Today is September 11th. In an effort to avoid being too sad, I have avoided Facebook and major media today. Last year I wrote a long post about that day and how I felt. Today I felt sad and also old. In the morning, around the time that the second plane hit, people were talking about where they were. Most of my co-workers were in high school. I am not a great writer and anything to mark today feels pretty trite, so I thought that I'd borrow from a few other people.
In the fourth grade, to cement my uber-nerd status, I memorized the Gettysburg Address for extra credit. I'm not sure why my teacher had this on the extra credit list at the beginning of the school year, but it was the longest and hardest thing on the list, so I decided that I would memorize it. I actually still know the majority of the speech. This section has always reminded me of today:
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.
And, today has always reminded me of the poem "Funeral Blues"* by W.H. Auden:
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the
dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and
with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners
come.
Let aeroplanes circle
moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is
Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public
doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East
and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out
every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
I'll feel better tomorrow, but maybe still old. I hope you will too.
*When I googled the poem for its full text I found that it was written as a satire of a politician's death. I'm going to pretend that I don't know that. My favorite line has always been "let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves," especially today.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Friday, August 24, 2012
Seriously?
Last night I was talking to my sister and I learned that you can buy babies from people called "Baby Brokers." These are real and surprisingly legal. Apparently, there are places in the country where it's still 1950 and there are "homes" for girls and young women who are hiding their pregnancies. These homes are called "Baby Farms" by the adoption community. Seriously--not joking. Anyway, if you decide that you want to adopt an infant, you hook up with a Baby Broker and they go out to the open market to all the Baby Farms and they find you the cheapest baby on the market that fits your criteria. It kind of sounds like buying a used car from CarMax. Both the Baby Broker and the Baby Farm take a portion of the proceeds and you get a baby. This probably won't come as a surprise, but non-white babies are sold at a discount. Again, seriously... I don't think that we will go the Baby Broker route, however I do want to talk to one (kind of just to say that I did). Conveniently, there's a Baby Farm just across state lines from me. My sister said that there is usually a surplus of black babies * and they actually need families to adopt them. A majority of adoptive parents are white and when they are going the Baby Farm route they usually want something "perfect," hence the discount. I'm sure there will be more weird things as we go further into the adoption world, but this one seems unbelievable. However, one of my nieces was left to die in a gutter when she was just hours old, so I guess things like buying black babies on sale really shouldn't surprise me.
I have dreams of a little girl with Afro-puff pigtails, just like I dreamed when I was pregnant. Is that weird?
At work today I had to move desks. There are new people coming out of training, so they are reorganizing where everyone sits. I had just gotten everything situated with my old desk and I was comfortable with the people that I sat near (something that took a long time for me) and now I have all these new people. Tall Paul (who has to be closer to 7 feet than 6 feet) is my immediate desk neighbor, and he seems nice enough. Next to Tall Paul is Anger-Management-Issue Dave. I don't know Anger-Management-Issue Dave well, however I have been told that he is really distracting, since he has a tendency to bang his fists down on his desk when calls are going well. So, that's going to be lots of fun. Tall Paul is so tall, I may just pretend that he is a wall.**
I've also discovered that Dora the Explorer taught me more Spanish that I thought. Since I've been trained for all the international plans at work, my phone is messed up and I am gated*** to answer the "press 2 for Spanish" calls. These poor people are so confused. I have "¿Necesita un traductor?" written out phonetically at my desk and then I say in my horrible accent "un momento por favor," and then I call the AT&T Language Line and pray to get one of my two favorite translators who actually have some financial vocabulary, otherwise things are very hard. They are trying to fix my phone, but until then I'm doing about 2/3 of my calls in Spanish. Dora did teach me all the numbers and most of the letters of the alphabet, so I'm good there. If anyone calls needing a backpack, I'll be set too.
Now I'm going to go reclaim the Roku and finish watching the BBC series "Sherlock." The Husband will not be pleased, as he is currently watching "Dr. Who." However, he's already watched at least 20 hours of "Dr. Who" this week, so it's my turn.
*There's a sentence I never thought that I would write.
**I did not intend for that sentence to rhyme that much.
***That's cool call center speak. Each of our extensions comes with a list of skills in the system and when it works properly, you are only supposed to get calls related to skills that you have. This reduces the amount of calls that need to be transferred and allows us to resolve the customer's issue in one call. However, it sucks when your phone is gated improperly.
