Money, Money, Money

Please stop asking me for money.

When we were kids there were collection tins on store counters, begging for change.

As an adult, those collection containers remain in shops, for anonymous giving.  Several years ago, grocery stores starting asking at check out “would you like to donate to [insert charity name]?”  If you said yes, as a winner they would write your name on a paper balloon/shamrock/rainbow and hang it on the wall for all other shoppers to know that you were a donator.

Me, I would rather make my donations privately, so I was forced to say NO in front of the clerks, other shoppers, sign of a smiling kid starting to tear up. At first I was embarrassed to say no, but the repetitiveness eventually made it easier to stick with my answer.

This weekend I was shocked at the drive-thru Burger King window when asked if I wanted to donate $1 for coupons, for a charity.   NO, I was hungry for a veggie burger and fries.  I so rarely eat food from BK I doubt I would be back to use the coupons.

For some reason, I don’t mind the Salvation Army bellringers at Christmas.  The smiling ones, anyways.  This past winter I had a brief idea of dropping change into each bucket I passed.  I swear, I think those ringers multiplied with that thought, and I quickly began to see 5-10 ringers a day. I changed my offering to giving money to the first ringer I passed each day.

I like the freedom of being able to choose the charities I want support.  There are organizations we help annually. I willingly give to most of my friends and family who are participating in a walk/run/triathlon/head shaving/elephant race.  I buy cookies, popcorn, coupon books, flowers from neighbors and friends.  And yes, we sell some of those coupon books and raffle tickets ourselves.

I am sure that charities must raise lots of money asking every shopper at every store to give to the Important Cause of the Week Fund, but I find it rude, presumptuous. Just let me buy my toothpaste, my milk, my onion rings.  I will make my own donation tonight, from my computer. Trying to publicly shame me into giving money just turns me off. C

Cell Phone Overload

I use my cell phone.  A lot.  For calls, texts, reviewing emails, finding restaurants/directions/the weather, games, to take pictures, to listen to music, as a flashlight; its uses are seemingly endless–sometimes extremely helpful, other times trivial but fun.

However, there are times to turn off the ringer, silence the texting fingers.  When I am out to dinner with friends, we might leave our phones on the table in case our children call.  But, when it is constantly alerting that a new text has arrived, distracting the friend from our conversation to some unknown, it becomes rude. If you would rather be with the person on the other end, then leave.  And answering emails while at dinner, wow.  Go home!  When asked why someone was going through her emails, a friend replied “Oh, I’m just cleaning out the junk emails.”  Not on my limited time, please.

And store clerks, they are people too!  I hang up the phone, acknowledge the people waiting on me, as I find it EXTREMELY rude to act like your conversation about your family squabbles is far more important than the person standing opposite you.  I watched a woman yak-yak-yak through the grocery store, while her purchases were rung up and bagged, while she left the store, and then she circled the parking lot with her overflowing cart as she could not find her car, still yak-yak-yaking.

The dental office has a “phone zone” room, but there are people who ignore it.  Answering a short call is okay, but if you are going to go on about your business prowess, please use that room so I don’t hurl on your feet. Do you think you are on stage, others glorying in your words?  Wrong assumption.

My phone is extremely useful.  It is beneficial to be able to multi-task, catch up  while not chained to my home, making short work calls while working at my Caribou Coffee “office”, telling family the train is late or practice is cancelled, alerting people about emergency situations, just saying “Hi. How are you?”.

But please, spend time with the people you are with, live in the moment, not across the wireless lines, unless it’s truly important.  If you need an intravenous feeding to your phone, please do it on your own time.

When my kids have friends sleep over, I take their phones later in the evening. My daughter and her friend actually asked me to remove phones from an upcoming birthday party.  ”They just cause drama,” they told me.  I know that texting is the culprit for them, but we should all do that.  Put the phone away, say HI to the people around us. Don’t hide behind your phone.  And remember not to ignore the people in front of you, whether you know them or not. C

 

Customer Relations? Where is it?

What has happened to customer service?  Common courtesy?  Kindness?  It is stunning in today’s economy that service industries are not focusing on their customer service as a way to maintain their business.  We had an unexpected evening out recently where three separate businesses showed they could lose six customers.  And these former clients will be happy to tell others about their negative experiences.

 

On a busy, whirlwind weekend Bob and I were invited to Chicago with two other couples, including my brother Steve and his wife.  This crazy evening began with an oversized limousine in our driveway to drive to Chicago for the evening.  Though the itinerary clearly stated we were picking up another couple, making several stops then going to a famous Chicago restaurant, the driver was frustrated that we had to stop to pick up our friends.  And what is with limo drivers who do not have GPS today???  And expect their clients to direct them?

