Why Would They Do That?

Wal-Mart takes some hits in the media. They are a massive employer in the US, but they still take hits. It seems that they don’t pay high enough. And it is apparently a demanding position to work the floor, talking to other employees and glaring at customers who interfere while you chat with coworkers.

Wal-Mart has super centers which combine a regular discount store with a grocery store. Even if I really wanted to, I couldn’t do all my grocery shopping there because they simply do not carry all the items I want. The stuff they do carry is cheaper. The produce is noticeably less fresh and only worth the cheaper price.

I do not understand the reason for installing heavy plastic sheeting about 18 inches wide and hanging down from the ceiling to about four feet from the floor. They put this sheeting in front of the storage area for the carts. I live in South Carolina, not known for horrible climatic shifts.

In Ohio, there were always carts pulled out by some retiree who earns spare cash at the local Wally World store. They smiled and said hello to all the customers as they came into the store.

In South Carolina, there are sometimes retirees there, and they pull out carts. But if there is a young, able-bodied person, then there are no carts. See, the young person has to watch both doors with every ounce of concentration he or she can muster, in order to put a little sticker on any items that are being returned. Unless they are talking to a friend or trying to pick up dates for the weekend.

I complained a while ago, explaining as gently as I could to the Einstein who was working his way through med school or something, that getting slapped in the face with plastic is not a nice greeting when entering a store. I was looked at with clouded eyes and a sighing expression. But within a week the carts were being pulled out from behind the plastic sheeting.

For the last week and a half, this courtesy has ceased. I talked to a manager today, another person who will, I am sure, one day be a Nobel Peace Prize winner, about getting slapped in the face for the privilege of spending money at his store. He looked at me with a sort of Rain Man look and explained that there was a staffing problem. I reiterated that I did not really care about his staffing issues, I wasn’t going to get hit in the face with plastic again.

I am betting that I will have to drive past Wal-Mart to get to the nearest Target. I can do that. I can also spend more for groceries, but have fresher produce and better meat. I have to drive farther to spend more money, but I won’t be hit in the face with anything.

I have no idea why the plastic was placed. It makes no sense. There are no howling winds unless there is a hurricane, and the store will not be open for that. There is no snow. I just don’t get why you would go out of your way to make the beginning of someone’s shopping experience so unpleasant.

But Target doesn’t do that. Hello, Target.

So What Do You Do?

Apparently, I steal my son’s ideas. Okay, I don’t do that for a living, but this is my son’s idea for his blog this week. I decided to write about this because I struggle with the same thing. Only I have a different problem than my son has.

Once upon a time, I worked as a nurse. I worked critical care areas and was familiar and friendly with many doctors. Some really good doctors, some not so good. I was on a first name basis with a few of my friends, who just happened to be doctors.

I helped a friend through law school. I know a little bit of law crap just from reading all the texts that I helped him with. I can even argue points of law and be correct. Well, I used to be able to do that. I know that all lawyers aren’t really scum, but there are days when I have to agree with Shakespeare.

I do not accord people much in the way of respect for a title. I understand the usefulness of a title. It gives you an indication of the person’s self-worth if not their net worth. People who insist on introducing themselves as a doctor or a lawyer have a definite liking for their degree. It’s an indication that should be taken to heart.

That isn’t my problem. My problem is in telling people what I do. I used to be a nurse. Then I was a teacher and then I helped the teachers. Then I was a secretary. Now I am a writer. Of sorts. Unpublished. To date. Shhh. It’s a secret. I am embarrassed.

If I tell people I am writing a book, they ask what sort of book. When I mention that it is non-fiction there is a stunned look. If I go on to tell what I’m doing, people look at me like I’m either on a pedestal because they don’t write at all, or below sea level because they can think of nothing less important.

There is also the possibility that what I write will never be published. However, I think that what I’m writing is interesting and would serve a useful purpose and make a nice book. Otherwise, I wouldn’t waste my time writing it. I would write something else. Something that I think would be useful and make a nice book. Something that might be published.