I have dreams of a little girl with Afro-puff pigtails, just like I dreamed when I was pregnant. Is that weird?
At work today I had to move desks. There are new people coming out of training, so they are reorganizing where everyone sits. I had just gotten everything situated with my old desk and I was comfortable with the people that I sat near (something that took a long time for me) and now I have all these new people. Tall Paul (who has to be closer to 7 feet than 6 feet) is my immediate desk neighbor, and he seems nice enough. Next to Tall Paul is Anger-Management-Issue Dave. I don't know Anger-Management-Issue Dave well, however I have been told that he is really distracting, since he has a tendency to bang his fists down on his desk when calls are going well. So, that's going to be lots of fun. Tall Paul is so tall, I may just pretend that he is a wall.**
I've also discovered that Dora the Explorer taught me more Spanish that I thought. Since I've been trained for all the international plans at work, my phone is messed up and I am gated*** to answer the "press 2 for Spanish" calls. These poor people are so confused. I have "¿Necesita un traductor?" written out phonetically at my desk and then I say in my horrible accent "un momento por favor," and then I call the AT&T Language Line and pray to get one of my two favorite translators who actually have some financial vocabulary, otherwise things are very hard. They are trying to fix my phone, but until then I'm doing about 2/3 of my calls in Spanish. Dora did teach me all the numbers and most of the letters of the alphabet, so I'm good there. If anyone calls needing a backpack, I'll be set too.
Now I'm going to go reclaim the Roku and finish watching the BBC series "Sherlock." The Husband will not be pleased, as he is currently watching "Dr. Who." However, he's already watched at least 20 hours of "Dr. Who" this week, so it's my turn.
*There's a sentence I never thought that I would write.
**I did not intend for that sentence to rhyme that much.
***That's cool call center speak. Each of our extensions comes with a list of skills in the system and when it works properly, you are only supposed to get calls related to skills that you have. This reduces the amount of calls that need to be transferred and allows us to resolve the customer's issue in one call. However, it sucks when your phone is gated improperly.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...it's a secret
This is a big secret (which is why I'm putting it out on the Internet for the whole world to read, but really, I think only 4 people read my blog), so I apologize for not telling those of you who know me in real life.* The Husband and I are going to meet with an adoption attorney in the near future to see what our options are with regard to adopting another child. Regardless of what the attorney has to say, we probably won't move forward with starting the adoption process for at least another year; we just want to know what our options are. We think that we will be looking at an adoption through the county or state. Because of my mental illness, we're disqualified from an international adoption and I'm guessing that a person looking to do a private adoption probably wouldn't pick us. Although I would love to do an international adoption, they are incredibly expensive and an adoption through the state or county is much more practical for us financially.
Why adoption? I'm guessing that is a question that I will have to get used to hearing a lot. There are a lot of reasons. As the aunt to four adopted children, I think that I have a different take on adoption than others may. It's weird--I've watched my sister go through three previous adoptions and basically felt nothing and then this time when I was looking at the pictures from Haiti something moved in my heart and I thought that this is something that I really want. There is one little girl in particular and I saw her picture, which looked both happy and said at the same time and something inside me said "I need one." The idea of another child has been creeping into my mind for awhile now. For me adoption is the only reasonable option. I can't have another baby. I'm doing well, but I can't imagine coming off my medication for any length of time. Being pregnant on my medication is also not practical. I also worry about postpartum depression, which I know I had with Sweet Pea. I worry all the time about having passed my bipolar disorder to Sweet Pea and I can't knowingly do that to another child.
So, that's the news... For those that may want some specifics--we want a girl so Sweet Pea will have a sister. We could care less about race, however we want a child age 3 or under (I would like one under age 2, because I still want a baby). We are in the thinking stages of adopting a child with special needs. I am more sold on that than The Husband, but I have been thinking about this for longer. Should you talk to me in real life, don't mention this to The Husband** or my parents.***
And now to work things...