 

On a surprisingly low-traffic Saturday night, we were actually early for our reservation.  So, we decided to stop at the bar in the new Trump Tower, since we were all dressed up as an extra treat.

 

“I hate driving in Chicago,” the driver commented several times driving through the busy streets.  “I especially hate it on a Saturday night.”

 

We directed him to Trump Tower, but several mis-cues on the driver’s part led us to being led out on Lower Wacker Drive.  Hey—I was in a limo and wanted to be let out by the front door, not downstairs by the dude peeing and then clanking up metal stairs in my heels.  Ah well, it was a gorgeous night to wander.

 

Trump Tower, beautiful inside.  The desk people were friendly, directing us to the bar, which directly faces the Wrigley Tower clock.  Great views, lovely modern setting, people filling most tables when we arrived.  We ordered an expensive bottle of champagne to share before dinner, telling the waitress we had only a short time, but we waited-and waited more-for her to bring the bottle for us.  So we rushed through our drinks, a bit frustrated.  I noticed as we left that other tables had also emptied out fairly quickly.  Worth a second chance, I think.

 

We then headed to my favorite chef’s restaurant, to be the highlight of the evening.  We directed the limo driver as he lamented further about Chicago, adding that he also hated wet toilet paper, in case you are wondering.

 

They had  changed the long-made reservation from four people to six that morning, to accommodate our growing group. The greeter had seated us, a kindly man.  Then we waited, and waited, no waiter appearing.  It’s a bit embarrassing to have to ask the host in a formal restaurant if someone is going to wait on you.

 

Our waitress acted throughout the meal as if she was doing us a favor by serving us.  As if WE should be thankful to be eating at this establishment.  I worked in the restaurant business for ten years; and I would never have treated customers like this—especially a party of six who ordered several appetizers, meals, several rounds of drinks and (possibly) dessert.

 

Our reservation was later in the evening, so we were extremely hungry when we sat down for our meal.  We wanted to order a couple appetizers, but since the restaurant offered both price fixe meals and a regular menu we were told by the waitress that “the kitchen prefers if you order your meal together” and would not take the appetizer order.  What? “The kitchen” would not let us order?

 

I requested a partial change in an entrée, which she needed to ask the kitchen if she could make.  When two of the men in our group heard my change, they requested the same one.  She was NOT happy.

 

The food divine, the sauces exquisite.  But our waitress never came to explain the meals once we got them, ask if we had any questions, or ask if we needed anything, including more cocktails.

 

It saddens me that I probably will not choose to return to my favorite restaurant in the near future, this being the second visit there this year with excellent food and sub-par service.  I will watch this chef on TV and continue to enjoy his cookbooks (spine is broken it’s so overused). I work really hard for my money.  When I choose to indulge and spend it on myself by going out for a lovely evening, I want to be treated with respect, relax and let someone wait on me for a change.

 

I so enjoy the owner and his cooking—and he always seems like an educated and fun-to-be with man– that I am not going to name his restaurant here, but I am sending him a separate email about the experience.

 

Once our meal was over, our limo was waiting out front for the drive home.  The highlight of the ride home was when I realized my brother was on the phone with someone—who turned was the limo driver who mistakenly called him instead of his friend.

 

“Hey, George, I’m on my way back from where I was coming from,” or some gibberish before he realized it was Steve.  Then, “oh, you are Steve in the back seat, aren’t you?”

 

We had an incredibly fun night of laughter and jokes despite the lack of service from three individuals.  But it did make me realize that customer relations is the key to keeping buyers satisfied and coming back for more.  It’s something to think about for all of us in business, no matter what the industry.  C

 

A Rant–Not Mine

My friend Sandy and I witnessed a shocking moment outside our YMCA this week.  We were talking outside the building after our yoga class, when we realized there was a verbal altercation taking place next to us, near the handicapped parking spots.

It was a tough parking day, since the back lot was being re-paved.  Cars were parked everywhere–in the spots and along the curb, summer camp kids all around, grandparents escorting their young companions inside.

A heavyset woman in a van was yelling at a 60ish year old man, parked in a handicapped spot.  We could see him fumbling, then holding up a blue handicapped placard for her to see before he hung it on his mirror.

“See,” he said,” here is my handicapped sticker.”  Mid-conversation, we were unaware of the previous argument.

“YOU don’t have a wheelchair in your car. I do,” she ranted. “You don’t need that handicapped sticker!”

“I do.  I have a permanent disability,” he replied as he exited the car.

“You don’t need that.  You look fine,” she yelled as she parked illegally next to the curb.

“I don’t need to discuss with you what my health issues are. I do need this sticker,” he replied.

“FUCK YOU ASSHOLE!” she screamed as him, slamming her car door.

