Say What You Mean

Do you know what it's like when you want to say something, use a specific word or utter a certain phrase, and for the life of you, you cannot remember what it is?  You know it's part of your vocabulary, but it's so far down in your subconscious that it's like you're trying to learn how to talk all over again.  You're in the moment of conversation, you can't think of what you really want to say, so you substitute something inferior and the moment is gone.  It's unlikely you even think of it again.  Or, you chew on it and chew on it until you drive yourself batty.  You know, like me.

About two years ago, I got stuck on a word.  It was so damn elusive that I spent days, maybe even weeks, wracking my brain for it.  I would tell myself the definition of said word, think of the sounds within it, and pass the 75 minute drive to Detroit twice a week while I was going to grad school in utter frustration when I still couldn't grasp it (drive time is good think time; well, so long as you pay attention to the road).  Of course, it has happened since, a word escaping me, but this one niggled and wriggled and poked and prodded until I could barely stand it.  I couldn't think of synonyms or antonyms, so a thesaurus wouldn't have helped.  I thought the word started with an "e" when, in fact, it started with an "a", so pouring through a dictionary would have unlikely meted efficient results.  And I didn't even consider using a reverse dictionary tool that I just now Googled to see if it really existed and by which I am mystified.  There is a search tool for everything, and if I worked in reference I bet I would be so up-to-the-date on these things, I just know it.  But I digress...

Then it happened.  It came to me out of the clear blue sky (or maybe it was a cloudy day, I don't remember).  The word was articulate.  How ironic is that?  I have never forgotten that word since, and I think I am more articulate for it.  Oh, so sorry for that one...

To be articulate is a very handy thing in most endeavors, but especially in the work place.  Of course, nearly every job ad I come across demands excellent communication skills.  It saves time, prevents error, and just makes life a more pleasant experience.  Case in point, when communicating with clients in insurance, it is vital that agent and customer are clear on the customer's needs.  The agent might have a friendly rapport with the client, the nature of their relationship might be very casual, but details are necessary.  If the client says, "I need insurance on the house," do not assume that he or she refers to the current mailing address.  You might think you know the client well enough to know what they mean, but you'd be wrong.  You might insure the wrong thing, and if a loss occurs, there will be problems.  Insurance companies are not going to care if you say, "Well, I meant to insure it."

Good communication would also save you and your boss headaches when he's trying to convey what it is he wants done.  Usually in this case, good communication means having mind-reading abilities.  Boss man may have a very clear idea in his head of what he wants, but without those awesome communication skills, he'll have a doozy of a time getting it across to you.  And if you ask questions to clarify some issues, he'll say, with exasperation if not downright surliness, "Just do what I want."  And sometimes you're left scratching your head as to exactly what that was.

So, these aspects of communication have been on my mind lately.  I've had so many phone calls wherein the caller forgoes "hello", "goodbye", and sometimes even "thanks" after I've provided information/service, simply to get to the point, get done, and get on to something else.  Maybe that has to do more with manners than good communication, but it definitely leaves an impression on me during the exchange.  I think there might be some damage to simple politeness in this age of convenience and instant gratification, and I think a lot of that damage is evident in the way we communicate.  We don't take time to talk or look each other in the eyes.  And undivided attention used to be a good thing.  Now we scroll through apps on our Smartphones while someone is next to us trying to have a conversation.  We communicate through acronyms that require a dictionary to follow a discussion if you're new to the world of LOL.  (But then again, what are words but a series of symbols, anyway?)    

Man, this got away from me and turned into a rant.  Not a very good one, either, since I'm not entirely unplugged.  I mean, hello!  Blog!  I'm halfway between a neophyte and an old hand at this tech biz, about five years behind the trends, but getting there.  I guess sometimes it's just nice not to be logged in all of the time.  And I really miss those long conversations with best friends or even a random person waiting outside after a concert for a glimpse of the band.  I'm not sure I know how to have one of those anymore.

For all of our connectedness, we don't really connect sometimes without the whole conversational package of tone of voice, body language, facial expressions, etc.  And I say sometimes, because I am part of some awesome online communities that I wouldn't change for the world.  Well, with one exception: I'd want to meet them face to face one day.  I guess what I'm saying is that there is a certain intimacy when you're in the same room together, talking, that is hard to convey over the Web.  But this isn't news, is it?  See?  The whole five years behind the times thing? 

Okay, rant is totally over.  But, better stay tuned for an addendum. 

Instant, er, Gratification

Well, there's nothing gratifying about my most recent job application experience, but it was certainly efficient.  I have completed a lot of online applications, and for the most part, I prefer them.  I can still upload a cover letter and resume, but there is just something comforting about filling in fields.  Well, that just sounds weird, doesn't it?  Anyway, most online application systems are intuitive and quick.  The one I used today was no different, but it had one glaringly annoying feature: Unnecessary steps. 

