Monday, June 30, 2014
Confessions of a Terrible Soccer Mom. Part 1
Here is my first confession: I entitled this blog a Part 1, and I don't even have a Part 2 yet. I just know that I will probably need one, because I sort of suck at being an American Soccer Mom.
Let's start with the schedule. In Belgium it was easy (I never knew how good I had it!) Practice two days a week at the same time, same place (our Club's field, five minutes away) and matches on Saturday. Even when their practice schedules overlapped, everything was always at the same field. Here, we've got soccer three days a week, Monkey is Monday/Wednesday, AJ is Tuesday/Thursday. And they each have a practice on Sunday. They are never at the same place twice, and matches are always evenings during the week. Sometimes on the opposite end of downtown, meaning a rush hour traffic battle.
In the beginning, before the matches really started, the planned practice was only an hour long. With the drive time, it made more sense to stay and "watch" (or sometimes try to run a quick errand) during that hour. Often, I would fight hard to get to be the one to "drive" - just so I could have that hour to sit by myself, or run an errand, ALONE. Confession: when I stayed to "watch," I didn't really watch. I worked. Reading my manuscript on my kindle, or reading a book for background research, or catching up on emails. I was the only parent not cheering for my kid at practice, and despite the sideways glances, I didn't feel the least bit guilty about it.
When the matches began, everything changed. (Just when I had it all figured out.) The practice times and locations changed. We even have two different "home" fields that we play on - on opposite ends of town. They have two different colors of jerseys. They have to wear one and bring the other for all matches. One team uses red for away. "It's easy," they told me when I once asked how to know what color to put on him, "Red = road." Yeah, it's easy if you can remember which team uses that method, because the other kid's team doesn't do that.
At the end of the day, I could use a personal assistant, just to help me manage the schedule. And if they show up wearing a clean jersey, that's the right color and not their brother's number, I feel a major sense of accomplishment. Purple shorts and purple socks were so much easier, especially after several years and we had collected several sets of both.
We've been meeting people non-stop for the last six months. I am bombarded with new names and faces on a regular basis. Parents at school. Parents from ballet. Parents from soccer. It's getting much better, but I can't always remember which names go with which faces from which team. Maybe if I hadn't had my nose in a book at practice, it wouldn't have taken so long.
I did, however, finally start remembering to bring my camping chair to the matches here. In Belgium, we just stood for the match. I liked that, actually. Less stuff to schlep. And when it started raining, it was less stuff to get wet. You just popped open your umbrella or pulled up your hood. And you could move around when the teams switched goals at halftime. But here, everyone parks themselves and sits. And without a chair, you have no way to claim your space.
So the first day I remembered to bring my chair to the match, I was faced with a major dilemma. As I walked over to the field with my camping chair slung over my arm, I realized there were two separate sets of parents. Which group were the parents of my team? I honestly had no idea. My pace slowed as I tried to figure it out. I could only imagine how awkward it would be to choose the wrong set, and have to get up out of my chair and move it to the other group. Oh well, I figured, it would make a good blog entry if that's what happened.
In the end, I chose correctly. And now, I even know most of the parents by name. (Or at least know which kid they belong to.) Just in time for the season to end, and get a new team for Fall.
Friday, June 13, 2014
Taking Turns
My expat friends in Belgium, always complained to me about the road rage of Belgian drivers. I guess I never drove on the Ring (highway) there as much as I do here, but I just never saw that. Not compared to here. For the most part, I always found that Belgian drivers were especially courteous.
For example, at our new school. We don't have a bus, and there are 900 students at our school (of course, keep in mind that it is a Catholic school, so there are some really big families). In any event, there are a lot of cars trying to turn down the same street at the same time. My first week of school, images from the 80's movie Mr. Mom, kept flashing into my mind. Do you remember the scene where he takes the kids to school and the kids keep telling him, "You're doing it wrong." And the other moms are screaming at him, "South to drop off, north to pick-up you moron!" Well, that's what I felt like our first week of school.
But anyway. In Belgium, whenever there was a back-up of traffic, drivers would just naturally take turns. There, unlike here, there was usually only one way to get somewhere. In Europe, roads grew organically from well traveled paths and ancient highways that led from town to town. Here, early American city planners had enough space to plot everything on a logical grid. The result there, is that you have to wait in traffic. A lot. And sometimes it's for something as stupid as a delivery truck that decides to block an entire (or sometimes both) lanes of traffic. It's almost like sense of camaraderie develops. An attitude that "we're all in the together, let's work it out together". With a collective disgust for the delivery truck driver, of course.