Remember back on June 15 I told you about this girl that is marginally in charge of me that I really don't like but was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt? It's official now. I don't like her. She is one of the most contrary people that I have ever met. In a recent training class she got into an argument with a guy about the flavor of Arby's curly fries. (Her position was that curly fries are flavorless--curly fries are many things, but flavorless isn't one of them.) I think that she argues for the sake of arguing. She's also just mean. During the same training class she admitted how she loves giving participants bad news, especially telling them that stuff has expired and that they can no longer sell their shares. I hate delivering bad news. In my past positions it was my responsibility to move heaven and earth for my participants. Telling them no is really hard and I can't believe that someone would enjoy ruining someone's day like that, especially when people are counting on this money. Finally, and to me the worst, this girl has talked openly in a negative way about kids with autism and down syndrome in a room full of people--I was hoping the someone with a child with one of those conditions would call her out. I was biting my tongue (almost literally) so hard at that point because her comments were so ignorant and insensitive. We aren't going to be friends, I'm never going to like her and I've decided that I don't have to try.
That's the news for now--I think about writing all the time. I just need to get better about sitting down and actually doing it.
Remember...it's a secret.
*I think that sentence might suck--the parenthetical probably doesn't help...oh well
**He would be thrilled that it's now on the Internet
***Not that any of you talk to my parents, but it's not time for them to know yet.
Why adoption? I'm guessing that is a question that I will have to get used to hearing a lot. There are a lot of reasons. As the aunt to four adopted children, I think that I have a different take on adoption than others may. It's weird--I've watched my sister go through three previous adoptions and basically felt nothing and then this time when I was looking at the pictures from Haiti something moved in my heart and I thought that this is something that I really want. There is one little girl in particular and I saw her picture, which looked both happy and said at the same time and something inside me said "I need one." The idea of another child has been creeping into my mind for awhile now. For me adoption is the only reasonable option. I can't have another baby. I'm doing well, but I can't imagine coming off my medication for any length of time. Being pregnant on my medication is also not practical. I also worry about postpartum depression, which I know I had with Sweet Pea. I worry all the time about having passed my bipolar disorder to Sweet Pea and I can't knowingly do that to another child.
So, that's the news... For those that may want some specifics--we want a girl so Sweet Pea will have a sister. We could care less about race, however we want a child age 3 or under (I would like one under age 2, because I still want a baby). We are in the thinking stages of adopting a child with special needs. I am more sold on that than The Husband, but I have been thinking about this for longer. Should you talk to me in real life, don't mention this to The Husband** or my parents.***
And now to work things...
Remember back on June 15 I told you about this girl that is marginally in charge of me that I really don't like but was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt? It's official now. I don't like her. She is one of the most contrary people that I have ever met. In a recent training class she got into an argument with a guy about the flavor of Arby's curly fries. (Her position was that curly fries are flavorless--curly fries are many things, but flavorless isn't one of them.) I think that she argues for the sake of arguing. She's also just mean. During the same training class she admitted how she loves giving participants bad news, especially telling them that stuff has expired and that they can no longer sell their shares. I hate delivering bad news. In my past positions it was my responsibility to move heaven and earth for my participants. Telling them no is really hard and I can't believe that someone would enjoy ruining someone's day like that, especially when people are counting on this money. Finally, and to me the worst, this girl has talked openly in a negative way about kids with autism and down syndrome in a room full of people--I was hoping the someone with a child with one of those conditions would call her out. I was biting my tongue (almost literally) so hard at that point because her comments were so ignorant and insensitive. We aren't going to be friends, I'm never going to like her and I've decided that I don't have to try.
That's the news for now--I think about writing all the time. I just need to get better about sitting down and actually doing it.
Remember...it's a secret.
*I think that sentence might suck--the parenthetical probably doesn't help...oh well
**He would be thrilled that it's now on the Internet
***Not that any of you talk to my parents, but it's not time for them to know yet.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
I'm going to go be old now*
I'm writing on my iPhone on the way home from my niece's wedding, so we'll see how far I get. Everyone is asleep but me and we've stopped in TN for the night.
I'll probably write a longer post about it, but Emily's wedding provided so much joy and sorrow and emotion. It was one of those times when you really understand what "my cup overfloweth" means. Emily was so beautiful as a bride that I cried when we saw here before the wedding. I also can't remember when I've seen my sister so happy. In the midst of all the happy, I felt some meloncolia.
I turned 35 this year and for the most part I don't even think about my age. However, watching Emily and Paul and all their friends last night with abandonment and no self image issues, it hit me like a ton of bricks that I would never be like that again--I am old now. It's kind of funny because I've always been so self conscious and never liked dancing because I feel like everyone is staring at me. Finally last night they played "At Last" by Etta James and I was actually feeling like dancing, but then I couldn't find The Husband.
