So, I use humor to do a lot of things - make new friends, diffuse an awkward situation, grapple with the deepest mysteries of the universe, etc.
I get super nervous going to any sort of medical professional for anything. Not so nervous that they're trying to sign me up for the pre-appointment valium, but I can't say I'd be entirely opposed to that. Naturally, since I get nervous and awkward, I make a lot of jokes. As trained medical professionals, they have learned to mask their humanity and remain clinical and distant at all times - at least, this is what I blame as the reason my jokes fall flat.
Today, as a follow up to my annual physical, I had to go in for an echocardiogram. So, time to take off your clothes, put on the little paper gown and lie on the table while they take some images of your heart. Now, as the tech is giving me instructions on how to position myself for the "procedure," a funny thought comes to mind.
"Roll onto your left side...okay, put your left arm up behind your head, like this. Okay, good, now let your right arm rest on your side."
Cue Celine Dion.
Jack, I want you to paint me like one of your French girls.
With only a split second of hesitation I said, "Ooh, this is just like that scene in Titanic. Ha." Get it? Get it? I have to lay like this but it is totally NOT like Titanic, amirit?
Tech says, "Uh, yeah, that's the pose, alright."
After the appointment all I could think was, Man, what I should have said was, "Jack, I want you to ultrasound me like one of your French girls."
Put a verb on it!
Later this morning, I was buying some juice in the cafeteria when the girl in front of me (with a tray full of things and multiple envelopes, etc) turned around and said, "You should go somewhere else, I've got like 5 orders."
Looking to the only other cash register, I saw 4 people in line. Same, same, right?
"No problem, I'm fine here."
So, she loads up one order, then another, paying with different cards, a wad of cash, etc. I say to her, "It's too bad they couldn't put you on the corporate card, right? AMEX Black card, maybe?" Get it, because there is no corporate card because this is the government, I mean, am I right or am I right?
She doesn't even acknowledge that she has been spoken to.
Then a kindly old fellow on the other side of the line says, "This looks to me like you've lost a football bet." Everyone smiles, I chuckle.
"No, I'm getting breakfast for everyone in the Ops center. Because of the late start I'm the only one here who can do it."
The older man says again, "Nope, looks like you lost a football bet."
She sighs heavily, clearly annoyed. Which I couldn't understand, since everyone was just trying to show her we didn't care she was taking effing forever at the register, so I said, "We're just teasing, just giving you a hard time."
"I know," she said curtly.
"I mean, we're not exactly banging down the doors to get back into our cubicles." A couple more chuckles from behind the other folks in line.
She stalked away with her heavily-laden tray without a word.
It made me a little sad. Not just that our jokes had no effect, but that she missed out on the joke, that she missed out on the joy, the tiny connection we all just made with eachother, a little story that might buoy us later on when things weren't so funny anymore.
Mary Evans Protip: Life is short. Don't take yourself too seriously.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
It is Way To [sic] Early
I'm on the committee to help plan my office holiday party next week. The day after our shindig, they are using the conference room we're taking over for an important meeting. I thought it would be a nice gesture to get the room vacuumed after our fete.
Figuring there couldn't be a direct way to do this, I asked someone in our executive office how I could get the room vaccumed. I was told to send a request to the e-mail box dedicated to building maintenance requests. I did so, and received a reply that my request had been made "way to early" and that I would need to send the request again the day before the party. It was a blow, not only because there couldn't be any calendar or system of logging requests if one could be made "to early," but also because they used "to" instead of "too." It's worse than there, their, they're, in my humble opinion.
I was then called and informed that the room could only be vacuumed between the hours of 2 and 3:30pm. I replied that our party was from 3-5pm and so the cleaning wouldn't be useful then, nor would it be helpful for the meeting the following morning. When I asked about simply borrowing a vacuum, I was told that I was "not allowed to touch it" per some building or union regulation.
Sigh. I think I've gotten it straightened out. I think I'm going to call after the party on Tuesday and say there's been a "massive spill" in the conference room that needs to be cleaned up before a very important meeting the next morning. Well, that's only if taking my case to the building manager doesn't work out.
And then, to rub salt in the wound, I was greeted in the kitchen by this sign on the refrigerator:
Effective 12/9/11, the refrigerator and freezer will be emptied and cleaned each Friday. Please remove items you do not wish to have disguarded.