What?  Those stunning words yelled at the YM Christian A?  Surrounded by people, of all ages, we could no longer remain quiet.

“Hey, hey,” Sandy and I both quietly called, hoping to calm the situation. Oh no, that just set her off, as she walked to the back of the van, removed and unfolded the wheelchair and climbed in it.  We were embarrassed for her daughter who meekly climbed out of the back seat, around ten.

“He doesn’t need the sticker!  He looks perfectly healthy. It was in his back seat until I came up,” she yelled at us.

“This language is NOT necessary here,” I replied angrily.  ”The man in the black car has every right to park here with this sticker.  My dad has a handicapped sticker, and he doesn’t have a wheelchair.  He works out here.  I certainly wouldn’t want you yelling at MY dad because he is parked here. You don’t have to have a wheelchair to have a handicapped sticker.”

I though this might make her realize that she was out of line, but she began moving towards us in the chair, bellowing all the while.

“Thank you, ladies,” the man by the black car said to us.  ”Thank you so much.  I really didn’t want to tell her my whole medical history.”

“There isn’t any need.  You have the right placard,” Sandy replied.

We all felt it best to disperse before she reached us.  She was seething, we were still amazed and angry, and no good would come of further words.

While I walked to my car, unable to believe this whole experience, I was thankful that I stood up for my dad, my mother-in-law, and all the others who have handicapped stickers for don’t have a wheelchair or crutches.  And I felt sorry for the daughter, who might be cringing at the yelling or used to such anger, and I was still furious and shocked at the woman in the van, who herself was able to walk to the back of the van–yet she had a handicapped sticker.  What had made her so angry?  Was it a bad morning, or was she always this angry at the world?

She could have my Zen feeling. She clearly needed it more than me. C

Politicians Playground

One thing about politics–people hold that party line.  Hard.  High school like, it is infuriating that so many politicians have to wear the same suits–with matching ties–as their party members, and don’t forget your nylons and sensible shoes, ladies.

It is extremely irritating and totally unbelievable that virtually ALL the house members of a particular party just happen to agree on the huge healthcare bill, and almost none of the people on the other team were in agreement.  Can’t these people think for themselves?  So many pretend to back their constituents, but in realty it’s show.  They want to stay with the “in” group, so afraid to stand out.  Wear yellow!  Dye your hair!  Tell us what YOU really think–don’t just hide behind the mile-high bill, especially if you have your secret notes hidden inside it.

This lament is NOT about the healthcare bill.  It’s about the status quo.

This isn’t a new premise, it’s been happening for years.  Why do we accept complacency?  But what can we do with the powerful lobbies kow-towing to get their way, secret meetings, bills we cannot see until too late, top officials who push through their agendas.  Are they listening?  will they ever?  Or will they simply continue to stand in their straight rows at the party, only taking a drink when the person in front of them does.  But hiding their dirty secrets until the press hangs them to dry for all to see.

C

Why Bother?

First weeks back to school are a juggling time, with all the outside activities starting, the missing school supplies, tryouts, and open houses.  Everyone I know is busy, just learning their new schedules.  We re-districted our school this summer, so there were many new faces at the elementary school open house this week.  Familiar faces, nervous lost faces, smiling faces, hopeful faces.  I had to go early, as one teacher does a presentation before the meeting starts.  A room of parents, some single, some coupled  with children in 3rd through fifth grade, there to listen to Mr. C.

Of the 20 or so parents in the room, several people stood at the counter that aligns each classroom.  I was stunned, and embarrassed as two dads stood at that counter the ENTIRE half-hour and played with their Blackberrys, texting, checked their emails, surfing internet Porn.  Who knows?  Right in my sight line, I could not stop glancing at them, just waiting, hoping that they would put their metal and plastic appendages away.  How incredibly rude!  Were they so important that they couldn’t listen to the teacher?  If they cared so little, why did they bother coming to the early presentation?  I  hoped that they would find a decorum of civility and put away their toys–but one even had his reading glasses on.

Why not sit and hide it in your lap, under a desk?  Why such a blatant lack of respect for the teacher?  And what a great lesson it would have been for their kids, if they had been present: I am more important than you or your teacher. You have to listen to the teacher, but I do not.  C

Why Facebook?

I have been on Facebook a couple of months now, and I still don’t quite understand what the fascination is.  I entered the Facebook as part of a work group and did nothing for months–no pictures, no updates, nothing  Then people began asking to link to me, so I added a couple photos, chatted with a couple people on an ongoing basis,  and now I do enjoy conversing with my extended family and friends and hearing what my nieces and nephews are doing.

But, there are some things I truly don’t understand.  Why do people I knew –mainly from high school –but were never friends with then want to be my friends now?  Some of them I have barely exchanged two words with since elementary school, why? 