I wish, just once in my life, that I could have danced like these kids at the wedding. Say what you want about bad modern parenting, but these kids all looked like they were beloved by their families and that the armor of their self esteem was firmly in tact. That is what I want to be when I grow up.
Tune in next time when I cry and write about my complicated tmrelationship with my sisters...
*There's a reward if you know from where I stole that title.
I'll probably write a longer post about it, but Emily's wedding provided so much joy and sorrow and emotion. It was one of those times when you really understand what "my cup overfloweth" means. Emily was so beautiful as a bride that I cried when we saw here before the wedding. I also can't remember when I've seen my sister so happy. In the midst of all the happy, I felt some meloncolia.
I turned 35 this year and for the most part I don't even think about my age. However, watching Emily and Paul and all their friends last night with abandonment and no self image issues, it hit me like a ton of bricks that I would never be like that again--I am old now. It's kind of funny because I've always been so self conscious and never liked dancing because I feel like everyone is staring at me. Finally last night they played "At Last" by Etta James and I was actually feeling like dancing, but then I couldn't find The Husband.
I wish, just once in my life, that I could have danced like these kids at the wedding. Say what you want about bad modern parenting, but these kids all looked like they were beloved by their families and that the armor of their self esteem was firmly in tact. That is what I want to be when I grow up.
Tune in next time when I cry and write about my complicated tmrelationship with my sisters...
*There's a reward if you know from where I stole that title.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Vignettes
Last night I had a panic attack. I don't have them often, my anxiety is usually more of a general feeling than a full scale attack. But last night as I tried to go to sleep I had the horrible feeling of being unable to breathe, combined with cold sweats, the shakes, and basically feeling like I was going to die. I ended up coming downstairs with The Husband, who was still awake and watching "Battlestar Galactica." I made him change to sometime more cheerful and I ended up sitting up on the couch watching "Annie" until I could breathe again and then started to feel like I might be human. I was terrified to try taking one of the Pams. I'm not sure what caused the attack. Hopefully it's just an isolated thing and I'm better now.
Since I had a bad night last night I decided that I would watch some bad television this morning, because bad television is the best kind, and Hulu said that I would like the show Breaking Pointe*, which is a reality show on the CW about the inner workings of Ballet West in Salt Lake City. There are lots of people dating other people and drama with the up and coming 19 year old and the older principal dancer. Although I don't have the best eye, I think that the dancing isn't terrible. It's fabulous.
I have always wanted to be able to dance, but I've never been graceful. I have horrible posture and issues with people looking at me and I think that I've lacked grace since I was a child. I also walk like a herd of elephants is trampling down the hallway. I grew up with a good friend who was a wonderful dancer. She danced 5 days a week when we were in school and then danced in college and now has her own studio and company and is pretty awesome, in my opinion. When the husband and I were first married, we took ballroom dance lessons and I wasn't terrible at it.**. Granted, no one was going to mistake me for an extra in the movie "Strictly Ballroom,"*** but I never fell down. It's the little things.
Since I can't tell you a lot, I thought that I'd give you a few vignettes of my time at work.
The first is the guy who only eats blueberries. I don't know what he does--he's not in my department, but I've seen him several times around the building and he always has a pint of blueberries, which he is eating. He's a pretty big guy and I've only ever seen him eat blueberries, but he eats the whole pint at a time. One day, as I left work he was standing outside the building and I thought that he was smoking (which you're only supposed to do in the smoking area), but no, he had another pint of blueberries. How many pints does he go through a day? Is there some medical reason for this? Is there a new blueberry diet that I should know about. I have so many questions. I tend to notice little things like this and I always want to ask the person about it, but I don't have the guts to do something like that. Also, it's probably kind of rude to ask people about their blueberry habits.
There's also the engaged couple that needs to get a room. They are like those annoying people from your high school that used to make out like no one was watching between classes and were always blocking access to your locker. They are the reason that you carried all your books in your backpack at all times. You cannot escape from them. And they have followed me to work. They also don't work in my department, but they are on my floor, so they frequently block my access to the microwave at lunch time. I've taken to eating things cold, because it's just easier. One nice thing about these people is that everyone notices them, so we all talk about them. If I knew them, I would let them know how they are damaging their careers--I kind of can't believe that their managers haven't said anything to them, but I could easily see them thinking that everyone else has a problem and just ignoring any comments.