I am, of course, sketching a hummus tub fencing a yogurt container to stick up next to it.
Figuring there couldn't be a direct way to do this, I asked someone in our executive office how I could get the room vaccumed. I was told to send a request to the e-mail box dedicated to building maintenance requests. I did so, and received a reply that my request had been made "way to early" and that I would need to send the request again the day before the party. It was a blow, not only because there couldn't be any calendar or system of logging requests if one could be made "to early," but also because they used "to" instead of "too." It's worse than there, their, they're, in my humble opinion.
I was then called and informed that the room could only be vacuumed between the hours of 2 and 3:30pm. I replied that our party was from 3-5pm and so the cleaning wouldn't be useful then, nor would it be helpful for the meeting the following morning. When I asked about simply borrowing a vacuum, I was told that I was "not allowed to touch it" per some building or union regulation.
Sigh. I think I've gotten it straightened out. I think I'm going to call after the party on Tuesday and say there's been a "massive spill" in the conference room that needs to be cleaned up before a very important meeting the next morning. Well, that's only if taking my case to the building manager doesn't work out.
And then, to rub salt in the wound, I was greeted in the kitchen by this sign on the refrigerator:
Effective 12/9/11, the refrigerator and freezer will be emptied and cleaned each Friday. Please remove items you do not wish to have disguarded.
I am, of course, sketching a hummus tub fencing a yogurt container to stick up next to it.
Friday, November 18, 2011
The Question Game
The night of my first kiss I was playing the question game with my boyfriend of 2 weeks and crush of many, many months.
We stayed up far too late that summer, often with our other friends, asking each other questions about our childhoods, preferences and dreams. We couldn't get enough of eachother. All of us. The friendships we made were sudden and intense, springing up out of games of cards at fireworks stands, and hide and seek in the dark.
A few months later I was at my boyfriend's birthday party and some of his family had put together a quiz about him as one of the games. I knew all the answers but one, I think - high school colors and mascot, favorite cartoon character, favorite cartoon show (yes, they were different questions...he was really into animating) name of childhood pet, other details. I knew the answers because of the question game, mostly. What was your favorite birthday? What were you most afraid of when you were little? What was your stupidest fight with your parents about?
But after weeks of playing this game, you start to run out of questions.
So we sat there in the cold and quiet of early December, separated handily by the console in the middle of the front seat of my car. I kept pestering, thinking he was running out of ideas. "Come on! It's your turn. Ask me a question." Silence. "Come on! You are taking foreevveeerrr." I thought he was falling asleep. "Come on!" I poked him in the shoulder.
I barely heard the question, it was asked so quietly. "When are you going to let me kiss you?"
I said the smoothest thing I could think of. "Well, um, I don't know. Why don't you try right now?"
I didn't really understand what all the hype had been about. That took a good night's sleep.
But that's not really the point of all this.
I think a lot about how the people I've met in the past few years, mostly since college, I know in a different way. I know what they think is funny, where they came from, maybe a sketch of what their family is like. The truth is that what I have mostly is an idea of their personality, not much more than that.
I miss knowing everything about someone. Like how they hid notes from boys they liked in their bed posts, what every hair cut they've had since their hair was long enough to cut looked like, and their most embarassing Halloween costume ever.
And since I wasn't there for all those things with the people in my life now, I guess I'm going to have to start asking some questions. We spend all this time wanting to get out and explore things, see the vast expanse of the world. But we forget about the great unknown of eachother.
A lot of people I know are writing down something they're thankful for every day this November. I decided not to do that. But, if I had to pick one thing I was grateful for this month, it would be that knowing is the most interesting, beautiful, mysterious, wonderful thing we ever set out to do with out lives.
We stayed up far too late that summer, often with our other friends, asking each other questions about our childhoods, preferences and dreams. We couldn't get enough of eachother. All of us. The friendships we made were sudden and intense, springing up out of games of cards at fireworks stands, and hide and seek in the dark.
A few months later I was at my boyfriend's birthday party and some of his family had put together a quiz about him as one of the games. I knew all the answers but one, I think - high school colors and mascot, favorite cartoon character, favorite cartoon show (yes, they were different questions...he was really into animating) name of childhood pet, other details. I knew the answers because of the question game, mostly. What was your favorite birthday? What were you most afraid of when you were little? What was your stupidest fight with your parents about?
