Phenomenally Proud

I just finished my first freelance web design project. There are a few changes that the site owner would like to make, but my part - the design and coding - is done!

Click on the image to visit the page!

More on Customer Service

I have always believed that everyone should have a job in customer service at some point in their lives. I learned more working retail this holiday season, after leaving my office job, than I ever did at that office job. However, the best part is that while you may have to deal with irrational people in corporate life (I know I did. All the time), the irrational people stories in retail are usually more colorful, although there's a lot to be said about the temp at my old firm whose "contract wasn't renewed" about four months after he punched a wall because I guess that's how long the paperwork takes.
But anyway, now that I've already blurbed my (second) worst corporate story, I thought I'd share my worst retail experience.
Just before Christmas I was ringing up a woman's purchases - a vase and a particularly unwieldy bunch of fake flowering branches, which were too large for our standard bags, but who the woman had insisted be "wrapped up so [she] could get them home safely." She handed me her credit card, and after I swiped it, I turned to look for a solution while she signed the pad. I was in the middle of shimmying these things into one of our umbrella bags, when she reached over the counter and grabbed her card, telling me, "I'm going to take my card. I've been a customer here for years."
I smiled and nodded (who cares how long you've been a customer here?), then wrestled with the branches some more. After finally getting the things settled in their bag, I put the charge through to get her receipt, when she asked me if I was going to check her signature.
Stunned, I said, "Sure, can I see your card?"
She showed me her card, but kept a death grip on the thing instead of letting me have it. "Looks good to me. Here's your branches...and..."
"How could you possibly remember what my signature looked like?" She demanded.
I told her that, out of habit, I had glanced at her signature before I cleared the screen, and her A's were similar. She was clearly bat-shit crazy, but hadn't deliberately signed the two differently (although I wouldn't have put it past her).
I handed her things to her over the counter, but she wouldn't have any of it, and kept insisting that we discuss why I was so stupid—at no point did she even give me time to interject with niceties—and after a few minutes of listening to her berate me, I was done. I just wanted to get to the long line that was building behind her.
Finally, I interrupted her. "Okay," was all I said, then turned around to help another customer who had been patiently waiting for this lady's insanity to simmer down. Thinking that if the worst I could do to this woman was not say "Have a nice day," (since she wouldn't let me, anyway) I thought ignoring her might get rid of her, and it did. I proceeded to help a very nice man choose some cookware...
Until about thirty seconds later, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Crazy had come back to tell me that she didn't appreciate my attitude, and she did not like the way I'd left things with her. She wanted to know how on earth I decided to work in retail if I hated people so much. Then she asked to speak to a manager.
She asked my manager if they could speak privately while she looked at me with crazy eyes. Out of earshot, she told my manager that she would not, could not buy anything from someone with such a negative energy. She returned everything, but that's not the best part. She then made my manager RING HER UP AGAIN.
The store didn't lose any money, and this woman got to go home with some ugly fake branches no one sane would ever need. My manager and I had a "talk" about this situation—we talked about how bat-shit crazy that woman had to have been. So the moral, here?
Maybe there is no moral. One thing I know for sure - this woman has never worked in retail. She could also use some lessons in common courtesy ("Would you please check my signature so I can have my card back? I'd hate to forget it"), as well as a refresher on cause and effect (before the incident, I had been smiling happily, and chatting about how beautiful those stupid, ugly branches were going to look in her house). I hope that her cat (this woman had at least three cats, trust me) ate every last fake flower on those hideous branches and cost that woman thousands in vet bills, because I'll bet those ugly branches are not very good for cats' stomachs.

Thanks For the Personal Growth, Though, Assholes.

Every time I see the title on my previous entry, I read "Will Knit for Tacos." Upon further reflection, I have decided that I will also knit for tacos, because I have finally reached the end of my severance funded vacation. This means that next week, I start receiving unemployment benefits. Ouch. Talk about a pay cut.

So the other day, J brought home Bud Light Lime. The king of...lime flavored beers. "It was on sale," he said. "I'm a grad student, and you're not working right now. Tonight we're going to drink like it."

It tasted faintly of limeade, it didn't really taste like...what's the word? Beer. If you visit their website, though, by clicking on the image to the left, you can download a free remix of Santogold's Lights Out. Redemption factor: 3/10.