Finally, we had this paratrooper-like invasion of the IT guy this week. I work in a locked environment--everyone needs an electronic key to get anywhere and your key will only open the doors of areas where you're supposed to be, so it's pretty rare to see other people in the department. However this week we were invaded from a very scary IT guy who needed us all to install a new printer. He came barreling in with his wavy hair, held back by sunglasses like a headband, and started demanding that people print stuff. Apparently, no one had told him that this was a phone environment because at least 2/3 of us were on calls and we're not allowed to just hang up on people. Our inability to comply with his instructions made him yell louder, which didn't make the managers too happy. The managers were also unhappy about the unscheduled time trying to fix a problem that none of us knew that we had. My computer still won't do what he wants. I was forced to call other IT people, who didn't really understand what I needed. They ended the call (which lasted almost an hour) by telling me that it would take "a long time" to fix my problem. Super.
So, that's some highlights from this week. Now I'm going to go back to the Breaking Pointe website and indulge in some bad Internet, to go with my bad television.
*I'm always amazed at how well Hulu and Netflix know me--they are my friends.
**Not being terrible is my measuring stick--it's a pretty low bar (or maybe I should say barre).
***If you've not seen this film, go to Netflix now and watch it.
Since I had a bad night last night I decided that I would watch some bad television this morning, because bad television is the best kind, and Hulu said that I would like the show Breaking Pointe*, which is a reality show on the CW about the inner workings of Ballet West in Salt Lake City. There are lots of people dating other people and drama with the up and coming 19 year old and the older principal dancer. Although I don't have the best eye, I think that the dancing isn't terrible. It's fabulous.
I have always wanted to be able to dance, but I've never been graceful. I have horrible posture and issues with people looking at me and I think that I've lacked grace since I was a child. I also walk like a herd of elephants is trampling down the hallway. I grew up with a good friend who was a wonderful dancer. She danced 5 days a week when we were in school and then danced in college and now has her own studio and company and is pretty awesome, in my opinion. When the husband and I were first married, we took ballroom dance lessons and I wasn't terrible at it.**. Granted, no one was going to mistake me for an extra in the movie "Strictly Ballroom,"*** but I never fell down. It's the little things.
Since I can't tell you a lot, I thought that I'd give you a few vignettes of my time at work.
The first is the guy who only eats blueberries. I don't know what he does--he's not in my department, but I've seen him several times around the building and he always has a pint of blueberries, which he is eating. He's a pretty big guy and I've only ever seen him eat blueberries, but he eats the whole pint at a time. One day, as I left work he was standing outside the building and I thought that he was smoking (which you're only supposed to do in the smoking area), but no, he had another pint of blueberries. How many pints does he go through a day? Is there some medical reason for this? Is there a new blueberry diet that I should know about. I have so many questions. I tend to notice little things like this and I always want to ask the person about it, but I don't have the guts to do something like that. Also, it's probably kind of rude to ask people about their blueberry habits.
There's also the engaged couple that needs to get a room. They are like those annoying people from your high school that used to make out like no one was watching between classes and were always blocking access to your locker. They are the reason that you carried all your books in your backpack at all times. You cannot escape from them. And they have followed me to work. They also don't work in my department, but they are on my floor, so they frequently block my access to the microwave at lunch time. I've taken to eating things cold, because it's just easier. One nice thing about these people is that everyone notices them, so we all talk about them. If I knew them, I would let them know how they are damaging their careers--I kind of can't believe that their managers haven't said anything to them, but I could easily see them thinking that everyone else has a problem and just ignoring any comments.
Finally, we had this paratrooper-like invasion of the IT guy this week. I work in a locked environment--everyone needs an electronic key to get anywhere and your key will only open the doors of areas where you're supposed to be, so it's pretty rare to see other people in the department. However this week we were invaded from a very scary IT guy who needed us all to install a new printer. He came barreling in with his wavy hair, held back by sunglasses like a headband, and started demanding that people print stuff. Apparently, no one had told him that this was a phone environment because at least 2/3 of us were on calls and we're not allowed to just hang up on people. Our inability to comply with his instructions made him yell louder, which didn't make the managers too happy. The managers were also unhappy about the unscheduled time trying to fix a problem that none of us knew that we had. My computer still won't do what he wants. I was forced to call other IT people, who didn't really understand what I needed. They ended the call (which lasted almost an hour) by telling me that it would take "a long time" to fix my problem. Super.
So, that's some highlights from this week. Now I'm going to go back to the Breaking Pointe website and indulge in some bad Internet, to go with my bad television.