That doesn't happen so much here. A few weeks ago, a large delivery truck was blocking a lane of traffic on our route to school. We saw it in time to change course, turn down the next street, drive one block down, and get around it easily. Drivers that could foresee the upcoming challenge, get themselves around it, were rewarded with a minimal delay. The drivers who didn't realize there was a problem until it was too late to turn, were stuck. And I found myself thinking, "it sucks to be them."
On the way into school, we turn right down the "west to drop-off" street. And obviously, because we are turning right, we have the right of way. There is always a line of cars waiting to turn left. I always let a car from the left lane go before me, just like I learned from driving in Belgium. But no one else ever does. This amazes me. Especially because we are all parents of kids at the same Catholic school. Which sort of makes me think we should follow higher standards of courtesy or something. Not to mention we're all going to see each other in the parking lot in a minute.
My Belgian and/or French friends would say this is an example of Americans being rude. (They say that a lot.) But I don't think that's it, exactly. I just think that in the mornings especially, we are so focused on where we are going and what we are doing, that we don't always pay attention to what's going on around us. But maybe we should pay attention a little more? So that we can take turns if we need to.
Monkey would be able to tell you how many times I've said to myself (out loud, so of course the kids were eavesdropping): "I can't believe no one here takes turns, I need to blog about this." Because I said it enough that he started counting.
So now that school is out, and our mornings are quiet again, I can cross "blog about taking turns" off my end of the school year list.
Coming up next: Reasons I'm a Terrible Soccer Mom.
For example, at our new school. We don't have a bus, and there are 900 students at our school (of course, keep in mind that it is a Catholic school, so there are some really big families). In any event, there are a lot of cars trying to turn down the same street at the same time. My first week of school, images from the 80's movie Mr. Mom, kept flashing into my mind. Do you remember the scene where he takes the kids to school and the kids keep telling him, "You're doing it wrong." And the other moms are screaming at him, "South to drop off, north to pick-up you moron!" Well, that's what I felt like our first week of school.
But anyway. In Belgium, whenever there was a back-up of traffic, drivers would just naturally take turns. There, unlike here, there was usually only one way to get somewhere. In Europe, roads grew organically from well traveled paths and ancient highways that led from town to town. Here, early American city planners had enough space to plot everything on a logical grid. The result there, is that you have to wait in traffic. A lot. And sometimes it's for something as stupid as a delivery truck that decides to block an entire (or sometimes both) lanes of traffic. It's almost like sense of camaraderie develops. An attitude that "we're all in the together, let's work it out together". With a collective disgust for the delivery truck driver, of course.
That doesn't happen so much here. A few weeks ago, a large delivery truck was blocking a lane of traffic on our route to school. We saw it in time to change course, turn down the next street, drive one block down, and get around it easily. Drivers that could foresee the upcoming challenge, get themselves around it, were rewarded with a minimal delay. The drivers who didn't realize there was a problem until it was too late to turn, were stuck. And I found myself thinking, "it sucks to be them."
On the way into school, we turn right down the "west to drop-off" street. And obviously, because we are turning right, we have the right of way. There is always a line of cars waiting to turn left. I always let a car from the left lane go before me, just like I learned from driving in Belgium. But no one else ever does. This amazes me. Especially because we are all parents of kids at the same Catholic school. Which sort of makes me think we should follow higher standards of courtesy or something. Not to mention we're all going to see each other in the parking lot in a minute.
My Belgian and/or French friends would say this is an example of Americans being rude. (They say that a lot.) But I don't think that's it, exactly. I just think that in the mornings especially, we are so focused on where we are going and what we are doing, that we don't always pay attention to what's going on around us. But maybe we should pay attention a little more? So that we can take turns if we need to.
Monkey would be able to tell you how many times I've said to myself (out loud, so of course the kids were eavesdropping): "I can't believe no one here takes turns, I need to blog about this." Because I said it enough that he started counting.
So now that school is out, and our mornings are quiet again, I can cross "blog about taking turns" off my end of the school year list.
Coming up next: Reasons I'm a Terrible Soccer Mom.
Friday, May 2, 2014
May Day, Fail.
So today was May Day. In Belgium, May Day is a bank holiday and the sun was probably shining so everyone probably had a nice day off from school and work. With maybe a picnic at the Chateau, or a lovely day sitting in the garden sipping French rose wine. Sigh.
