Category: da blues

For the birds

This being a grown up thing is really for the birds.

I mean, sure, being an adult has its benefits. Cookies and ice cream and beer for dinner, for example. Yeah.

I don’t have to ask permission to buy a candy in the checkout line.

Disposable income.

I can tie my own shoes.

No homework.

Yeah.

But being a grown up means getting up every morning to go to work.

Trying hard to “get ahead”. Get that better job. Be a better employee. Get paid more. More respect.

Sleepless nights worrying about getting that project done, or the political implications of a decision.

No summer vacation. Of if you get one, it’s just a week long. Ugh.

The reason for my lament today is that we’ve entered the performance review stage at work. Meaning I have to write up and rate my team for the year.

Now, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve done this for many years, but it never gets any easier. To reduce the sum total of another human’s work for the year to a percentage number and a couple paragraphs is an agonizing process for me.

Part of what makes me a good manager is the depth of my compassion. But it’s also one of my biggest limitations.

Our company gives out paltry merit raises, and it’s hard to hand out a tiny raise for a hard year’s work. This year, I have a pretty good boss who is helping me fight the good fight for rate increases. But I still go home a little bit demoralized.

Good thing I can have all those cookies and beer for dinner.

Image via.

So disappointing

I’m just going to say it. The Olympics. MASSIVE disappointment.

Ok, not the games themselves. No. The coverage. NBC should be shot……and their little dog Bob Costas too.

I have twice now…just twice, sat down to watch coverage during “prime time” hours.

Once was Thursday. As soon as it came on, The Good Man said, “Is Bob Costas sick or something? He looks pale.”

No. Not sick. Just over made up, I think.

We tried to watch it but it was hard. The commercials. The interstitials. The “back story”. The over focus on one athlete to the detriment of the others. The cutting away from beach volleyball just when it was finally getting GOOD. Ugh.

We did get to see Phelps and “the touch” that launched another gold medal.

And we saw a Swiss volleyballer throw a hissy fit.

And some track and field ladies who kick butt.

But it was SO hard to watch.

Second try was last night. As soon as I turned it on The Good Man said, “Is Bob Costas sick or something? He looks pale.”

No. Still not sick. Just bad coverage.

Best line comes from Jim Baca on his blog Only in New Mexico:

“We watched the Olympics last night, or should I say the commercials on NBC which were interrupted by competition once in a while.”

I tried to watch. I really did. But ended up switching over to MythBusters instead.

I remember watching the Olympics when I was a kid. It was all about the athletes. About the competition. About this amazing every four year event showcasing the best of the best.

Now it’s Chinese government coverups, overblown corporate sponsorships, and focus on the most “media ready” athletes.

Depressing.

My lunch pal

I have a friend at work who, most days, I go to lunch with. Now, when I say “go to lunch” I should probably clarify.

She and I go together to the cafeteria onsite to grab some food that we take back to our respective desks. There at the desks, we eat and work, thus maximizing our time. You’d be surprised how busy noontime can be, seeing as we have main offices two time zones ahead…two o’clock there seems like a nice time for a meeting. Ugh.

My pal has worked here for a while, like me, and she and I are at the same level, reporting to the same manager.

We use the time on our walks to seek advice from each other. We talk over management problems. Or just to complain, because our employer inspires that in most of its employees.

She was raised in Ohio by a Steel Magnolia-of-a-mom straight out of the deep South. So that’s given her a certain, uh, colorfulness that is often amusing.

Lunch Pal is having some problems on her team, which means she gets pulled into last minute meetings and closed-door discussions in the office of our boss.

So I end up *waiting* on her until she finishes.

I tried going off for food without her a couple times.

It didn’t go over well.

No, I’m expected to WAIT on her to finish so we can walk over together. Who cares how hungry I am? It’s all about her.

Let’s face it, my friend is really kind of a pain in the ass.

So why am I wasting both bandwidth and pixels on her?

Because she’s on vacation this week!

HOW DARE she not be here?

She may be a pain in the ass, but she’s my pain in the ass.

Never thought I’d miss her…

Open Gratitude

A few weeks ago, I wrote an ode to a CalTrain conductor.

Today, an Ode to a Shuttle Bus driver.

Owing to working in the building farthest away from the main campus, I ride a small bus, with creaky springs and an uncomfortable ride.

It’s not fun. We had a driver for a time who hurtled that thing way too fast up California highways and byways, often popping unsuspecting folks (like me) up out of their seats. Yes, I caught air on more than one occasion.

Between that and CalTrain side sway, I often arrived home a little blue in the gills…

But that was before Jose.

This new driver arrived one day. A quiet, gentle man. And a gentleman as well.

He drives at an acceptable speed. He “hits his marks” without fail. He neither arrives too early (ugh, we had one guy who was perpetually five minutes early…if you missed it, tough nuts) nor too late.

His best point? He waits for us to come off the CalTrain so he can direct us where he’s parked the bus. We never get lost in the morning train station melee anymore! (other drivers wait on the bus, leave before everyone is on board, and tough nuts if you miss it)

And then Jose had a defining moment.

About a month into Jose’s tenure we had a blasting heat wave in the Bay Area. On the first day of this hot spell, Jose waited until we were all seated on the bus, then stood at the front, and quietly addressed the passengers.

