Category Archives: job

Get Off My Ass…Unless You’re Buying Me Dinner.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.

Alaskans.

We.  Like. Our. Space.

That’s why we prefer to live in a state where there’s only 1.5 people per square mile.     Love that.  In my square mile I’d designate Liggy, our cat, as the .5 measurement.  (That’s correct, Eric can get his own square mile…mine is full.) Unfortunately, however, I’ve moved to Miami and the luxury of personal space went out the window along with owning sensible shoes.

Which, by the way, if you would have told me at this time last year I’d be wearing platform heels I would have laughed myself to the point of a side cramp.  Now, I have several pairs to choose from in the closet.  Not to mention the colors.  Yes.  The shoes I get the most complements on?  The hot pink Jessica Simpsons – thank you very much.

There was this one pair I drooled over in DSW.  They were vanilla colored, satin fabric, platforms that not only had a rhinestone on the front but feathers as well.  LOVED those shoes.  Went to try them on several times.

shoes

Then I thought to myself:

Self, when are you realistically going to wear these shoes?

I’d wear them to work?

No.

Performing art?

Maybe.

Grocery shopping?

Definitely.

No.  I didn’t buy them.  Sigh.

Anyway, back to the issue.  I wish the people of Miami would do me one little favor:

GET

OFF

MY

ASS!

I have never been anywhere in this short lifespan of mine that has had so many strangers trying to climb up my ass every single day.  Not only that but they’re pissy people at that!

It would be one thing if you were a smooth talking, good looking, sweet smelling suave and swanky personality that would cause me to swoon as soon as you grinned.  However you’re not anything close to making my knees buckle Miami…..

Driving down I-95.  Am I supposed to be impressed as your flashy Porsche flies past Norman like he’s standing still?  Probably.  And I am impressed.  I’d love to go for a ride in that!  Sexy and fast.  Sign me up.

However it’s the idiot in the Honda with the stupid loud muffler that’s trying to act like he’s all that AND a bag of chips….but when in reality he isn’t even the stale pickle on the plate.  Really?  You’re going to tail me and try to intimidate me?  Okay well I’m slowing down by at least 5 mph.  Oh yeah baby, that big rip of a scrape along the left side of your car door – that’s so hot.  Meeeeoooow,

No.

If you’re going to get that close, I hope you brushed your teeth.

Then there’s the cars that when you look in the rear view mirror you already know what’s coming next.  (It’s like watching a Heat game and you just know they’re going to win….the opposing team really shouldn’t have bothered to show up.)  Before you can change the radio station with the flick of your thumb on the steering wheel….no, Norman doesn’t have that ability….it’s just wishful thinking…..the car has climbed up over your back fender and is changing lanes just as fast.

Damn really?  And then the traffic slows down and you’re side by side with Mr. Slick Ass.

Sucker.

And the point of that was what exactly?

More than driving, the one thing that absolutely brings me to the edge of insanity in :15 seconds flat is personal space.  I have gotten to the point where anything inside my imaginary hula-hoop is MINE.  The hula-hoop is made of titanium and can’t be broken.  You step inside the hoop and you’re going to be in my way.

BACK  UP!

Enough already.  Do I have a sign on my forehead that reads, “newbie….transplant from Alaska” which gives you the permission to try and body check me at your convenience?  Oh, there wasn’t a sign, you’re just rude by nature?  Wow.  Your parents must be so proud!

Case in point:  tonight I stopped at Pet Smart.  Liggy, was in need of kitty treats, which I can only find at Pet Smart.  I stood in line.  My purse, which isn’t a suitcase by the way, was hitched over my forearm…..comfortably cradled in the crook of my left elbow.

This woman comes up and while there’s nobody standing near me for 3 miles….manages to walk into my purse as she’s going around me.

Really?

As she gets around to my right side, where I am holding another bag in my hand….from the grocery…she bangs into that as well.

OMG what am I?  Magnetic?  For pete’s sake….you have the entire front of the store yet you are drawn to me like freedom fighters to a noble cause.  Can you really not manage to give me a few inches to breathe?  Even the casher grimaced at me with an apologetic face.

The grocery stores are even worse.  Nobody has any concept of personal space.  I don’t just mean in the check out lane, where they push their cart all the way up to the handle bar of your cart the moment you turn your back.  I’m talking about walking down the wide main aisle of Target and it’s three across going one way….large and in charge.  And two coming directly at you.

Cue the Wild West Gunslinger Music….there’s going to be a shoot out.

It’s gotten so bad at Target that I will go out of my way to avoid certain areas because the people are going to drive me crazy before I can even get to the toilette paper.  You try and go around and it’s like they have crazy ESP.  Fake left, they go right.  Fake right, they go left.  Double back to go forward and they’re right there….quietly pondering what to have for dinner….steak or chicken…as they push the cart…down the middle of the expansive aisle.

The side aisles are the trenches of warfare.  Forget trying to make your way from one end to the other if there’s another person in the row.  The rule of “finders keepers” is definitely in play.  They won’t give you an inch to spare one square.  It’s a new game of ostrich….

“While I don’t have any available sand to stick my head in so I can ignore you….if I just plain out pretend I don’t see you then you can’t see me and life is good.  So fuck off and go around me because I own this universe.  Okay, I own this aisle!”

Okay, get over yourself and move your damn cart already.

Today I got on the elevator at lunch.  It was crowded.  The last guy on rather than turning around to face the door, decided to keep his back to the door and face the rest of us.  He was busy emailing.  Good grief people!!!  Save yourselves and release the smart technology for two minutes and join in the rest of society.  Buddy, you closely resemble an ass and if you had any idea, you would have been horrified, of this I am certain.