But what happens if it is never published – perish the thought. What do I call myself? I usually tell anyone who asks that I am retired. No one is really all that interested and I rarely get a – from what? – response. Unfortunately, no one ever says – my, you are so young to be retired – but that is a whole different issue.

I am retired. I used to work and now I don’t. I’m retired. I am writing a book and by definition, that makes me a writer. I think. But I’m embarrassed by my own attempt. So please, don’t tell anyone.

Technology Is Our Friend

I bought a new laptop. I purchased this marvel during the sales tax free days prior to school starting. I had shopped for the laptop prior to actually purchasing the laptop because I figured that the stores would be madhouses during the tax free days. The store was a madhouse, but they were actually staffed, prepared, and suitably ready. It was the fastest computer purchase I have ever made. Best Buy did an excellent job. Congratulations to the management and the sales help for being prepared.

I could wait for them to do stuff to my computer to get it started right there at Best Buy. I looked at my salesman, a man in his twenties at most, and asked if that was really necessary. He looked at me, an AARP card holder, and hedged some. I told him that I was the person who was setting up whole computer labs in schools and actually had worked as a technician myself. He looked at me with new respect and answered in the negative.

I brought my new computer home and had it up and running in no time at all. But, and isn’t there always a but, I couldn’t get the wireless network to work. I could get a tethered network working, but the whole idea of having this laptop was to move out my office and onto the lanai when the weather was beautiful. Wireless was the way to go.

I struggled. I got upset. I kept being told that it wasn’t working. Then, I actually read the screen about why it wasn’t working. There is some little switch on my new laptop that has to be flipped from LAN to Wireless for the wireless network to actually work. By simply reading the whole screen, I could have fixed my problem in seconds. And I actually did fix my problem in just seconds – after finding the dang switch.

I don’t know if having them “set up” my laptop at Best Buy would have helped or not. I don’t know how much they would have done there. They were not coming to my house and finding my named wireless network and setting that part up for me. I don’t know if I wasted more time here being frustrated when the wireless wouldn’t work than I would have wasted at the store waiting for it to be my turn to get my computer ready.

What I do know is that reading is fundamental. If I had read the entire error message the first time it popped up, I could have saved myself all sorts of aggravation. But that would have been much too “time consuming” because those error messages are just boring and all. I hope I learned something. Like perhaps that I have much yet to learn.

Please Be Aware That Calls May Be Monitored

The phone is broke. It has been broken for a whole day now. My neighbor’s phone is not broke. So it must be my system. I have a TeleZapper, which eliminates computer dialed phone calls and tells the computers that my phone number is disconnected. I disconnected that and I still have a broken phone.

But I have a cell phone. I can use my cell phone. To call the phone company. And my call is important to them. But my call may be recorded for quality assurance. I was told, gleefully, that the telephone system has recently upgraded their help line and made it completely automated. I got to talk to a computer generated smarmy voice.

Please say your phone number, said the smarmy computer voice. I did not understand that, said the smarmy voice. Did I understand your phone number, said the smarmy voice – repeating my phone number. Please say yes. I said yes. I did not understand that, said the smarmy voice. Yes, I said. I did not understand that said the smarmy voice. YES!!! I screeched. Ok, said the smarmy voice.

Please spell your first name, in case we have to contact you, like S-a-m [just in case people operating phones do not know what the term “spell” means]. So I spelled my name. Understood on the first try! Please enter using the keypad or say another phone number where you can be reached. I speak my cell phone number. Is this a good number to reach you at, in case a technician has to enter your home to fix the problem, says the smarmy voice. Yes, I scream. I did not understand you, says the smarmy voice.

What I really wanted to say to the stupid computer generated system is that of course I would give them an invalid phone number to try to call just because I enjoy playing practical jokes on humorous computers. Knowing that computers do not understand sarcasm, thereby creating a sarchasm, I yelled YES again.

My phone will be repaired by 6-P-M on August-8-2-thousand-6. If I need that repeated say “repeat” says the smarmy voice. If I need more information, say “more information” says the smarmy voice. If you are totally delighted with this system, says the smarmy voice, say goodbye. Where was the term I really wanted to use in closing? It’s in the dictionary under the letter “f.”