But after weeks of playing this game, you start to run out of questions.
So we sat there in the cold and quiet of early December, separated handily by the console in the middle of the front seat of my car. I kept pestering, thinking he was running out of ideas. "Come on! It's your turn. Ask me a question." Silence. "Come on! You are taking foreevveeerrr." I thought he was falling asleep. "Come on!" I poked him in the shoulder.
I barely heard the question, it was asked so quietly. "When are you going to let me kiss you?"
I said the smoothest thing I could think of. "Well, um, I don't know. Why don't you try right now?"
I didn't really understand what all the hype had been about. That took a good night's sleep.
But that's not really the point of all this.
I think a lot about how the people I've met in the past few years, mostly since college, I know in a different way. I know what they think is funny, where they came from, maybe a sketch of what their family is like. The truth is that what I have mostly is an idea of their personality, not much more than that.
I miss knowing everything about someone. Like how they hid notes from boys they liked in their bed posts, what every hair cut they've had since their hair was long enough to cut looked like, and their most embarassing Halloween costume ever.
And since I wasn't there for all those things with the people in my life now, I guess I'm going to have to start asking some questions. We spend all this time wanting to get out and explore things, see the vast expanse of the world. But we forget about the great unknown of eachother.
A lot of people I know are writing down something they're thankful for every day this November. I decided not to do that. But, if I had to pick one thing I was grateful for this month, it would be that knowing is the most interesting, beautiful, mysterious, wonderful thing we ever set out to do with out lives.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Ain't this just like the present...
To be showing up like this?
Well, it'll be 5 years here this month. I'm not really sure if it will feel like a significant milestone, but that's a quarter (almost) of the time I lived in California, and perhaps only a tenth of the rest of my life.
I remember once when I was heartsick, I looked at my day planner during second period Calculus. I counted the pages that represented the days I felt like I'd wasted. I noted that they were just a tiny part of the whole year, not even a half an inch. And if I stacked up all the calendar pages from high school, stacked up those four years, the time seemed even more insignificant.
Granted, I was tricking myself, but it made me feel better to think that those weeks were just a fraction of what I'd lived, of what I was going to live. In retrospect I wish I'd known then that the only thing that's guaranteed, the thing you really only recognize one instant after it's passed, is the present. Now, I try to be about the business of squeezing all I can out of it, like a microwaved lemon I've rolled around on the counter under my palm.
Five years here. Longer than high school, longer than college, longer than pretty much any other point of reference I have. And people leave, and people arrive, and people go home, and people move on. Sometimes it feels like they're doing it all at once. And on days like that, days like today, you've got to remind yourself to settle into the present and accept what it's able to offer you right now.
And be grateful for it.
Well, it'll be 5 years here this month. I'm not really sure if it will feel like a significant milestone, but that's a quarter (almost) of the time I lived in California, and perhaps only a tenth of the rest of my life.
I remember once when I was heartsick, I looked at my day planner during second period Calculus. I counted the pages that represented the days I felt like I'd wasted. I noted that they were just a tiny part of the whole year, not even a half an inch. And if I stacked up all the calendar pages from high school, stacked up those four years, the time seemed even more insignificant.
Granted, I was tricking myself, but it made me feel better to think that those weeks were just a fraction of what I'd lived, of what I was going to live. In retrospect I wish I'd known then that the only thing that's guaranteed, the thing you really only recognize one instant after it's passed, is the present. Now, I try to be about the business of squeezing all I can out of it, like a microwaved lemon I've rolled around on the counter under my palm.
Five years here. Longer than high school, longer than college, longer than pretty much any other point of reference I have. And people leave, and people arrive, and people go home, and people move on. Sometimes it feels like they're doing it all at once. And on days like that, days like today, you've got to remind yourself to settle into the present and accept what it's able to offer you right now.
And be grateful for it.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
What's That I Hear?
Yesterday I'm biking down, or east, really, D st northeast, when I hear someone whistling behind me. It takes me a minute to pick out a melody. I glance over my shoulder at a stop sign. At first, I'm skeptical.
Behind me, mounted on his fixed gear, is an older but not quiet middle-aged fellow with a significant beard.
