Can't Buy Me Love (And Happy Mother's Day!!)

It's been a good nine hours since the words were uttered, but I am still appalled. Today I attended a conference with prominent speakers from the Canadian business world. They discussed integrity, passion, motivation, self confidence. The things that would make you a great entrepreneur. My intention of attending was to gain some insights into networking. A little study I'm doing. Understanding the nuances of relationship building, of networking, of remembering things about a gazillion people. You know the stuff I'm talking about.

It seemed like a good place to be. These people in the room were network hungry. And apparently, many of them were money hungry. I understand that the point of the business world is to generate money, to get a little green in your pocket to make your life a little easier. I know there are people out there who think money really makes the world go 'round and that money makes you a better person. I just didn't expect to hear one of the presenters say that. That's right, SAY THAT. Not insinuate that. He actually said that having wealth made him a better parent.

Excuse me!?!?!?!?

It was the most ignorant, asinine, self inflated thing I have ever heard someone say. To over two thousand people in an audience. I mean, yes, I agree that having money can alleviate certain hard situations and open the door of some opportunity. But make you a better parent? I don't think so. Life is what you make it, with or without money. Would I say that if my mother had been rich she'd have been a better mother? Of course not. I think the fact that she experienced hardships and struggled made her a strong woman who set an excellent example of integrity for her children.

Money shmoney. What does he know? I bet his mother didn't raise him to think that. Mine certainly didn't. The audacity to actually say that money makes you a better person. Pfft.

Mom, I think you are a better parent for not having money. Thank you for instilling good morals into my being!

In person or bust.

The continuing trend of online shopping just irks me. In what I am sure is not surprising news to you, I like going out to buy things. Much like I enjoy going to the bank in person, I enjoy going to the store in person. I want to hold the item in my hands before making a purchase decision. I want to check out the packaging, open it up if I can; I want to see it first. And on top of that, I want to get out of my apartment and have a little excursion in order to make the purchase, and see a friendly face or two.

As much as I love Chapter's, I also hate that I will come across a book that I want, only to discover it is not in stock in any of the nearby Chapter's. Meaning I should buy it online. But you know what??? I don't want to buy it online. So I'd rather not buy it at all.

Take that, online shopping. I'm not relenting. I'd rather suffer and be uninformed about my topic of interest. That's right. Self induced ignorance just to make my point. I'm that kind of person. An in-person kind of person.

A Simple Transaction

I blog. I facebook. I email. I am LinkedIn. I love the internet for many things. I do not, however, love it for banking and other personal things that could secrete my life's savings.

I am that girl who loves going to the bank. Face to face banking will never be replaced in my opinion. Who doesn't love bank tellers? They are always so friendly. And when you keep going to the same bank, you get to know these ladies (and the few men) and it's just plain nice. Going to the bank is warm and fuzzy.

Every trip to the bank reveals that I am not the only one who loves real life banking. (Though I note that it's usually me and a bunch of old folks, but that's besides the point.) I stand in line waiting for my turn to arrive. I sway a little to the music in my head, or hum to the radio playing in the building. Overall, it's a peaceful activity for me.

Until I am in a rush. Like yesterday. My lunch was chalk full of errands that needed to be run. The most important errand was picking up lunch for my growling belly. What can I say, my priorities revolve around food? I had decided to swing by the Italian deli for a delectable dish, but knew I had to be there by 12:30 in order to get back to my desk in time for my 1:00 appointment.

With only one person in front of me, I figured this would not be an issue. Until a few minutes later when I started to 'accidentally eavesdrop' on the people up at the teller. Wow. They were telling her their life story. And she was soaking it up like a good romance novel. (Is there such a thing? A good romance novel. Maybe I used the wrong example.) She was soaking it up like a good Timothy Findley novel. (Much better!). Crap. I looked at the time. 12:16. Still had to go to the other bank AND go to Shopper's Drug Mart AND drive up to the deli.