Yes, he finally turned around and in the process moved closer to me so his screen was nearly eye level with my eyeballs.  Do you really think I give a fuzzy hamster’s butt about the upcoming meeting regarding the 42-B template for designs of toilette flush handles?  No.  I.  Do.  Not.

Stop being so pretentious.  Stop trying to put your business in my face.

I. Don’t. Care.

While we’re on the topic of elevators and people and being pretentious and putting their business in my face….I want to discuss sweatpants.  Specifically the ones with words across the butt.

I have two observations.

1.  Whoever thought of this concept obviously didn’t think about including regulations  for appropriate wearage.

2.  Just because they fit doesn’t mean they look good on you.

Dear heaven above, save my eye balls from bloody ruptures if I have to see another butt going by that rolls so much I can’t even make out what the words are:  AGNES, NAGES, ANGLES, AGILES, ANGELS, LANGS…..

w. t. f.

Are You For REAL?

Previously, living in Juneau, Alaska….my daily commutes to work were 15 minutes and literally….wait….let me count them….TEN lights.  Total miles traveled about 13.    And when I talk about the lights, we never use street names to identify the intersections.  We have the following:

Super Bear

McDonalds

Vanderbuilt

Hospital

Main Street

And my personal favorite, “You know the one by that weird overpass that was built for pedestrians, that nobody ever used and then that truck ran into….THAT light.”

I loved living in Alaska.  We just knew what we were talking about.

I’m thinking in Miami……

the people….

they have no common sense.

Honestly, I don’t mean to be mean and evil  I’m just making an observation.  As a newcomer.  What leads me to this conclusion?  Wait for it….

A few weeks ago a co-worker emailed me and said, “OMG I have something for your blog.”  I couldn’t wait to hear what the story was going to spill into my little fuzzy brain.

Imagine this.

You work for a giant corporation.  It’s a corporation that is an industry trendsetter – always steps ahead of the competition.  People WANT to work here.  Luckily as a manager, you have a position that has just come open and need to start interviewing.

Thus begins the process.  You line up the candidates and begin.

Now serving NUMBER ONE!

On day two you are running through the line up of interviews and begin the first phone interview of the day.

All goes well.  You’re feeling confident.  Soon you will have a new employee.  SWEET!

You dial up your next candidate.

Pleasantries are exchanged and the small talk comes to an end.  Time to get into the nitty gritty.  Anxiously, you begin to mow through your list of questions:

  • What is your background in analyzing the efficiency of 400 count Egyptian sheets compared to 743 count Grecian sheets?
  • Can you describe a time when you faced a monetary discrepancy between how many peanuts an elephant consumed in a week and the total number of fishnet pantyhose a Fright Night Corpse Bride went through in a Halloween weekend?
  • In your opinion,  do blondes really have more fun than brunettes?
  • Tell me about a time when you knew you had to argue your point to support the idea of Marco Polo not being as desirable as Fabio on the cover of instructional books on how to steam up the laundry room.

The interview is going exceptionally well.  The candidate’s answers are spot on.  You’re excited.  The candidate is excited.  THEN  you ask, “Why do you want to work with us?”

Watch out!  Open the flood gates.  Stand back!  The energy combined with bright sunlight and rays of happiness are literally blinding.  You think little blue birds are circling your head while whistling tunes of euphoria. These are signals of the candidate’s obvious perfection for being the right person for the job.

They launch themselves into the future with the appropriate answers, as if they were shot out of a cannon.  Except, this one was launched, sadly…without a crash helmet.

Oh how they go on about the grandiose wonderfulness of the company.  A leader of the industry.  Exploring areas even Mister Rogers didn’t venture into or Sesame Street for that matter.  Climbing mountains in leaps and bounds.  Success beyond the banks of Donald Trump.

It was as plain as plain yogurt.

This individual knew they were destined for greatness.

Destined to work for this cruise line.

The other thing that made the stars align, much like the first walk on the moon or when Elvis learned about his jaw dropping hip thrust (young Elvis – mind you) was the cruise line was so close to the candidate’s house.

“It’s perfect.  I live just a five minute drive from 87th Avenue.  I could walk to the corporate offices!”

Excuse me?  What?  Can you repeat what you just said?

“Certainly!  I live so close to your corporate offices, I can walk to them each day, which is ideal!  I’ll never be late.”

Right.  Okay.  And that address again was what?

“Well, I live just two blocks over from 87th, which is where your main office is located.  I mean, I totally expect I will be working in the corporate office.”

Note:  It’s okay.  Take a deep breath.  All together now.  Inhale deeply into the pit of your stomach and exhale very slowly.  Now.  Don’t you feel better?

Why?  Well, let’s continue the story….

After you calmly pick your head up off the keyboard and pry the “escape” button out of your third eyeball, you very calmly…..however with a slight edge in the tone of your voice…. no doubt from the grinding of your wooden teeth.  (You and GW go way back.)  You advise this nearly ideal candidate of their fatal flaw:

“Wow!  Great news that office is so close to you.  Our offices are actually located in the Port of Miami.  Specifically on Caribbean Drive.  The address you are referring to, is our competition.  That’s Carnival’s corporate office.”

Silence.

Please cue the cricket chorus.

Encore of the cricket chorus.

Lighters out to encourage yet ANOTHER encore of the cricket chorus.

As you pick your right eye tooth up off the floor you calmly advise the candidate, the interview they just completed was for Royal Caribbean Cruises NOT Carnival.

Have a good day.  Thanks for playing.

P.S.

No, you did not get the job.  Are you kidding me?