I see and hear him pick up the riff again, and this time there's no mistaking.
"Never heard that version of Britney Spears before. It's good," I tell him, laughing just a little. You know, in a I think that's kind of awesome and humorous, maybe even attractive kind of way and definitely not a I am mocking your taste in music way. Because A) That would make me a total hypocrite since I love most songs by Britney Spears and B) Years of unfortunate experience have taught me that deflating a man's ego, even just a bit, within the first few moments of meeting doesn't usually yield positive results.
"Yeah, thanks, I just can't get it out of my head," he says as he starts to whistle again, fairly intensely.
I join in, somewhat timidly, "See the sunlight, we ain't stoppin, keep on dancin' till the world ends..." then add in a regular speaking voice as we ride together to the next stop sign, "I wish I could whistle, I've never been able to."
"Well, I have a terrible singing voice, so I figure this is all I have to offer the world," he replies.
I turn right, he carries on down D.
Maybe I should post a missed connection, just to let him know how awesome I thought that was.
Behind me, mounted on his fixed gear, is an older but not quiet middle-aged fellow with a significant beard.
I see and hear him pick up the riff again, and this time there's no mistaking.
"Never heard that version of Britney Spears before. It's good," I tell him, laughing just a little. You know, in a I think that's kind of awesome and humorous, maybe even attractive kind of way and definitely not a I am mocking your taste in music way. Because A) That would make me a total hypocrite since I love most songs by Britney Spears and B) Years of unfortunate experience have taught me that deflating a man's ego, even just a bit, within the first few moments of meeting doesn't usually yield positive results.
"Yeah, thanks, I just can't get it out of my head," he says as he starts to whistle again, fairly intensely.
I join in, somewhat timidly, "See the sunlight, we ain't stoppin, keep on dancin' till the world ends..." then add in a regular speaking voice as we ride together to the next stop sign, "I wish I could whistle, I've never been able to."
"Well, I have a terrible singing voice, so I figure this is all I have to offer the world," he replies.
I turn right, he carries on down D.
Maybe I should post a missed connection, just to let him know how awesome I thought that was.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Yep, that's my roommate...we're edgy!
Last night Stefanie and I hustled to the library after taking Total Body Conditioning at the gym so that I could get a new library card and so that we could trade in the 3 Deadwood discs we had watched over the weekend for several new ones. Unfortunately, they were out of new library cards, so I'll have to try back again in a few days, but they did let us check out new DVDs on my old account.
To check my identity the librarian covered up the record that had come up when she scanned in the items, then asked, "What's your name?" When I got the right answer, she happily checked us out the rest of the materials, providing some commentary.
"Hmm, Deadwood. What is this? Like Cowboys and Indians type stuff?"
"Yeah, normally not my style, but I heard - "
"Don't listen to her. She loves horses."
"Thanks. Anyway, I'm not really a big Western fan, but I heard this show was good, so we're checking it out."
"Actually we're obsessed."
"Yes, somewhat obsessed."
"Well, lots of people have been checking it out, so it must be good. Due back August 22."
"Wow, we only have till the 22nd to watch all these episodes?"
"Stef, that's 3 weeks. Easy."
As we got into the car, Stefanie expressed her gratitude at Rachel loaning me an alarm clock so she would no longer have to wake me up in the morning, as she had been the past few days since the theft of my phone. "Yeah, and I was so desperate to snooze I jumped on the opportunity to get the clock from Rachel since she was awake. I had trouble falling asleep last night."
"You did? I fell right asleep."
"Yeah, I don't know, I just couldn't until like 12:30."
"How late were you up reading The Help? Don't lie to me, girl..."
"Till about 12:30..."
And that is when a small group of young twenty-somethings walked by and not so subtley laughed at us. Well, I guess we did sound particularly edgy.
Rough. Night. Stayed up past midnight reading, gotta get home and get in some episodes of a critically-acclaimed HBO show. Edgy.
I had also planned on making rice-stuffed squash for dinner...turns out what I thought was squash was actually melon. Unfortunate.
To check my identity the librarian covered up the record that had come up when she scanned in the items, then asked, "What's your name?" When I got the right answer, she happily checked us out the rest of the materials, providing some commentary.
"Hmm, Deadwood. What is this? Like Cowboys and Indians type stuff?"