Today in Minnesota, I wore my winter coat. I didn't even want to take it off when I got inside the house. I am just so tired of being cold.
In any event, I completely forgot about the May Days of my childhood. The ones where we would leave little baskets of popcorn and candy for our friends in the neighborhood, by ringing their doorbells and running to hide before they could see us. It was the only day of the year where ding-dong-doorbell-ditching was ok.
I forgot about those May Day... until tonight.
The wind outside was blowing. The storm clouds were rolling across the sky, threatening, but not quite delivering anything but darkness.
We're having one of those crazy weeknight weeks where one kid has soccer practice right over dinnertime. The other two were having a dinner date in the kitchen and I seized a quiet moment to run down to the laundry room. (I know, I know. But I promise, we still try to make sure there are more family dinner nights than not.) Anyway, I heard Monkey and Miss B calling me, with terror in their voices.
"Mommy! Someone is knocking on our BACK door! Who could be knocking on our BACK door?!" Miss B's lower lip quivered and as far as they were concerned, I couldn't get to the back door fast enough.
When we opened the door, the branches on the naked lilac bush were waving, but we didn't see anyone, anywhere.
But a small, handmade construction flower lay at our feet. And I remembered.
I explained the May Day tradition to the kids with a smile, and promised that next year we would do better.
So to whichever neighbor thought of us tonight, and successfully left a May Day greeting without getting caught, thank you.
Today in Minnesota, I wore my winter coat. I didn't even want to take it off when I got inside the house. I am just so tired of being cold.
In any event, I completely forgot about the May Days of my childhood. The ones where we would leave little baskets of popcorn and candy for our friends in the neighborhood, by ringing their doorbells and running to hide before they could see us. It was the only day of the year where ding-dong-doorbell-ditching was ok.
I forgot about those May Day... until tonight.
The wind outside was blowing. The storm clouds were rolling across the sky, threatening, but not quite delivering anything but darkness.
We're having one of those crazy weeknight weeks where one kid has soccer practice right over dinnertime. The other two were having a dinner date in the kitchen and I seized a quiet moment to run down to the laundry room. (I know, I know. But I promise, we still try to make sure there are more family dinner nights than not.) Anyway, I heard Monkey and Miss B calling me, with terror in their voices.
"Mommy! Someone is knocking on our BACK door! Who could be knocking on our BACK door?!" Miss B's lower lip quivered and as far as they were concerned, I couldn't get to the back door fast enough.
When we opened the door, the branches on the naked lilac bush were waving, but we didn't see anyone, anywhere.
But a small, handmade construction flower lay at our feet. And I remembered.
I explained the May Day tradition to the kids with a smile, and promised that next year we would do better.
So to whichever neighbor thought of us tonight, and successfully left a May Day greeting without getting caught, thank you.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Dealership Differences
It's no secret that one of the biggest challenges we faced in Belgium was dealing with our car. Go back to some of the blog entries about that time some sort of weasel chewed through the electrical wires if you need a refresher.
So when the Chevy dealership emailed me last week to say that there was a recall for my car and I needed to schedule it for service, my first thought was "Thank God I don't have to go to the dealership in Waterloo, Belgium."
Let's start with the phone call. First of all, it was in English. Now, when I say that, please know that I never expected anyone to speak English when I lived in Belgium. I learned French, and could speak it well enough to make appointments. Even if it did make me nervous to call, it was a fear I learned to rise above. But whenever I called the dealership, even if I was speaking French, they would put me on hold. I could of course still hear what they were saying, because they would shout to the one guy that had to deal with us English-speakers that there was "one of us" on the phone. When I called last week to make my appointment for today, they knew who I was, they asked me when I could come (instead of telling me their only available time) and it was within the same week of my call.
When I arrived this morning, they asked if I would be staying here to wait. They didn't roll their eyes at me when I said yes. They told me they would try to get the repair done by 11. They gave me their WiFi code, they offered me coffee and breakfast, and pointed me to the comfy chairs by the television or the work stations in the corner. I want to come here every day!
Then, the shuttle driver came into ask, "Who is going to Savage?" And a lady stood up and went with him. Savage is pretty far away. And a customer just got a free ride there. I doubt if she even realizes how cool that is, (which is fine, by the way) I hope she never has to know.