The time off part isn't so bad, really. I set my own schedule, and as long as I don't wake up in the middle of the night, in a panic thinking about health insurance or the fate of my [former] 401k, I can actually start my day at a reasonable hour and get work done. Last night was, unfortunately, a wake up in a panic night. I bolted out of bed to make a To Do list just to stop my heart from pounding so loudly in my head. I couldn't stop thinking about my health insurance and the library book I had to pick up and how the fuck we were going to pay for rent and utilities and still not have to supplement our diet of ramen noodles by dumpster diving (is it at all that bad? No, of course not. Try telling me that at three in the morning). I felt like a rock was sitting on my chest.

I'm going to level with you, though. The stress of my current situation still hasn't rivaled the stress of working for an understaffed corporate nonentity that is in desperate need of management training. I don't work well under those parameters, and I might point out that my panic attacks started with that job and didn't simmer down until after the side effects of my anti-depressants went away. I may have been comfortable with the steady income, but having my happiness compromised on a daily basis was wearing pretty thin by the end. Sundays were unbearable because of the dread I felt - upon waking up in the morning - that tomorrow was, ugh, Monday.

I need to find something I enjoy doing that pays a teeny bit more than the unemployment insurance - with medical benefits. That shouldn't be so hard. And in the meantime - in the daylight, at least - I am enjoying the time off to the fullest of my ability. Who needs a job when they've got daytime TV?

[Currently Spinning: Yeah Yeah Yeahs]

Will Knit for Tattoos

I lost my job last monday. I'm not going to beat around the bush here: I am so effing happy about it. I was not happy doing what I was doing, and I needed a change so badly. It wasn't a matter of whether or not I was going to walk into my manager's office and quit, it was a matter of when. Yes, they made that decision a little bit easier for me by letting me go, thereby making my *life* a little bit more difficult (maybe?), but I haven't been this excited about anything since I got into MIT.

I've started developing my own website, where I plan on hosting my portfolio, and maybe eventually my blog. I've started to spray paint our dining room chairs, which were in serious need of an overhaul. And most importantly, I've gained a lot of perspective. I don't know what I want to do with my life, but that's okay. I have a general direction, now.

Five Hours and Fourty Seven Minutes

The other day I wanted cream in my coffee, but the kitchen on my side of the office was out of cream. Because there was only one carton left in the other kitchen, I filled a small cup with creamer and brought that to the kitchen with me, instead. Imagine my surprise later in the day when I came to check on the cup, and MORE CREAMER was in it. I could have exploded with happiness. I wanted to cover the person who did that with kisses. It's not often someone does something so small that actually restores my faith in humanity.

So imagine how dark a cloud spread when, no less than an hour later, I went to the kitchen and couldn't find the cup. When I threw away my sugar packets, I saw it sitting at the bottom of the trash can - STILL HALF FULL OF CREAMER.

If it had been empty, fine. BUT IT WASN'T. I am having trouble concentrating on anything other than counting the minutes until five.

Seems like a fair price to me!

How much would you pay for the luxury to not give a crap about something?

Yesterday, at work, we were given the numbers for the bonuses we will be getting at the end of the week. We recently switched to a Performance Based Compensation plan that involves all kinds of ratings and algorithms and numbers. It's kind of cool, actually, since I tend to prefer numbers (because I went to MIT or why I went to MIT...the eternal question).

Yesterday, one of my coworkers came over and asked (aggressively? Am I projecting?) whether they had messed up one of my numbers, because they seemed to have messed with hers. In the previous round of bonuses, they had screwed up some input or another and instead of fixing it then, they promised it would be fixed in the future.

She stood over my shoulder and watched as I opened my spreadsheet (I had not checked it before she came over - the reality is that I forgot that this spreadsheet is downloaded as a one page PDF, and our bonuses are right there in a bright yellow box, which the eye is immediately drawn to on our great big 19" monitors). She saw my bonus, then pulled a printed copy of her own out of her pocket, opened it a sliver, and said, "Nope, they didn't screw yours up, just mine," and walked away.

Fortunately, paper is not opaque when it's lit from behind, or I wouldn't know that she made a whopping $300 more than me - the cost of not passing the LEED exam. She did not get paid more than me based on merit, or because she's more awesome or pretty or better than me in any other way than she studied her ass off, gave up her life for a while, and passed an exam. We've already been through how I felt about not passing, and how I spent all of seven hours studying, and I knew that my bonus would be the consequence. Were she actually a friend, she would have at the very least looked away when I opened that file, but because she doesn't care about other people, it's completely beyond her comprehension not to be an asshole (otherwise in an ideal world, she would have shown me hers, too, because I honestly don't mind sharing these things with friends (I should have seen the whole thing coming, since it was barreling at me like an freight train)). I've known this about her for a while; It's not her fault I'm so damn gullible.