"Yeah, normally not my style, but I heard - "
"Don't listen to her. She loves horses."
"Thanks. Anyway, I'm not really a big Western fan, but I heard this show was good, so we're checking it out."
"Actually we're obsessed."
"Yes, somewhat obsessed."
"Well, lots of people have been checking it out, so it must be good. Due back August 22."
"Wow, we only have till the 22nd to watch all these episodes?"
"Stef, that's 3 weeks. Easy."
As we got into the car, Stefanie expressed her gratitude at Rachel loaning me an alarm clock so she would no longer have to wake me up in the morning, as she had been the past few days since the theft of my phone. "Yeah, and I was so desperate to snooze I jumped on the opportunity to get the clock from Rachel since she was awake. I had trouble falling asleep last night."
"You did? I fell right asleep."
"Yeah, I don't know, I just couldn't until like 12:30."
"How late were you up reading The Help? Don't lie to me, girl..."
"Till about 12:30..."
And that is when a small group of young twenty-somethings walked by and not so subtley laughed at us. Well, I guess we did sound particularly edgy.
Rough. Night. Stayed up past midnight reading, gotta get home and get in some episodes of a critically-acclaimed HBO show. Edgy.
I had also planned on making rice-stuffed squash for dinner...turns out what I thought was squash was actually melon. Unfortunate.
Friday, July 29, 2011
The Social Security Administration
Yesterday was an interesting day.
In the morning, my wallet and phone were stolen from an unlocked locker at the public swimming pool. I blame no one but myself for growing trusting of both the early morning swim community and the hiddenness of the "secret velcro pocket" in the back of my bag. I also blame myself for not listening to my gut instincts about a woman I'd never seen before who watched me as I came in and put my stuff away, all while chatting excessively with me about the water and her water-loving cousin. But, blaming yourself only gets you so far. So, after I discoverd the items had been taken, I hustled to work, cancelled all my cards, ordered new ones, looked into replacing my phone, etc, etc.
Save for the minor inconvenience of having to mail in a request for a Certified Driver Record from the California DMV so I can get a DC license (no putting it off, now!), the process has been relatively painless. So, yes, it is wrong to steal, and yes I've had to pay for some things, there have been some inconveniences, but at the same time it's made me think about the "market" of theft, perceptions of wealth or status, and how frustrating it is to feel fundamentally unable to fix the real heart of the problem.
On Sunday night, Stefanie and I were walking home from the car, carrying a table and four chairs, and a homeless man (also very drunk) insisted on helping us carry the items the half block to the front door. I tried to tell him not to, but he took the items out of my hands. I knew he was going to ask for money for his trouble, even though we had asked him not to help.
And so I spent the next 10 minutes quietly and not so quietly arguing with him, saying, no, I will not give you money. You are so drunk you can hardly stand or speak, but I have food inside. That's all I will give you. His insistance it wasn't real help to offer him bread and fruit, handing me the bread back and growing agitated. And I thought, if I need to, I will clock him, or spray him with the pepper spray I had in my hand. I was frustrated that he was becoming aggressive, frustrated that I had to think about how to stop him if he tried to hurt me or my roommate, instead of taking the damn bread. At that moment, our landlord happened home, and the homeless man went on his way.
And there's the heart of the issue. The bread won't fix things...then again, neither would $5. Pressing charges against someone for stealing my wallet won't fix it either. You read the story of the Good Samaritan and you're like, oh okay, groovy, Jesus, I can do that. But then the people you encounter who need help are not simply innocents who you can give a warm meal, a hot compress and a pat on the back as they continue on their way, their lives are complicated by poverty, mental illness, addiction and, sometimes, violence. Sometimes I don't even know where to start with all that. Do the things you are able, I suppose, small whenever you can and big whenever you can. And somehow find a way to be grateful and humble and un-smug about being in a position to do anything at all, keeping in mind it could very easily be you next in a position of desperate need. Sigh, things to mull over.
But that wasn't even the point of what I was writing!!
The point was that the Social Security Administration has the strangest ad campaigns EVER. ever.
The first involves some member of the Star Trek cast (you know, the only Asian one? George Takei, Sulu?). The slogan? BOLDLY GO...to www.socialsecurity.gov. Really? That's what someone came up with? I guess they are desperate for people to do as much online as possible. Makes the waiting room waits a lot shorter. But really? Let's make retirement and collecting benefits cool...but using a Star Trek actor?