“I want to tell you that the air conditioner is broken on this bus. I have put in a work order. I put in a work order every day. I keep copies. I have twenty work orders I can show you. But they won’t listen to me. However, my company, they will listen to you.”

I realized that Jose is on that damn bus for four hours in the morning and four hours in the afternoon. How miserable it had to be with no air conditioning.

But you could tell he felt it was an act of mutiny to speak out against his employer.

I’d recently worked on a project with the guy in Facilities who owns the commuter program. We’d outfitted the shuttles with WiFi access. So that morning I sent an email.

That afternoon, Jose came rolling up in a new bus with both a smoother ride and working A/C.

When I boarded, he thanked me profusely. And every day for about a week.

Upon my return from a recent week’s vacation, I stepped off the CalTrain, and dependably, there was Jose.

“Karen, where have you been? I’ve been so worried about you!” he said as I approached.

This is the kind of customer service you just don’t get anymore.

This morning, as I rode the CalTrain, I began writing this blog entry. I felt the necessity to proclaim my gratitude.

To my surprise, as I boarded the bus, Jose informed me that today is his last run. He’s being promoted to the big shuttle buses that run between San Francisco and work.

It’s a better situation, more pay, more comfortable bus.

I cannot tell you how sad I am.

How can I emerge from CalTrain every morning and not reliably know where my bus waits?

I wish him nothing but the best. We’ve heard rumors of the “new guy” who’ll be driving. “He drives to fast,” is what I hear.

Great. Dramamine and bungee cords all around.

Jose greets everyone on the bus by name. And we respond in kind. It’s a symbiotic relationship. He gets me to work every day, makes sure I get safely on the bus, and gets me back home to The Good Man every night.

Jose, I’m humbled by your dedication and grateful for your tireless service. The employees who now get the benefit of your services have no idea how lucky they truly are.

Fuming

I’m still fuming a bit from something I encountered while in Albuquerque about a week ago.

Having been raised in New Mexico, I’ve always been a fan of beautifully crafted silver and turquoise jewelry.

I had the privilege of living near some of the finest Native American craftsmen who create works of art, and I’ve never taken that for granted.

Over the years, I’ve always been on my guard and tried to buy from reputable people where I know the jewelry was not only handmade by Native American people, but the gems were real and unique.

So while in Albuquerque near Old Town, I had occasion to visit one of my favorite stores where I know the pieces are always legitimate and beautiful. That place is called Casa de Avila and it’s been a place where a lot of my paychecks have gone over the years.

The real stuff, the good stuff, isn’t always the least expensive stuff.

So after buying a couple items there, we wandered out onto the plaza. I saw the row of people selling their wares on blankets laid out on the sidewalk and yes, it took me back a lot of years. Even as a kid I knew how to get in there, find something nice, and work with the artisan on a fair price.

Seeing this again, I was fired up to take a look.

For quite a while I’ve been looking for a particular necklace. A real turquoise graduated bead necklace, like this only longer and in blue turquoise.

That necklace, made by hand (meaning hand shaped round stones) with hand matched beads is VERY expensive, but really a masterpiece.

You can find some like it that are machine matched, shaped and strung, sure.

I’d like a handcrafted piece. Let me just say this….VERY expensive.

So as I strolled along the row of merchants there on the sidewalk, I spotted a really nice looking necklace. I looked at the gentleman who was selling the works, a Native American man, and thought “maybe this is the one”.

I walked past his stand to look at what else was out there, told The Good Man “I may be about to spend a very lot of money” and went back to place where’d I’d spotted that necklace.

I kneeled down and picked up the piece that had caught my eye.

Immediately, I knew something wasn’t right. For a long necklace made out of turquoise, it was really light. And it didn’t have that sleek cool-to-the-touch feel in my hands.

Hmm.

I remember over the years a lot of articles and conversations about how to tell if turquoise is fake.

Something I read once said hold a lighter up to the piece. If it’s plastic turquoise, obviously, it will melt.

Not having a lighter on me, I tried another trick. I took one of the beads in my fingers and pushed my thumbnail into it. On that warm Albuquerque day after sitting in the sun, it felt sort of…soft. My nail sunk in a bit, just the tiniest amount, but enough to tell me this was a genuine Native American-made piece crafted of incredibly fake stones.

I put the necklace down and walked away reeling. I told TGM what had happened and he gave the guy the benefit of the doubt, “Maybe he needs to sell a piece like that so he can buy real turquoise”. Maybe. Yeah.

But the tag on it said “genuine turquoise”. It’s a lie.

I didn’t actually price the item (it wasn’t on the tag) and maybe should have. If he’s selling it for $20, then fine. I have a feeling that’s not the case.

I’m not naïve, yes, I know this kind of thing still goes on, and the caveat “buyer beware” is still very much in effect.

I was just mad at first…then later sad. I’d hate to think that someone visiting my fair New Mexico would get swindled. But yes, I know it happens and I can’t save the world…

By the way…I support Southwest Indian Foundation. They work to help folks in trouble through sales and also via donations.

And they have a beautiful selection of genuine pieces at reasonable rates.