Cleaning House

Last Wednesday, "Dumb-Ass Rehire" called in sick about an hour and a half before her scheduled shift. Mind you, she was working the evening shift—on at 5 pm—and presumably had been sick all day. Now, I know these children have a tendency to sleep until noon, but, still…

When I asked her what was wrong, her reply was, "I don’t know." What a great answer! Not, "I’ve been throwing up since last night," or "I have a fever of 102," or even "My throat hurts so bad I can’t swallow." Just, "I don’t know."

Here is a girl who, two months ago to the day, called in to tell me she wouldn’t be able to work her shift because she had homework to do (she dropped the class after a week and a half…) Here is a girl who quit with no notice last January; called me the morning of her shift and told me her life was a shambles and she needed to move too far away to work. Here is a girl who came back to me three months later begging for her job back. So I, like a sap, took her back. Bad move on my part. Oh well.

After four months of struggling to make her into an adequate employee, I had had it up to my eyeballs. And she just happened to lame out on me the day I was making next week’s schedule. Bad move on her part.

My labor has been totally out of control this summer, partly because I have been making use of some fortuitous over-staffing to give myself a bit of a breather. I’ve been able to step back, gather my wits about me, and get some administrative stuff done that has needed doing for, oh, about two years. But the economy being what it is, I knew I would have to make some changes soon. I was hoping to cut the staff through natural "back-to-school" attrition. Well, "Dumb-Ass Rehire" wasn’t going back to school, but I cut her back to two days on next week’s schedule anyhow. Reasoning that when you start cutting, you cut the dead wood first.

This apparently didn’t set well with "D-A R", because she called me fifteen minutes before she was supposed to be at work today and said, "I quit!"

Fine. Saves me the trouble of having to fire your sorry ass.

We slogged through an unusually busy day (of course) without her. With a little help from the intrepid husband, dishwasher extraordinaire.

Much as this little episode does solve more problems than it creates, it still left me with some more of that negative energy to work out when I got home from work

I re-arranged my living room.

A few more café disasters and I will have caught up on all my neglected housework…

Ten Minutes 8/29~~Perhaps They Listened

Once again, I’ve been wandering the halls of my archives.  I went back to 2005 this time…back to when I still had the time and brainpower to write things that were really worthwhile.  Back before I became thoroughly sick of the political state of our nation—the posturing, the deceit, the muck-flinging.  The utter vapor-lock prevalent in the Democratic Party.

I dug up an entry I had written in September of that year, “A Political Admonishment.”  This post went into some detail about my personal p olitical history and my increasing disillusionment with the Donkeys.  My closing line was,

Let this be a warning and a wake-up call to the Democratic Party. You cannot afford to assume. You cannot afford to let us "idealists" trickle away. Speak to our ideals, ensure our loyalty. Inspire us to vote for you, because it’s increasingly likely that a vote against the current regime will not necessarily fall in the Democrats’ column. You need to stop the bleeding.

Three years later, it looks like the Democratic party has taken my admonishment to heart.  Surely someone in the higher echelons read my post and set about acting on it… ;)

All kidding aside, the Obama candidacy appears to fill the order for an inspirational person, policy or direction for the Dems.  Here is a candidate that urges us to stretch beyond the old high standards we thought forever lost, upward toward ideals we didn’t dare to envision.  Not just a candidate who stands for change from the policies through which we have slogged desultorily for the past eight years.  Here is a candidate for historic change.  For raising the nation to a level of open-mindedness and inclusiveness we had thought were decades away, if indeed they were ever in the cards at all.    The darkness of the divisiveness, hatred, selfishness and fear-mongering of the Bush Administration has brought us to the threshold of a promise brighter than we could have imagined.    

Is it too bright?  Will we reach for it, or shield our eyes and turn away?

Or will someone shoot out the light…  

Fear vs Hope

Try as I might, I can’t completely separate myself from the bonfire of inanity that is the Democratic National Convention.  I heard Bill Clinton’s speech yesterday.  And I caught a good portion of Barack Obama’s acceptance speech today.  It’s not that either of them had nothing worthwhile to say.    And, believe me, I am eternally grateful that I can listen to words coming out of an aspiring candidate’s mouth without seething with so much anger and frustration that I’m likely to grab the nearest object and tear it to shreds with my bare hands. 

It’s just that I know everything they say is…just words.  Abstract promises.  It’s an attempt—a noble attempt, I’ll confess—to drag American political rhetoric out of the gutter of hatred, and out from under the bed of quavering fear and paranoia.  But is it having any effect?  Are the idiots who have carried George Bush on their shoulders as if he were the conquering hero, who have worn his ignorance and ineloquence as a badge of honor…are those stupid sheep who have appeared to be in control of the country for the past eight years listening?  Are they getting it?  Or are these earnest men and women in Denver preaching so eloquently to the choir?  The minority choir who will go down to defeat again this November, unable to drag the nation back onto a course toward high ideals, dignity and moral rectitude.   