I don’t know if my call was recorded, but if it was, I will probably be yelled at for swearing while smarmy voice rattled on and on about stupid shit. I used a wide range of profanity while being irritated by the smarmy voice, using my minutes from my cell phone, waiting for smarmy voice to computer generate data.

I hope they ask me how much I liked their service. We complain about outsourcing jobs and then when a person would be nice to talk to, we have a computer generated voice, or someone from Delhi answering the phones. No wonder there are so many unemployed people in the US. The computers have the jobs.

What price for all this stuff?

Is mankind responsible for global warming? Are we the reason for the heat wave? Is the heat wave just part of the natural cycle of hot and cold temperatures that the earth has always vacillated between?

This is an ongoing debate in several arenas. I hear a lot about what is happening and a lot of hand wringing is going on. But I never hear about how to solve the problem personally. It is what government or business can do that concerns people. But government and business isn’t all that can help.

I don’t hear people saying that they will move to smaller houses and/or have multigenerational homes. There is also such a thing as just renting a room out to someone like in old-fashioned boarding houses. That never seems to be bandied about as a solution to proper use of space. Instead, huge foyers are built – larger and more showy rooms in larger and more showy houses.

I don’t hear anyone saying that in order to conserve power, they are going to eschew air conditioning totally and only heat houses to 55 degrees in the winter. It would certainly conserve energy use, but it isn’t spoken of seriously.

I don’t hear anyone saying they will never drive solo, but always and forever carpool. Find a group of like minded people – which would be easier in a crowded house with multigenerational groups – and only drive somewhere with other people running the same types of errands.

Stores, malls, and businesses all lament the dropping markets. But this vast consumerism and use of resources isn’t helping the planet. No one ever tells me at the checkout counter to put the shoes back because I have enough. In fact, there is a vague understanding that there isn’t any such thing as “enough” along with “stuff.”

We are impelled, urged, cajoled, advertised into purchasing stuff that no one really needs and in amounts that are sinful. Looking around my office I see one bookcase full of books made of paper from innocent trees. I do not need to own these books. I could use only the library instead of supplementing with the library. I have one four tiered case to hold CDs and it is full. What for? It is nothing but rank consumerism and it is part of the problem. And I own one desktop computer and am buying one laptop computer to replace the one that just died. The paper problem from the books is exacerbated by all the stock paper I just happen to have here, too. My second clothes closet is also here with my extra clothing stored in it. My walk in closet and four dressers are in another room.

But when postulating a remedy for the problem of global climate change, no one is saying some really simple things. Turn of the air conditioning. Heat to cooler temperatures in the winter. Stop the rampant consumerism. Do not drive singly. Oh, and my favorite – eat less. The answer always lies in “them” and I see no list of what each person can do.

A Granddaughter

I love my sons. I adore my sons. I think my sons are the best sons in the whole world.

I love my grandsons. I adore my grandsons. I think my grandsons are the best grandsons in the whole world.

I’m sick of blue.

I have a granddaughter. A brand-new granddaughter. Morgan Shea is teeny tiny, weighing in at 7 pounds and 2 ounces. So fragile. So small. So precious.

She also has hair!

And two big brothers.

Did I mention how much I love her brothers? They are wonderful and precious.

But …

After waiting patiently for over 31 years, there is a girl. I can buy pink – not for a niece but for a direct descendant. I can buy hair toys. And dresses.

Pink.

This is also the first time I got to hold a grandchild on the very day she was born. I can’t believe how wonderful it is. I didn’t have to fly to a cold place, but simply get in a car and be there. Holding this precious, darling baby weighing so little but being a complete person.

I know there will be a time when she gets to say – Nana, enough with the pink. I don’t like dresses. I want to wear jeans. I can’t keep up with my big brothers in these frilly clothes. I will love that, too.

But for now – I showed up with pink. Dresses, ruffles, hair toys. Pink.

I love my sons. I love my daughter-in-law. I love my grandsons. I love my granddaughter. Thanks so much kids, for letting me buy pink.