Here I sit, typing away, drinking my coffee. People smile at me when they walk by. And when it's all said and done, I know I won't even have to pay for it. They told me they would do a complimentary service check, and also run it through the car wash.
So just to recap. Waiting at the dealership in Belgium was frowned upon. They always told me, no matter what the repair, that it would be more than a day. If I had asked them for a ride anywhere, they would have flat out told me I was crazy. If I wanted to rent their car, I had to pay for it. The repair would always take more time than they said. I doubt that if anything on our car had ever been recalled, anyone would have thought to notify us. That sort of burden would have been on the buyer, and when French was our second language, this was a big burden. And if we had taken our car in for a recall repair, we most certainly would have had to pay for it ourselves.
So for today, I feel very lucky to be sitting here in Bloomington, Minnesota, and not Waterloo, Belgium.
I was just told that my car is finished. It's 11:02. How awesome is that?
So when the Chevy dealership emailed me last week to say that there was a recall for my car and I needed to schedule it for service, my first thought was "Thank God I don't have to go to the dealership in Waterloo, Belgium."
Let's start with the phone call. First of all, it was in English. Now, when I say that, please know that I never expected anyone to speak English when I lived in Belgium. I learned French, and could speak it well enough to make appointments. Even if it did make me nervous to call, it was a fear I learned to rise above. But whenever I called the dealership, even if I was speaking French, they would put me on hold. I could of course still hear what they were saying, because they would shout to the one guy that had to deal with us English-speakers that there was "one of us" on the phone. When I called last week to make my appointment for today, they knew who I was, they asked me when I could come (instead of telling me their only available time) and it was within the same week of my call.
When I arrived this morning, they asked if I would be staying here to wait. They didn't roll their eyes at me when I said yes. They told me they would try to get the repair done by 11. They gave me their WiFi code, they offered me coffee and breakfast, and pointed me to the comfy chairs by the television or the work stations in the corner. I want to come here every day!
Then, the shuttle driver came into ask, "Who is going to Savage?" And a lady stood up and went with him. Savage is pretty far away. And a customer just got a free ride there. I doubt if she even realizes how cool that is, (which is fine, by the way) I hope she never has to know.
Here I sit, typing away, drinking my coffee. People smile at me when they walk by. And when it's all said and done, I know I won't even have to pay for it. They told me they would do a complimentary service check, and also run it through the car wash.
So just to recap. Waiting at the dealership in Belgium was frowned upon. They always told me, no matter what the repair, that it would be more than a day. If I had asked them for a ride anywhere, they would have flat out told me I was crazy. If I wanted to rent their car, I had to pay for it. The repair would always take more time than they said. I doubt that if anything on our car had ever been recalled, anyone would have thought to notify us. That sort of burden would have been on the buyer, and when French was our second language, this was a big burden. And if we had taken our car in for a recall repair, we most certainly would have had to pay for it ourselves.
So for today, I feel very lucky to be sitting here in Bloomington, Minnesota, and not Waterloo, Belgium.
I was just told that my car is finished. It's 11:02. How awesome is that?
The good stuff...
I was at a reunion over the weekend - for my college swim team. I had a chance to see friends that were some of the best I've made in my life, that I haven't seen in a long time.
I was already feeling incredibly lucky that I lived two miles from the event venue, and not an ocean away as I used to be. In talking with some of my friends, it was brought to my attention that some of my most recent Facebook posts and blog entries have, ahem...shall we say, reflected some of my challenges and difficulties readapting to my new/old life.
Now I'm not one for a lot of excuses, I try to own my actions, but seriously. The winter in Minnesota was brutal. And this change, was a big one. But spring has finally sprung - our snowstorm of last Friday was almost completely wiped away by the warm temperatures of this last week and it's time to focus on the good.
Actually, we've been focused on the positive throughout this whole move. (Even if my posts haven't always reflected it.) It has really helped to get us through. We've all had our moments where we are homesick for Belgium. But when we find ourselves feeling sad, we stop, and find something good, and look forward.
Here is just a sampling of some of the good stuff:
The kids really love their new school. The teachers and staff have done an amazing job helping our kids adapt and making sure everyone was settling in to the best of their ability. Their transition into their new school has been beyond our expectations, and this is because of everyone at the school.
An obvious big one is being back near old friends and our family. For the first time in six years, we got to hold and see a brand new baby! Right after she was born! And not have to wait until a trip back across the ocean to meet the newest family member.