About halfway through the application, there are supplemental questions regarding the specific position for which I'm applying.  I answer them and move on to filling out education and work history and references and this and that and the other thing.  I certify my honesty, hit the next button, and get a confirmation number, positioned on the screen above an instant rejection.  Based on my responses to the supplemental questions, I am unqualified.  Fine, that's fair.  I'm not hurt.  But why wasn't this pointed out before the, ultimately, gratuitous information I input after the questions?  There is a bit of a design flaw there.

Well, I shadowed this position on my Excel spreadsheet, where there are others now dimmed indicating rejection.  The numbers have picked up from the two I received in January.  In two cases, the position couldn't be filled due to a lack of funding.  I feel more sorry for the institution than myself in those cases.  Anyway, the first quarter of 2011 isn't exactly showing well for the job hunt, but that just means I have to reconsider my approach.  Or find something else to do.  I recently edited a family oral history project.  That was a lot of fun.

Month-In-Review: February

I think after such an auspicious showing in January, I had too many expectations for this month.  Aw, hell.  It wasn't that bad...

• My first book club meeting was a lot of fun, and there are some pretty cool women who live in my apartment complex.  I definitely look forward to discussing March's book in a couple of weeks.

• I bit the bullet and went from the "safe" side-sweeping bangs to a fringe cut and it's cute!  It also reminded me that that's what I am: cute.  Not altogether sexy or glamorous or exotic, but cute.  Just don't squeeze my cheek, okay?

• I applied to 9 out of the 10 "quota" jobs.  Why didn't I get that last one in?  I just never built up the momentum, and I fell into a bit of a funk last week, my stomach in knots, hot/cold, achy...you know.  I was sick.  I considered getting that last one in today just to meet my goal, but then I thought that goals were over-rated.  

• I tried the gym, and I liked it!  I'm even going to drop some serious dough to purchase a one-year membership.  I can't believe it.  

• I didn't drop the pounds, though.  Okay, maybe one.  I'll take it.  

• I might need a root canal.  

And so February comes to a close.  I wish winter would, too.  The few days of 50 and 60 degrees was a balm to my chapped lips and cheeks.  Spring and fall are my favorite seasons, the in-betweens.  I wonder if that's because I'm a middle child?

Today's Fondest Wish

A little of this:

I've lived in the Midwest all of my life.  I can handle a little snow and ice.  Carving into my car just to get at the gas tank door (as my sister and I did today, since I was nearing empty and I didn't have the presence of mind to fill up before the world turned into one big ice slick) is par for the course around here.

But damn it, it doesn't make me a wimp to wish for spring, and not these taunting little hints of it with two or three days of sunny 50+ degree weather.  Mother Nature, it hurts when you tease me so.

Tostadas! Tostadas!

This past Sunday evening, as I sat on the sofa letting my mind wander during a commercial break of Kiss the Girls on Oxygen, I thought about the following day, Valentine's Day.  My thoughts didn't linger long there, as the holiday has no meaning for me at this footloose and fancy free stage in my life.  However, because the week ahead was already on my mind, I thought further to Tuesday and the date, February 15, and then I thought no more of it, for a nanosecond.  But even that nanosecond made me feel like I forgot something very important, and the forgetting, however fleeting, stung.  February 15, 1995, was the day my mom passed away, at age 43.  Sixteen years is a long time, but it should never be long enough to forget. 

The loss of a parent is supremely personal.  Even among siblings, the experience is different.  My relationship with my mom was not the same relationship she had with my sisters and my brother.  As a result, a lot of our memories of her are unique, and ours alone.  So I won't talk about those.  I will discuss, however, a specific impression I have of my mother, one that my siblings share.  That was dinnertime.

I wouldn't say that my mom was a culinary genius.  I doubt as children we would have even liked haute cuisine.  (As an adult, my appreciation for food has remained comfortably simple.)  She did, however, take the time to make dinner, and I would venture to say that she sometimes made dinner interesting.  The title of this post refers to taco night, when she set up an assembly line of ground beef, lettuce, cheese, and taco shells.  Did she announce dinner with phrases like the succinct, "Dinner!"?  "Soup's on!"?  "Get it while it's hot!"?  No.  She sang out, "Tostadas!  Tostadas!  Do-do-dodo-do-do."  And there might have been a jig involved.  Who can resist loading up their plate with that ditty in her head?

Other family favorites included Spanish rice and baked hot dogs topped with mashed potatoes and cheese.  Suddenly I'm craving potato soup with ham cubes.  What I won't crave, however, were some of the duds, because no matter how much I love her and miss her, there were some fails.  I remember a chicken and rice casserole that in retrospect had ingredients that I love today, like broccoli and Parmesan cheese (and water chestnuts, which I can live without), but I always associated it with the small of vomit, and many times she dumped it days later after it sat in the fridge, spraying Lysol over the stench, so then it was Lysol-enhanced vomit.  I can't smell that original Lysol scent today without shuddering.