I’m of two minds about the coming election.  I look at the repulsive mob that has taken over our country—the ones who have prospered under the Bush/Cheney policies of fear, selfishness and dishonesty.  They are huge, and they are strong.  And they are not likely to let go of their hold on power very easily.  And I am afraid to what lengths they will go to keep what they have.  

Things could get very ugly.

But then, I think, what better time for a Barack Obama to sweep to victory?  On the heels of the most disastrous administration to have hit Washington in living memory?  This might be the perfect storm, the cosmic coming together of every possible circumstance to make an historic presidency possible.  Now.  Certainly never before, and possibly never again.  At least in my lifetime.  Perhaps our young people, flexing the muscles of their franchise for the first time, will be the force for change that ultimately unseats the evil oligarchy that has dug in its heels in our nation’s capital. 

There is hope.

But I am afraid to hope.  The events of the last eight years have destroyed any faith I may have had in the ability of the American people to make wise choices when it comes to whom they will hand the reins of power.

So.  We will see.  In approximately 67 days, we will see.         

Tags: Barack Obama, Democratic National Convention

Ten Minutes~~Chauvinism is Alive and Well

I’ve worked in food service for thirty-five years. In all those years, I’ve managed to ignore the male dominance of the field .  I’ve gone about doing my job, sometimes the only female among a group of males…and I always managed to, eventually, command their respect.  In time, I believed that old “the man is in charge” model had become a thing of the distant past.    

Oddly, in the past two weeks, I’ve been slammed in the face by two separate incidents of…let’s call them inaccurate assumptions based on the “boss=male” model that, obviously, still rears its ugly head in our society.  And it really pissed me off.

On Monday, I went to answer the phone at the café at about 12:30, the middle of our typically busiest hour of the day.  “Hi!” said the male voice on the line.  “I’m calling because I’d like to make you aware of a great marketing opportunity in Columbia County…” 

“Ummm…this is a restaurant, and we’re in the middle of our lunch hour, so this is a really bad time to call…” (I hate telephone solicitors, and I don’t even try to be nice or polite; I just put it all out there and then hang up.)

“Well,” says the guy, “Usually The Boss is around…”

Oh. My. God.  You didn’t just say that.

“Uh—I AM the boss.”  And I slammed the phone back into the cradle.  

I only wish I had thought to pleasantly ask him who he represented so I knew exactly with whom I was NEVER going to do any kind of business under any circumstance.  Ever. 

Today, this little old man toddles in the door of the restaurant, walks halfway to the counter and asks about soup.  My counter girl tells him about our soup and the prices.  He actsas if we're asking him to pay an arm and a leg.  But he pays for a bowl.  And then he says he doesn't want the cheese bread that comes with it.  He only wants crackers.  Counter girl takes him his bowl of soup, and he sets about eating it.

In the meanwhile, my Sysco rep has arrived, looking all clean-cut and business-like and MALE in a shirt and tie.  He and I are behind the counter comparing two different brands of napkins when the little old man walks up to the counter with a pack of crackers in his hand.  And I say, “Do you need something else?”

And he says, “Yeah, I want to talk to him.”  Looks at my salesman and says, “Did you ever think of getting better crackers in here?”

Sysco rep and I look at each other, momentarily at a loss, and then I say, “Well, this man is just a salesman.  If you want to talk to the boss, that would be me.”  Then Little Old Man goes on a little old man tirade about how we need to get Premium crackers.  These crackers (house brand of my old grocery supplier) are no good.  He’s surprised we don’t give them awayfree.  Okay, let’s forget the inanity of the whole situation.  And the fact that we DO give the crackers away free.  The point is he continued to address my salesman as if he were the one in charge…  AUGHHHH!

I feel like I have somehow fallen through a time warp back into the sixties…

Ten Minutes 8/26~~I'm Still Here

Okay, so it’s not still Tuesday, officially.  But to me, as long as I have not yet gone to bed, it’s today. 

Rather than tomorrow.

Or something.

This evening, I decided to while away a few hours going into the “Coming to Terms…” archives.  I went right back to 2006, the year we bought the café.  And I have to say, it left me wondering why I continued on this entrepreneurial road.

Sales were terrible. I had no pool of at least somewhat decent employees from which to choose.  It was a struggle every day. 

But I showed up.  I figured it out.  I delegated.  I hired.  I learned.

And…I’m still here.  Not only has the Old Town Café weathered the storm.  But so has “Coming to Terms…” 

I never stopped writing.  I never could.  Readers have come and readers have gone.  People I considered old friends have moved out of the “neighborhood,” never to be heard from again.  New people have come onto the scene, read and commented for a few months, and evaporated. 