The woman in front of me had about 4 different bank books with her. She was here for some serious business. The other teller opened and I made my way to the front of the line. Life story still going on to my left, serious banking going on to my right. 12:20. My tummy growled angrily at me.

Sigh. Depression sank. I was not going to get the tremendously tasty lunch I had hoped for.

A third teller opened up her station and called me over. Can I tell you that she was the most pleasant lady? We joked around, she told me granddaughter was moving down here for school and she was excited. We shared tidbits of positive information in a timely and efficient manner. My banking was complete. It was both a functional and jovial banking transaction.

This, my fellow bankgoers, is how you do in-person banking. Be respectful of the line behind you! We all have places to be, but we shouldn't have to suffer just because we actually like going to the bank and you are a chattypants!!! Keep your chit chat limited to the transaction time. These people behind the counters are professionals. They know how it rolls. Just follow their lead, exchange your pleasantries and get out of the way.

Simple as that.

Even though I had to suffer through potato wedges and chicken bites for lunch from the Valu-Mart, I still love the bank...

The Elusive Attempt of Contact

I know that I have idealistic ideas crammed into my head, some might even say radical ideas. But does it not just make common sense to return business phone calls and emails?

In my current hunt for a job, I have been making (or rather attempting to make) contact with a few job placement agencies. Do they respond to my emails? Do they return messages from their auto-formatted website contact pages? Do they call me back from messages left on voicemails?

Obviously, the answer is no.

Call me crazy, but if your job was to place people into jobs with companies that contracted you to do so, should you not do just that? How on earth are you going to find candidates to fill these roles if you don't get back to people?? I'd say I've got a pretty darn good resume, and these silly people should not be ignoring me.

Gah!!!!!!

Ah, the element of customer service sure does suck these days. They should all be forced to take a few customer service courses and learn how to treat their potential clients.

I mean, that's what I would make them do if they were MY employees...

My Generic Adventure

When I moved up to Kincardine, I said goodbye to my health care plan. A little part of me panicked, but the bigger part of me said "really dear, when do you actually use the benefits of it?" I rattled off in my head massage therapy, the occasional dental visit, and The Pill. I decided for the short period of time I'd be sans health plan, it would be ok to nix the massage therapy and the dentist.

But I stuck with The Pill. You know, it's a handy little thing, keeps me on track, my mood somewhat level, etc, etc, we all know the benefits to being on The Pill. And it's really not too expensive to have to pay myself.

As the pharmacist here got familiar with me, he quickly realised I didn't have coverage. He asked me if I'd like to try the generic brand of the pill I was prescribed. He stated there was pretty much no difference. Why the heck not? I agreed.*

Soon after the switch, though, I noticed a difference. Actually, I noticed a couple differences, but we'll focus on the main one here. True, I have not been the happiest of campers as of late, but regardless, the ingredients of this generic brand played havoc with my emotions.

I was, for lack of better words, a raging b*tch! For the two weeks prior to my "time" it was get out of my way or be trampled over with my steam roller of anger! If you could imagine fire coming out of my mouth, laser beams darting out of my eyes and my nails scratching down the chalkboard, you're almost imagining how outrageous I was.

I had three packs of this stuff. By the time I was into the second pack, I had figured out what was to blame for my poor display of behaviour. But I am frugal. And I have a limited budget right now. I was not about to throw out the last pack and run to the store for the good stuff. I decided I'd just suck it up and take it. And in turn, make everyone else around me suffer...

Time rolled by. I marched into that drugstore and in a pleasant/I-hate-the-world manner told the pharmacist I most certainly did not want the generic brand again. "It does not work well for me," I understated to them. The woman behind the counter stifled a giggle and said she'd make sure I got what was prescribed.

Now, I have just finished a full pack of "the good stuff" and have to say....raging b*tch has died down and all is well in the world again.

Phew....

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*NB: I would like to point out that the generic brand was actually more expensive than the name brand of this pill. WTF? Why on earth would they ask me if I wanted it then? Sheesh!