There are small things here and there that sneak up on me throughout the day too. For example, when I open a carton of eggs, I don't have to worry about chicken poop, straw and feathers. They are all clean! Every single one of them!
I LOVE my refrigerator. It is three times the size of the one we had in Belgium, and my freezer is probably about ten times the size of my old shoe-box freezer. That means: ice, frozen pizza, more than one choice of meat to make for dinner, ice cream and most important, frozen toaster waffles.
In the grocery store, there are lots of choices for everything, but especially cereal. Cereal that isn't chocolate cereal. (Of course, we still miss A LOT of other stuff from the Belgian grocery stores, but this is a post for the good stuff…)
The organization of Americans. Although at times I'm completely overwhelmed by the email communications from school, it's still nice to get them. And I am going more than a little crazy trying to stay on top of the emails from the soccer teams. BUT, did you know there is an app called Team Snap? This is an app for my phone that lets me check-in for soccer practices and matches! On my phone! I just click "yes" if my kid is going to be there or not. And if not, I can say give a brief explanation as to why. That is absolutely amazing! Not to mention I have a list of all of the tournaments for the next three months, AND the address and directions are RIGHT THERE ON MY PHONE! Simply amazing. For anyone else that's had to wait until Friday night's practice to get the tiny scrap of muddy paper with the match time and location for the Saturday match, and then drive through cow pastures in a random corner of Belgium to get to said match…they would be right there with me to shout the word AMAZING.
And last but not least, today I am at the car dealership. In fact, the car dealership deserves an entire entry of its own. Stay tuned….
I was already feeling incredibly lucky that I lived two miles from the event venue, and not an ocean away as I used to be. In talking with some of my friends, it was brought to my attention that some of my most recent Facebook posts and blog entries have, ahem...shall we say, reflected some of my challenges and difficulties readapting to my new/old life.
Now I'm not one for a lot of excuses, I try to own my actions, but seriously. The winter in Minnesota was brutal. And this change, was a big one. But spring has finally sprung - our snowstorm of last Friday was almost completely wiped away by the warm temperatures of this last week and it's time to focus on the good.
Actually, we've been focused on the positive throughout this whole move. (Even if my posts haven't always reflected it.) It has really helped to get us through. We've all had our moments where we are homesick for Belgium. But when we find ourselves feeling sad, we stop, and find something good, and look forward.
Here is just a sampling of some of the good stuff:
The kids really love their new school. The teachers and staff have done an amazing job helping our kids adapt and making sure everyone was settling in to the best of their ability. Their transition into their new school has been beyond our expectations, and this is because of everyone at the school.
An obvious big one is being back near old friends and our family. For the first time in six years, we got to hold and see a brand new baby! Right after she was born! And not have to wait until a trip back across the ocean to meet the newest family member.
There are small things here and there that sneak up on me throughout the day too. For example, when I open a carton of eggs, I don't have to worry about chicken poop, straw and feathers. They are all clean! Every single one of them!
I LOVE my refrigerator. It is three times the size of the one we had in Belgium, and my freezer is probably about ten times the size of my old shoe-box freezer. That means: ice, frozen pizza, more than one choice of meat to make for dinner, ice cream and most important, frozen toaster waffles.
In the grocery store, there are lots of choices for everything, but especially cereal. Cereal that isn't chocolate cereal. (Of course, we still miss A LOT of other stuff from the Belgian grocery stores, but this is a post for the good stuff…)
The organization of Americans. Although at times I'm completely overwhelmed by the email communications from school, it's still nice to get them. And I am going more than a little crazy trying to stay on top of the emails from the soccer teams. BUT, did you know there is an app called Team Snap? This is an app for my phone that lets me check-in for soccer practices and matches! On my phone! I just click "yes" if my kid is going to be there or not. And if not, I can say give a brief explanation as to why. That is absolutely amazing! Not to mention I have a list of all of the tournaments for the next three months, AND the address and directions are RIGHT THERE ON MY PHONE! Simply amazing. For anyone else that's had to wait until Friday night's practice to get the tiny scrap of muddy paper with the match time and location for the Saturday match, and then drive through cow pastures in a random corner of Belgium to get to said match…they would be right there with me to shout the word AMAZING.
And last but not least, today I am at the car dealership. In fact, the car dealership deserves an entire entry of its own. Stay tuned….
Friday, April 4, 2014
Who's that girl?
"Who's that girl…the crazy one that just jumps into whatever random conversation is happening around her, at any time?"
That would be me.