Looking back, it seems like it was the same rotation of meals for years, but I don't recall ever being bored with what was on my plate, and it is the single most clear memory I have of her.  A lot of the meals are common, easily replicated with a quick browse of recipe sites, a device my younger sister and I used last year when we recreated some those food memories.  One was tuna casserole, cobbled together with crescent rolls.  I hadn't had it for years (I did go through a phase about a year ago of making the hot dog/mashed potatoes).  One bite of it and I could envision my mom pulling the cookie sheet out of the oven, with me standing beside her in that small galley kitchen, anxious for the first cut. 

It's a good memory.

And now I'm hungry.

Awkward Silences

The job hunt has made me think not only how I might meet the various qualifications that line the pages of employment opportunities, but also how they manifest through other people in my daily life, and customer service (very desirable in reference work) tugged at my thoughts last week when I went to pick up breakfast for the office.  I walked into the deli and there are six people behind the counter, and no other customers.  I fully expected a pleasant, efficient experience.  The only person over age eighteen greeted me with a smile and asked for my order, then set off to fill the first part of it.  Several others were busy preparing meals and barely looked at me.  I glanced around the empty dining room and wondered at what was keeping the staff on its toes.  I found enlightenment a few minutes later when an employee sat down and began eating  Her break had been imminent when I walked in; how could she be bothered with a simple hello?  Still, I'm an understanding sort, and she hadn't been tasked with preparing my order, so whatevs.  I turned back to the counter to have a different employee ask for my order as if I hadn't given it thirty seconds prior.  Patient and kind as I always am (ahem), I explained that it was being handled and moved on to the register.  Three people stood in the kitchen doorway across from the register, chatting and avoiding eye contact until a couple of minutes later one nudged another towards the register.  He brought up the order at which point I discovered that they either ignored or completely forgot the second half of my order, which I then repeated for the third time.  The experience wasn't a disaster, just mildly exasperating.  And the kids (I mean employees) weren't rude, just unobservant.  They met my needs, after all. 

So, what does good customer service mean?  Does it have anything to do with how I perceive my own skills (the deli staff might have felt that they did a bang up job), or is it all up to the customer to decide if I meet the mark?  Goodness knows that I try my best, but I often wonder how my customers feel about that best.  During face to face transactions, especially, I'm self-conscious.  We see many of our policyholders only when they stop in to pay their premiums.  The process is quick and painless, for the most part.  We take the money, print a receipt, and send them on their way with a smile (well, we smile; no one likes paying insurance premiums).  Our computers, however, are slow.  S-L-O-W.  The transactions may take up to five minutes or more (when usually 30 seconds to a minute should suffice), and during the data entry and plain old waiting, the atmosphere is wrought with silence.  No small talk, nothing.  I feel like I should fill this void, but other than the weather, nothing comes to mind.  I just want to take care of their business and be done.  I'm meeting their needs, I'm polite, and I move as quickly as possible with the tools I have, but is that good customer service when there is potentially so much awkwardness?  Or am I the only one who is awkward?  And how can I effectively convey my confidence in this area without a page of testimonials from happy customers attached to my resume?

You know, I should welcome those awkward silences.  They are so much better than the times when I need to hold my temper in check when a customer does everything in his/her power to test/belittle/demand the world on a platter from me.  I am a service-provider, but I also have limitations.  For example, I have absolutely NO influence over the decision-makers at multi-million-dollar insurance companies.  Really, I don't.  I do my best, but I'm not omnipotent. 

Why does that word make me giggle?

Month-In-Review: January

I started strong in January; it will be interesting to watch as the momentum slows, as it inevitably will.  (See?  I'm a positive sort.)  Let's make a list of well-dones:

• I lost 6# in January.  That is pre-holiday weight, so the real work begins tomorrow.  However, that didn't stop me from making celebratory "Car Bomb" Cupcakes.  I've given some away, but I've got a good half-dozen to polish off, and let's not ignore the fact that I'm now stocked with Jameson, Bailey's, and 2 cans of Guinness.  I may not have any recollection of February at all.
• I applied to 12 positions and have only yet been rejected by 2.  Few others have acknowledged my applications, and they're all due for a follow up, but I still like the odds.
• I signed up to join a gym today.  I workout regularly at home, so the only significance this bears is that it means I'll be getting out of the house more.
• I didn't have one bad day this month.  I had a couple of "meh" days, and a few crises at work, but I maintained an upbeat spirit everyday.  We learn from bad days, sure, but to be able to overcome frustration and drawbacks before they turn into one long day of hell is quite lovely.  
• I posted to this blog every week.  That's dedication, I tell you.  Especially since this stuff is only interesting to me.  A blogger for the Library Journal, Annoyed Librarian, had said in a blog post earlier this month: "If you're a writer, you can't please everyone, so don't even try.  Write to please yourself.  That way, even if nobody reads, you can get some pleasure years later as you stumble across an old blog post of your own, read it with fresh eyes, and think to yourself that it's not half bad."  I really think this old thing is for my amusement, and I enjoy being amused. 

All in all, I'd say January was stellar.  And I'm not even being facetious.