Want vs need? Let's just be thankful.

I've just got to say this. I generally stay away from this kind of rambling, but...

Today on Ellen, she had a segment about finance and the current economic situation. In true Ellen style, she was pulling a fast one so that she could offload a ton of freebies to a select audience member. Which, if I might interrupt myself, God bless her soul for using her position in the entertainment world to constantly give away stuff like that and help people out.

However, the point I am working towards is that she had a financial advisor on the show, and posed the interview that she would take audience questions. The woman, whom I am sure is representative of many people (which is going to press my point further), spoke on her concern over the economy. Her situation is that she and her husband bought a house last year before things were going south, hubby lost his job, but got a new one, and they have yet to move into the new home. She wanted to know from the financial guy what kind of options they have, as they are stretched.

Mr. Finance, as it turns out, is a just a guy who works for Ellen - it's part of the ploy to give away the free stuff. But before this is revealed, he asks her something and she says that they haven't moved because they have nothing to put in the new house. He then scratches his head, looks at Ellen, and says something like, 'can you give her a toaster, maybe? I don't know...'

I'll stop summarizing the show now.

This is what stumped me. Here is this woman, who had just stated that both she and her husband are employed, making decent money. The have a place to live now, and own a home otherwise. Yet, they won't move into the new house, because it's empty. I realise there is more to this story than this, but still. I wonder....what the hell is in the house they are living in right now??? Are they eating off of cardboard boxes? Are they sleeping on a scattering of grocery bags? Somehow, I would suspect they have furniture aplenty in their current residence, but it's not the new shiny stuff they want.

Hate is a strong word, but, I think it's safe for me to say that I hate it when people use situations beyond their control to blame and take advantage. Yes, I recognize the economy is not at it's best right now, but the majority of North Americans are living in heated homes, with running water and food in the cupboard, and clothes on our backs. They might not be the newest clothes, but what is wrong with last year's wardrobe?

Yet here she is, thinking that she is absolutely stuck in a futile situation. Gifts from Ellen is not going to help her. Realising that life ain't so bad is.

All I can do is scratch my head and remember that my own life....it ain't so bad.

What you talkin' 'bout Willis?

I like to toot my own horn every now and then. Who doesn't? I am a woman of many capabilities, I can handle the pressure, the stress, the hundred projects thrown at me all at once. I am, however, a realist to a certain degree, and admit to a few faults.

Such as multitasking while driving. This I can not do. (Which, in my mind, is a good thing. Driving should demand all your attention, after all, you're steering a tonne of metal.) I can not eat and drive. I can not change cd's and drive. I can not text and drive. I can not talk on my cell phone and drive. I can not apply makeup and drive. I can not read the newspaper and drive.

Ok. I exaggerate. I CAN do these things at the same time, just not very well. (Or in the matter of reading the newspaper and driving, I CHOOSE not to do that. I feel no explanation is necessary here.)

I blame part of the inability upon the fact that I drive a stick shift. Unless I'm cruising down the highway and don't need to change gears at all, I'm left with no hand to either steer or change gears if I'm mid-multitasking. Sometimes an extra arm wouldn't be such a bad thing. Holding that phone up to my ear while sitting at a red light is ok until the light turns green. Then all of a sudden, what arm am I going to use to change gear? I have to excuse myself from the conversation so I can shift up to the appropriate gear. That's a bit rude to the person on the other end, I feel.

So I am an advocate of not talking on the phone while driving. I am perfectly aware that it is legal to do so in this fine province of Ontario, but I like to believe that there are some folks on my side here. Maybe even perhaps some men and women in blue.

How annoyed do you get by drivers swerving on the road, by drivers who sit too long at the green light, by drivers who are clearly not paying attention to the road and their surroundings? How much more are you annoyed when you drive past them only to see them yakking away on their cell phone??

In case you hadn't guessed, I get really annoyed.