But I’m still here.  And in approximately a month, I will celebrate the fifth anniversary of this blog.  Five years.  Seems short and yet incredibly long at the same time.  In my heyday, I had almost two dozen friends I ran to and asked to kiss my boo-boos, or shared victories with, or exchanged philosophy with.  Now, it’s not nearly so many.  But to those of you who know who you are…

All my love…

…and thanks. 

Ten Minutes 8/25~~Why I Hate Wi-Fi

I swear, I’m going to have to off the wi-fi at the café.  I don’t know how much good will I’ve sown with the thing, and it has been the source of some of the most traumatic interactions I have had with “customers.”  Customers in quotes because they really aren’t customers.  If they were, they wouldn’t so resent being asked to buy something, or move to a smaller table, or wrap up their hours-long internet sessions so we can close the restaurant. 

Not everyone who uses a free wi-fi connection at a restaurant is an ass-hat.  But the tendency toward ass-hatism does seem to run in the breed.  They are not just freeloaders, they are militant freeloaders.  With a penchant for hollering, blustering, threatening and promising revenge when they don’t get what they want—which is free, unmolested access to any available wireless internet signal, no strings attached.  Apparently I maintain my nice atmosphere and play my soothing jazz, offer clean restrooms and cushy leather seating for their comfort alone.  There’s no one else in the world; and the concept of a paying customer taking priority over their freeloading butts never enters their minds.

Today’s exchange ultimately deteriorated to Mr. Internet Freeloader (after having bought a drink only because he was asked to do so and proceeding to make use of my facility for over an hour) finally packing up his $3500 laptop and attempting to trespass into my kitchen to shout his parting jab at me.  At which point I went on the attack, insisting that he get OUT of my kitchen, and OUT of MY restaurant before I called the police.  And I did not whisper.

Luckily, this all happened nearly at the end of my shift, because the day was thereafter completely shot.  I ate dinner, came home, and went on a 90-minute cleaning binge in an attempt to channel some of that bristling negative energy into something positive.  So now, I have a jerk-off customer to thank that I have a clean (well, it looks better than it did J) house, and I can sit here writing about my crappy day without watching the animal hair tumbleweeds roll down the hall.

Is that what’s known as making lemonade?   

Dealing with the Inevitable

I gave in and got a new phone today.   It didn’t make sense to keep paying for a phone that didn’t work.  Even when I wanted it to, which was rarely.

I decided that all I really wanted in a phone was that it had the ability to assign different ringtones to different people on my “contacts” list.  That way, I would know who was calling (and whether I wanted to pick up) without digging out the phone and checking the caller ID.   

The first place we stopped was the Verizon store at the one of the biggest shopping malls in the city.  Oh my god, what a zoo!  It took fifteen minutes for someone to get around to acknowledging  us and “putting us in the queue.”  Which meant that we were now officially in line and would be waited on approximately when hell froze over.  We spent about fifteen more minutes looking at the available options and being bombarded with the loud alternative music they felt set the proper mood to drop a whole lot of cash on useless technology.  And then I leaned into the husband’s ear and hollered that we could probably make it to Costco before they closed. 

Hands over our ears, we fled out to our car and down the freeway to Costco--a less 21st century in- your-face venue for purchasing technology, certain that it we could get what we needed in spite of the lack of atmosphere.  Sans the music and the crowds, we were able to settle in and sign our lives away for another two years of essential cell phone service.  

So now I have a new phone, complete with a camera, games, and an MP3 player I had absolutely no interest in owning.    For the low, low price of $120, even though I've been a Verizon customer for almost a decade.  Oh, and if I should remember to follow up on the impossible paperwork trail, I'll be getting a whopping $40 rebate in the mail in about a year. 

Bleah!  There’s nothing like purchasing your own little bit of 21st century technology for making you feel that you have been screwed without even a peck on the cheek.  

Tags: cel phones 2

Ten Minutes 8/23: Election Politics

So, Mr. Obama has chosen his running mate.  Senator Joe Biden.  Yay.

The airwaves and video waves were full of the politicking, the speechifying, and the analysis surrounding this momentous decision.  And all I could think was, “Oh, shut up!”

I have already decided for whom I am going to vote.  And I know why I’m going to vote the way I am.  And there is no changing my mind.  But I am not fool enough to think that anything in the good ole U S of A is going to change quickly,  no matter which candidate ultimately sweeps to victory in November.  I’ve lived in this country for 53 years, and I’ve been politically aware for about thirty-eight of those years.  That’s 9 1/2 election cycles.  Seven different presidential administrations.  And this is what I’ve learned:  Change is a fickle thing upon which to waste one’s vote.