So, against my will, I started justifying the whole thing in my head last night; not because I need anything to change, but because I needed to feel better about the fact that she is a jerk. I know for a fact that when I started, I was paid more than another one of our co-workers, presumably because I graduated from MIT and, even though it is from an accredited university and they have worked here for three years (one year longer than me), their degree is from a less prestigious school. More people may have heard of her school, but it's still not MIT - and she has one year less work experience. I wouldn't normally think about these things so much, because I'm perfectly content with what I make relative to the market these days, but she annoyed me yesterday, and so I started rationalizing that she should go ahead and be happy with that $300, because I'm 89% certain it's absorbed into my slightly higher paycheck. Plus, I can always pass the exam at the end of the summer, if I decide I want to waste two weeks of my free time. I know she only feels she has to make other people feel badly about themselves so she can soothe her non-existent self esteem. Knowing that doesn't make me want to punch her any less.

So. I suppose that $300 is the cost of not giving a shit around these parts. Reasonable?

Recipe for a not so bad day, after all

To cure an insanely bad day at work, take this zucchini bread recipe, some bad TV, and a sweet boyfriend. Mix thoroughly.

Little Mountain Sherpas

Every time I have to write a work related e-mail, I work myself into a "state," and every fear I have of being fired comes out from hiding in the dark corners of my mind. I don't know why I do this. It's something I'm aware of, and it's something I've worked on, but while I've mostly gotten it cornered in my personal relationships and sometimes when I'm out in a group, I cannot get a handle on it when work is involved. (And yes, I have talked at length about this with my therapist)

Today, I was an absolute mess for about five minutes while I deliberated with a coworker how I should address an email to a team of consultants, who happen to work out of India. I had only one of their names and didn't want to address the email to one person and ignore the rest. I eventually settled on "hello [name] and team," but not before having this gem of a conversation:

I have no idea who to address it to. [company] team? That sounds so impersonal!

I'm sure they don't care how you address them, as long as it's not how Heather does it. 'Dear mountain sherpas...'

As per usual, my PA found a potential problem (this is why I rarely CC people I work for. Bad habit? Yes. Keeps me from passing out? Yes.), but it was nowhere near as bad as her referring to our consultants as "little mountain sherpas who get the work done while we sleep." And I have to admit, I did feel a little bit better about myself when I thought about it.

Victory!

I'm not at all bothered that I am the kind of person who curses out my computer, software, and the printers, because I also coo to them when they're being helpful.

And sometimes I make out with them so that they'll do what I want, but that's only because I'm manipulative.

Validation

Me: I made ceiling soffits!
I'm so proud of them
well...I'm kind of proud of them
you know how your third grader will bring home the ugliest piece of crap covered in glitter and glue and god knows what?
that's how I'm proud of them.
Co-worker: awww, let me put the soffit on the fridge.

It's More Caffeine Time!

I'm updating from work because I needed a break from this stupid model that's driving me crazy.

I have absolutely NO desire/interest in finishing it. I just flat out don't want to. Unfortunately, my boss came in and thanked me for my time here, told me he'd be more than happy to give me a reference when I apply for jobs (this man sits on the board of one of the most prestigious Architecture schools in the country), and shook my hand.

I had glue on my finger when he shook my hand. And I was gnawing on a toothpick. And don't even get me started on what I look like at midnight after Indian food and nary a cloth to clean my glasses properly and twelve cups of tea....and poo. Responsibility is weighing heavily on my shoulders. Also the desire not to get bad-mouthed all over the place. And really, how can you just screw over a guy who looked at the model you made and said, "It looks great. Now gesso the crap out of it."

I just want to go home. I want to be done with this. Except...the whole "no job again" thing is kind of grating on my nerves. I'm scared and angry and sad and upset and just...aaaaah!

I think it's time for more caffeine. Then, back to work.

Now Listening: Grey's Anatomy Playlist (AKA the "I want to kill myself...oh wait, there's Gnarles Barkley...Ok, I want to kill myself again...Oh, wait! There's Diplo Rhythm!" &tc. playlist)