The top of the list was blown off the other week when there was a driver up ahead of me who driving slow, veering into the lane I was coming up along. The car was no other than a police cruiser. We pulled up to a red light, our cars side by side. I looked over at the driver and what did I see? Officer Talks-A-Lot on his cell phone. Hmmm....likely not police business, after all, would not they contact him on the cb radio??

Rx for Technology

So I finally got myself a doctor. After all these years of going to the walk in clinics. How nice.

While I was there, I decided to ask her about the bruise I have on my shin. Sure, you're thinking, it's a bruise, what's the big deal?

Well...because it has been about a year since I fell down the stairs - or rather, slid down the cement and steel stairs on my shins. That's an awful long time to have a bruise.

This is what she said to me:

"Oh, well, it is likely a haematoma. Just look it up on the internet."

And then she progressed with taking my blood pressure.

So nice to finally have a doctor of my own who is concerned for my health and wellbeing, and making sure I understand.

Maybe I'm better off at the clinic.

Sounds of the Season

Sniff. Sniffle. Snort. Sniff sniff, wheeze.

The month of October has been quite mild and pleasant to the delight of most residents of Southern Ontario. Ever so slowly, though, the fluctuating temperature of warm-not so warm-a little chilly-back to damn near hot has brought about a case of the sniffles to many people who ride on the subway. (Including myself these past few days.)

Listening to the sniffles is like listening to the oh-so-dreaded nails on a chalk board for me. In fact, my biggest moment of high school bitch involved a girl named Kelly and her sniffling nose. (Now, I really wasn't a high school bitch. I wasn't really cool enough -- uhh, or mean enough -- to be one of those... Sometimes though my humour is mistaken for bitchiness. This situation was a neat little combo of both.) There I sat, studiously listening to my English teacher--not passing notes and giggling with Liz and Derek, I swear--about The Stud Horse Man (it's a real book, check it out. Actually, don't literally check it out. I do not recommend reading it.) My concentration had been broken for near a month due to poor Kelly's cold. Every day. Sniff sniffle sniff. Not once did she bring along tissues. Not once did she stand up to get a tissue from the teacher's desk.

Her sniffling grated on my nerves. Finally I could take it no longer. Derek, Liz and I had joked around many-a-lunchtimes that one of us should just get up and put the box of tissues on her desk. Drop the big hint, you know. We thought it was a pretty funny idea, but did not think any of us would actually do it.

Until......I was about to scream.

I understand we all get colds, we all get the flu. We all get a case of the sniffles and sometimes do not have a tissue handy, so the only thing to do is sniff that snot back up. What I do not understand is why you would purposely not wipe your nose, why you would not use the tissues available to you for that specific purpose.

I did it. I stood up, and with the stealth of a cat, I moved to the front desk and picked up the tissues. Kelly sat one row over, and one seat back from my desk. So I was not going out of my way to put the tissues on her desk. I was not walking around the room to a desk on the opposite side of the class. While now, I am sure it was obvious what I was doing, I felt at the time, I was not.

She looked up at me with big glassy eyes, and quickly averted her gaze. Embarrassment, shame. I don't know. But thank the good lord the sniffling stopped and she used the tissues. I suspect a handful of my classmates were happy I did it.

Surprisingly, I did not get in trouble for this. Was it mean? Can I count this as my official 'high school bitch move'? Should I track down Kelly and give her my apologies?

I keep a travel pack of tissue in my purse. I suffer from a rather regularly stuffy and/or sniffley nose myself, so I always want them handy. I'm sure that someone out there is grossed out by me, wiping away at my nose in public, and wants to rant about it too. I send my apologies good sir--or good lady. But I'd rather you be able to look away and not see me wiping than you not being able to block out the sound of the sniffles.

Do you know how tempted I am to hand out tissues around town? To record the sound of someone sniffling and play it back to them and ask them how they like it? Oh dear, now that is mean. I would not do that. At all, ever. But hand out a tissue. Yes.

So if you ever happen to be on the subway in Toronto, and some girl hands you a tissue because you are sniffling away...chances are it might be me.