And why do people start polls about me–about the stupidest things?   Are they supposed to make me laugh?  They make me cringe and wonder why do you have so much free time? 

And if I want to see the results or answer some other questions,  why do I have to let Facebook access my photos, friends, and profile information?  So I choose not to enter those sections.

I am going to keep my profile up a bit longer,  test the waters a bit more, but I am starting to think it’s really a space for people to chat a bit, try to sound pithy about what they are doing today, see who can have the most “friends” and suck up lots of time.

Maybe blogging  is a better route for me. C

Cyber kisses and handshakes?

Yesterday I felt like Alice who slipped down the tunnel, caught in a maze of doors to open, lost in the keypad of my laptop.  I had a couple spare hours–what should I update first?  Excluding work, there was a myriad of electronic options–write on my blog, update my facebook page, find new contacts on Linkedin, upload and sort vacation photos, post new pictures on my Flickr page after categorizing photos, visit my family’s new social networking page, surf the internet, respond to an evite, donate online to a friend’s upcoming charity walk, start on a new freelance project…the list expands as I reminisce. 

I chose to start with a short facebook update, donation, then uploaded my photos woefully after the fact on my flickr page; hopefully the friends I sent emails to remembered attending the events with me!  But since I had photos from a school function to turn in, I can cross that item off my “to-do” list.  And there is now a new “2009″ photos folder on my computer, already bulging with pictures from San Diego.

I was satisfied with my choices, but I continued to think about my long  “to-do” list that all involved the computer.

A day later, still rambling through the Gateway, I wonder if people still make face-to-face or voice-to-voice contact, with all the electonic conversations, bullets, rants, thoughts that pulse through the airwaves all day and nite.  But is a cyber handshake enough to cinch the deal?  If my friend is scared for the future, I can’t give her a hug online or reassure with the written word like the timbre and tone a voice and touch can give.  And when emotional, skittering fingers across cold, unfeeling letters can misconstrue words and thoughts. 

Yes, the computer (and the cell phone with texting) is a wonderful, useful time-saving  tool, but what are we losing, with the lack of  human interaction? Only time, measured in milli-seconds and over analyzed, will tell. C

why bother?

Maybe my new year’s resolution should be to spend less time on “unproductive” things: blogging, playing bejeweled on my iphone, taking pictures, riding horses and more time on the things my family needs/wants/demands–laundry, cleaning, chauffering, watching them in their myriad of sports and performances, paying bills, shopping, more chauffering, and planning a multitude of fun days for then. Oh, then the rest of my time can be spent working, volunteering at school, equine therapy, church, finding new revenue streams  errrr screams.

That might make everyone else happy, but how that helps me, I can’t figure out in the least.  Scratch that resolution.  Let’s scratch them all and just try to have a peaceful, prosperous (at least stay on an even keel) new year, be gentle to those around us, help those in need, and explore new interests, friendships, and lands.  C

Election Eve, Almost

Woo Hoo–only three more days until this election period is over.  I am so tired of the never-ending polls, recorded bogus phone calls, slanted mailers, the newspaper headlines critiquing every nuance of every sentence and outfit and misspoken word, and the politcal pundits who deem themselves smarter than all with their screaming, ridiculous commentaries. 

The crazy outrage of analyzing how much money was spent on Sarah Palin’s outfits–what exactly did people expect, taking a woman hunter/politician/mother from Alaska and putting her in the national spotlight glare?  I am certain they would have to do even more with me, not that I ever dream to be in her position.  How come no scrutiny on the men’s clothes?  cars? homes?  A bit biased, no matter who you vote for. 

A friend sent me a “documentary” video that totally outraged me.  Doesn’t matter who it was about,  or what side of the fence you were on–this piece was pure Propaganda with an ulterior motive.  I couldn’t believe that the narrator was selling this as an  “unbiased” story–and even worse, that people were forwarding it on as a truth.  Twists and turns, fiction and facts sold as fact.

People will take out or re-order sentences of peoples’ speeches and morph them to whatever their version of the story to sell. In less time than it takes to read this, you can remove the cellulite, modify the eye color, change the person I am standing with to ruin my life or sell your stories or make me laugh or cry.  Be wary of what you read and hear especially on the internet, even the TV and written news.

I will be happy to end this round of mis-truths and and one-sided debates and lies and fake-olosphies.  Hidden behind this hysteric selling and media are the platforms of people who really do believe they can make an impact, change their world.  Hopefully some of them can win their races, influence other, and rub off on those in office for mainly selfish, untrue reasons.

Whereever you are Tuesday, whatever your stance, be sure to vote.  Make your voice known with the mighty pen (or button, whatever is in your booth).  C