*I'm always amazed at how well Hulu and Netflix know me--they are my friends.
**Not being terrible is my measuring stick--it's a pretty low bar (or maybe I should say barre).
***If you've not seen this film, go to Netflix now and watch it.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
A String Around My Finger
I don't have enough for a whole post, so I'm writing this here to jog my memory for next time.
Remind me to tell you about the guy who only eats blueberries (no joke) and how we were hijacked by the printer guy (I was scared by his wavy hair that was held back by sunglasses being used as a headband).
Poke me if I wait to long before I fill you in.
Remind me to tell you about the guy who only eats blueberries (no joke) and how we were hijacked by the printer guy (I was scared by his wavy hair that was held back by sunglasses being used as a headband).
Poke me if I wait to long before I fill you in.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Gag Order
There are so many things that I'd like to tell you about the Mothership, but I can't. Since they are a large and publicly traded company, there are lots of rules. One specially deals with social media, so although no one reads this, I still want to be careful.
I can tell you about my new favorite game--accent guessing...
One of my favorite parts of my job is getting to talk to people from around the world. I think this may be unique to me because many of my colleagues find this annoying, but I think its fascinating. I have to fight the urge to ask lots of questions when I get someone on the phone from a cool country, because we're not supposed to do that. I'm thinking about getting a little map with pushpins so I can mark off all my countries. I've started a game with myself, accent guessing, where I try to guess where people are from before my system brings up their address. Some accents are easier, like Ireland. Yesterday I had someone from County Cork who could have come directly from the set of "Darby O'Gill and the Little People." Some are harder, like trying to tell the difference between someone from Boston and someone from Providence.* It makes the day go faster and I can imagine what people are doing. My last call today was from New South Wales in Australia and the guy sounded exactly like Crocodile Dundee.
My new office also has a whole cast of characters that I wish I could tell you more about. I'm currently fascinated with Argyle Socks Guy. Argyle Socks Guy doesn't work in my department, but he comes down to visit the guy who sits next to me during his (ASG) breaks. He is always wearing these really thick argyle socks** like my dad used to wear, that never matched anything. Argyle Socks Guy's socks never match either; that is, they match each other, but with no regard to any of his other clothing. I want to ask all kinds of questions--are his feet cold, thus warranting the wearing of really thick socks in the summer? Are argyle socks his "thing?" How many different pairs does he have? Does he have some kind of foot condition that they help correct?
Sometimes there's a lot of time between calls from leprechauns and crocodile hunters, and these are things I think about.
*I'm doing it domestically too, by region, state and city. The Husband says its impossible to discern an exact location from anyone from the Midwest, however, I have the company name as a clue.
**I'm also impressed with my really creative name
I can tell you about my new favorite game--accent guessing...
One of my favorite parts of my job is getting to talk to people from around the world. I think this may be unique to me because many of my colleagues find this annoying, but I think its fascinating. I have to fight the urge to ask lots of questions when I get someone on the phone from a cool country, because we're not supposed to do that. I'm thinking about getting a little map with pushpins so I can mark off all my countries. I've started a game with myself, accent guessing, where I try to guess where people are from before my system brings up their address. Some accents are easier, like Ireland. Yesterday I had someone from County Cork who could have come directly from the set of "Darby O'Gill and the Little People." Some are harder, like trying to tell the difference between someone from Boston and someone from Providence.* It makes the day go faster and I can imagine what people are doing. My last call today was from New South Wales in Australia and the guy sounded exactly like Crocodile Dundee.
My new office also has a whole cast of characters that I wish I could tell you more about. I'm currently fascinated with Argyle Socks Guy. Argyle Socks Guy doesn't work in my department, but he comes down to visit the guy who sits next to me during his (ASG) breaks. He is always wearing these really thick argyle socks** like my dad used to wear, that never matched anything. Argyle Socks Guy's socks never match either; that is, they match each other, but with no regard to any of his other clothing. I want to ask all kinds of questions--are his feet cold, thus warranting the wearing of really thick socks in the summer? Are argyle socks his "thing?" How many different pairs does he have? Does he have some kind of foot condition that they help correct?
Sometimes there's a lot of time between calls from leprechauns and crocodile hunters, and these are things I think about.
*I'm doing it domestically too, by region, state and city. The Husband says its impossible to discern an exact location from anyone from the Midwest, however, I have the company name as a clue.
**I'm also impressed with my really creative name
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