My prediction, based on the dates I saw on the lease for the new office, are late May/early June. Here's the dick move Tuna pulled on me. A while ago, we had a conversation about the new office that went a little like this:

Tuna: Have you heard anything?Green: No, have you?
Tuna: No, but when I do, I'll let you know.

::three weeks later::

Green: Tuna, I heard a lease was signed; do you know what's supposed to happen to me?
Tuna: We're having a conference call on Monday to discuss support staff so I'll find out for you.

::two days later::

Green: Tuna, I'm going to lunch ... unless you want to chat now about Monday's phone call...?
Tuna: No, go ahead, this isn't a good time.

::two days after that::

Green: Tuna will you have time to talk with me about Monday's conference call?
Tuna: Yeah absolutely. Let's just get through this filing and talk later this afternoon.

Yeah, we didn't talk. Clearly Tuna didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. He really should have just never said he'd tell me if he heard anything. This pissed me off, and I was a bit cold to him. Then his daughter had a medical emergency, my mom was in the hospital again, and I forgot to be angry at him. I've really got to start writing these things down. Here's what pisses me off though: after I talked with Gay HR Guy, Tuna kept asking if I'd spoken with him. He was clearly trying to feel me out, and gauge how angry I was. I knew that, and purposely was vague and didn't answer his questions the way he wanted me too (damn, I'm vindictive!). Finally Tuna asked me to come into his office and talk with him.

Tuna: So, how'd it go with Gay HR Guy?
Green: Pretty much the way you'd expect it to go when one person tells another they're out of a job they really liked.

Yeah, I was being bitchy. I'm like that sometimes. Okay, most of the time. (Hmm, maybe that's why I'm not just my own best friend, but my only friend...) Then Tuna goes on to tell me that Gay HR Guy will give me a good reference, and I should feel free to take off whatever time I need for interviews, as if he's doing me a favor out of the goodness of his heart. No fucking way. Green: Yeah, Gay HR Guy mentioned that.

Tuna was off his rocker if he thought I was going to thank him for something he hadn't given me. I'm disappointed in Tuna - I really liked him. Granted, I hold people up to very high expectations, so of course they are destined to fall. But really. Don't shoot off your mouth and tell somebody you'll keep them in the loop, then shut them out, then act like you're doing them a favor when you're really not. Maybe I just need to adjust my assessment of Tuna - he's got good character when it's easy. Maybe that's all its realistic to expect of people.

Working on Commuting

I just need to say that the new grandma who wore red leather pants two weeks ago showed up today wearing a leather skirt. Thank you.

So, my new commute is not working out for me.

In the mornings, the bus doesn't come until five minutes before 9 a.m., getting me to work 10-15 minutes late every day. In the evenings, I have to stand outside in the cold for 20-35 minutes waiting for the bus to come take me home. This will not do.

This morning I tried a different route, that involves taking two buses. I got to work at 9:06 a.m. Better, but still not good enough. However, I overshot my stop getting off the first bus, so I'm going to try again tomorrow. This new route, although it involves more walking, might just be what I need.

I found a different route for getting home that also involves taking two buses. Not much waiting is involved at all, but each day something goes wrong while I'm ON the bus that goes down Market Street. There's a car accident and we get stuck on the bus for a long time. A crazy man gets on the bus and blocks the aisle with his huge suitcase and engages in a stand-off with the bus driver who says he won't move the bus until Crazy Man moves his suitcase. Crazy Man inspires half the passengers of the bus to prepare to flee as he mumbles to himself and reaches around in his suitcase, worrying everyone he's about to pull out a gun, only to open his hand and reveal a tape measure in an effort to prove his point. This bus lets me off further away from home than the evening bus I used to take, leaving me to walk three blocks to get home.

I think the evening commute is half a dozen of one, six of another. I can either lose 25 minutes standing outside, or while sitting on the bus for whatever reason followed by walking the last few blocks home.

I started this post with a grandma tidbit, and I'll end it with another grandma tidbit. Cat Lady told me yesterday that LEL is not only not being invited to move when my department moves to a different office, but that she was told to start looking for a new job. I'm not sure I can believe Cat Lady. Tuna and I had a chat this morning about the move, and I told him that I hope to still have a job. He promised to speak with Cowboy and see what he can do for me.

Exciting Update: Today I got to work late taking the two-bus route. However, I will claim the Milli Vanilli card, and blame it on the rain that was fallin' fallin'. Will try again tomorrow.