Because evil change happens, it seems, at the drop of a hat.  Or a buck.  Or a few billion bucks.

And change for the better comes as slowly as spring in the Arctic.

So though the things that come out of Obama’s and Biden’s mouth are at least more grammatically and philosophically pleasing than the crap that has flowed from the current occupant for the past eight years, I know that it is all essentially meaningless.  First, they’ll have to get past legions of idiots who will vote against Mr. Obama purely on the basis of the color of his skin and the ethnic roots of his middle name.  Should they beat those odds, they’ll be subject to the whims of a deadlocked Congress that couldn’t pronounce policy on how to unwrap a stick of gum without six months of partisan tirades.

So I wish them luck, I wish them godspeed, I wish them fast planes and comfortable motel beds.  But I have absolutely no interest in what they have to say now.   Because we’ve all learned, have we not, that what a politician says and what he does are two utterly different things.  So I’ll plug my ears, cast my vote…and wait.

Tags: Election 2008

The Truth is Out There...Get My Glasses

Along about May of this year, the husband took it in his head to drain , clean and rehab our hot tub.   We hadn’t had the time or energy to perform these essential tasks in almost two years.  But thanks to the husband’s noble efforts, we can once again lounge in our warm, bubbly tubby and soak away the stress and strain of our over-committed lives. 

Just like everything else, though, having my tub back has only served to remind me of my increasing decrepitude.  We were lounging in the tub, gazing up at the darkening night sky—one of my favorite parts of a summer’s evening soak.  I always loved to watch the stars appear one at a time.  Tonight, however, the first light we saw in the sky was huge.  I thought it must be an airplane, but it just hung there.  Squinting my eyes, I saw the thing had at least six separate lights arranged around a central dot.  Or, if I closed one eye and almost closed the other, I could see that this whatever it was had four lights arranged along a horizontal bar of some kind.  And it was twinkling…looked as if it had some kind of landing lights blinking on and off.

When soaking in your hot tub, one of the first things you do is take off your glasses.  They are not much good in the tub, as they get all steamy, and if you park them on the side of the spa, they’ll more than likely get swept off by a flailing arm or leg.  So I had left my glasses upstairs on my vanity.  The more we trained our naked eyes upon this bright vision hovering above the neighbor’s yard , the more convinced we became that we were witnessing the appearance of a super-ship of a superior race.  Any minute, a little green man was going to zap down into the middle of our spa and ask us to take him to our leader.

“It’s a plane.”  “It’s a star.”  “It’s got about six blinking lights.”  “It’s a plane.”  “No, it’s not.”

Finally, no longer able to contain my curiosity, I slogged out of the tub, sloshed in the back door and dripped my way up the stairs to get my damn bifocals.  I padded across the living room and bedroom carpets, collecting  yeti-esque pads of  unvacuumed cat hair  on the bottoms of my wet feet.  I located my glasses, slapped them on my face and waddled to the window.

Venus.  It was our lovely sister planet Venus that we were accusing of bringing the first salvo in “War of the Worlds.”

Ten years ago, sitting in the hot tub under the stars was an entirely different experience.  What was once a pleasant, romantic way to while away an hour and watch the stars come out, is now an adrenalin-pumping encounter with the Mother Ship.

Just one more way that growing older makes life more interesting…

Ten Minutes 8/21--Blood is Thicker...

Are some things best left in the past?  Is the past really the past…when it comes to our families?

I’ve heard people say that they have done with their families.  That their families are dead to them.  Too many hurts, too many misunderstandings, too much estrangement.  Apparently, sometimes it’s just not possible to weather the assaults our families launch against us.  And launch they will…

How many times have I said this…I have been there and I have done that.  Fortunately for me, the Universe will not let me turn my back on my family.  Though god knows, there are times I have wanted to.  And needed to.

But there is an old adage that time heals all wounds.  Heals?  I don’t know.  All I know is, despite all the crap and the harping and the hurts and the indignities (and who can hurt us worse than those who know us best?) you need to be able to step back and let the past slide into the past.  You need to be able to say, “This is now, and this is what I need, and I can’t care about who hurt whom and who said what, one or five or ten years ago.” 

I only know that my family is my family and I can’t help but love them.  Can’t turn my back.  Can’t walk away.  Can’t go off on my own.  Because they are a part of me I can’t erase.

Tonight, I sat in my living room and enjoyed a pleasant evening talking and joking with a sister with whom, not too long ago, I had despaired of ever being able to exchange three civil words in a row.  When we at last retired to our separate bedrooms, and I turned on my computer, there waiting for me was a message from a niece I thought I had lost forever.

Hurt?  Never?  Lost?

Words that, I have found, have little meaning when applied to those of my blood. 

We love each other.  We really have no say in the matter.     

Tags: family