The other slogan involves Chubby Checker doing the Twist. The saying, I can't remember it exactly, but it says something like, "A new twist in the law means you can do x,y,z with your medicare..." I can just see them in this meeting. "A twist? Get it, a twist. Like THE twist. And then we'll get Chubby Checker to pose like he's bowling and it will appeal to people." Blank stares. I guess no one had any better ideas. It's like the B-Squad of the star power advertising campaign.
It's also interesting at the SSA, because it's a true cross-section of people - older, younger, men, women, agitated, bored, immigrant and non - all there because they have the same need.
That's all.
In the morning, my wallet and phone were stolen from an unlocked locker at the public swimming pool. I blame no one but myself for growing trusting of both the early morning swim community and the hiddenness of the "secret velcro pocket" in the back of my bag. I also blame myself for not listening to my gut instincts about a woman I'd never seen before who watched me as I came in and put my stuff away, all while chatting excessively with me about the water and her water-loving cousin. But, blaming yourself only gets you so far. So, after I discoverd the items had been taken, I hustled to work, cancelled all my cards, ordered new ones, looked into replacing my phone, etc, etc.
Save for the minor inconvenience of having to mail in a request for a Certified Driver Record from the California DMV so I can get a DC license (no putting it off, now!), the process has been relatively painless. So, yes, it is wrong to steal, and yes I've had to pay for some things, there have been some inconveniences, but at the same time it's made me think about the "market" of theft, perceptions of wealth or status, and how frustrating it is to feel fundamentally unable to fix the real heart of the problem.
On Sunday night, Stefanie and I were walking home from the car, carrying a table and four chairs, and a homeless man (also very drunk) insisted on helping us carry the items the half block to the front door. I tried to tell him not to, but he took the items out of my hands. I knew he was going to ask for money for his trouble, even though we had asked him not to help.
And so I spent the next 10 minutes quietly and not so quietly arguing with him, saying, no, I will not give you money. You are so drunk you can hardly stand or speak, but I have food inside. That's all I will give you. His insistance it wasn't real help to offer him bread and fruit, handing me the bread back and growing agitated. And I thought, if I need to, I will clock him, or spray him with the pepper spray I had in my hand. I was frustrated that he was becoming aggressive, frustrated that I had to think about how to stop him if he tried to hurt me or my roommate, instead of taking the damn bread. At that moment, our landlord happened home, and the homeless man went on his way.
And there's the heart of the issue. The bread won't fix things...then again, neither would $5. Pressing charges against someone for stealing my wallet won't fix it either. You read the story of the Good Samaritan and you're like, oh okay, groovy, Jesus, I can do that. But then the people you encounter who need help are not simply innocents who you can give a warm meal, a hot compress and a pat on the back as they continue on their way, their lives are complicated by poverty, mental illness, addiction and, sometimes, violence. Sometimes I don't even know where to start with all that. Do the things you are able, I suppose, small whenever you can and big whenever you can. And somehow find a way to be grateful and humble and un-smug about being in a position to do anything at all, keeping in mind it could very easily be you next in a position of desperate need. Sigh, things to mull over.
But that wasn't even the point of what I was writing!!
The point was that the Social Security Administration has the strangest ad campaigns EVER. ever.
The first involves some member of the Star Trek cast (you know, the only Asian one? George Takei, Sulu?). The slogan? BOLDLY GO...to www.socialsecurity.gov. Really? That's what someone came up with? I guess they are desperate for people to do as much online as possible. Makes the waiting room waits a lot shorter. But really? Let's make retirement and collecting benefits cool...but using a Star Trek actor?
The other slogan involves Chubby Checker doing the Twist. The saying, I can't remember it exactly, but it says something like, "A new twist in the law means you can do x,y,z with your medicare..." I can just see them in this meeting. "A twist? Get it, a twist. Like THE twist. And then we'll get Chubby Checker to pose like he's bowling and it will appeal to people." Blank stares. I guess no one had any better ideas. It's like the B-Squad of the star power advertising campaign.
It's also interesting at the SSA, because it's a true cross-section of people - older, younger, men, women, agitated, bored, immigrant and non - all there because they have the same need.
That's all.
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