I have a problem. Ever since we've moved back to Minnesota, I have a HUGE eavesdropping problem and I haven't been able to shake it.
During our first week of school after we moved, I was walking across the "Quad" or "Plaza" (at the moment I can't actually remember what they call the area where all of the moms have to wait for their kids to come out of school). And there were two moms that were having a conversation, as they passed one another, about the weather. And guess who had to chime right in and give her two cents? Yep. That would be me.
And whenever I try to work at a coffee shop, I find myself accidentally tuning into all of the conversations going on around me. Last week, a law student named Ryan was interviewing for a clerkship with a solo practitioner. I don't know what the lawyer thought, but he sounded good to me and I would've hired him.
And a few weeks ago, I accidentally "attended" a coffee date with two young moms. Mom A was really worried about her 18 month-old's fear of swimming lessons. Mom B was worried about something with her in-laws. And I was worried that neither of them seemed to be watching the toddler of Mom A who was sitting next to me eating crackers off the floor. Thankfully, I had the good sense to keep my mouth shut during their chat. But in my head, I was an active participant in their entire conversation, answering their questions and telling them not to worry about going away on their upcoming girls' weekend. But how, maybe they shouldn't let their kid wander up to strangers and eat crackers off the muddy floor.
I've tried finding tables off to themselves. But last week a young college student and I found tables next to each other at the same time, and it would have just been awkward to pick my stuff up and move. No problem, I thought, she's by herself anyway. But then her date showed up. I never would have expected to end up on a first date with someone at 8:30 in the morning on a weekday, but there I was. I heard all about how cool it was to see the Dalai Lama speak in person. And I listened as they discussed majors and families and career ideas.
I never realized how noisy conversations could be. But I guess it makes sense that after only hearing French, English would just seem to be noisier. In Belgium, I used to love writing in coffee shops. I was productive, typing out scenes with impressive word counts. But everything around me was happening in French. I had to concentrate hard to understand everything, so eavesdropping was just too much effort. I got spoiled.
And now, I have to remind myself that no one is actually talking to me. And strangers probably don't care what I think about x, y or z.
Sigh. Maybe I should just go find a library if I really need to write a scene without distraction. A library with posted "no talking" signs.
That would be me.
I have a problem. Ever since we've moved back to Minnesota, I have a HUGE eavesdropping problem and I haven't been able to shake it.
During our first week of school after we moved, I was walking across the "Quad" or "Plaza" (at the moment I can't actually remember what they call the area where all of the moms have to wait for their kids to come out of school). And there were two moms that were having a conversation, as they passed one another, about the weather. And guess who had to chime right in and give her two cents? Yep. That would be me.
And whenever I try to work at a coffee shop, I find myself accidentally tuning into all of the conversations going on around me. Last week, a law student named Ryan was interviewing for a clerkship with a solo practitioner. I don't know what the lawyer thought, but he sounded good to me and I would've hired him.
And a few weeks ago, I accidentally "attended" a coffee date with two young moms. Mom A was really worried about her 18 month-old's fear of swimming lessons. Mom B was worried about something with her in-laws. And I was worried that neither of them seemed to be watching the toddler of Mom A who was sitting next to me eating crackers off the floor. Thankfully, I had the good sense to keep my mouth shut during their chat. But in my head, I was an active participant in their entire conversation, answering their questions and telling them not to worry about going away on their upcoming girls' weekend. But how, maybe they shouldn't let their kid wander up to strangers and eat crackers off the muddy floor.
I've tried finding tables off to themselves. But last week a young college student and I found tables next to each other at the same time, and it would have just been awkward to pick my stuff up and move. No problem, I thought, she's by herself anyway. But then her date showed up. I never would have expected to end up on a first date with someone at 8:30 in the morning on a weekday, but there I was. I heard all about how cool it was to see the Dalai Lama speak in person. And I listened as they discussed majors and families and career ideas.
And now, I have to remind myself that no one is actually talking to me. And strangers probably don't care what I think about x, y or z.
Sigh. Maybe I should just go find a library if I really need to write a scene without distraction. A library with posted "no talking" signs.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
New numbers….
It's funny, when you get new phone numbers for everything, the chances that those numbers used to belong to people who owe other people a lot of money must be pretty high.
I say that because for the first two months, the only people that ever called our home phone were looking for a John or Jane Doe. (All names in this blog post have been changed…mostly because these people must have enough problems already, they don't need me adding to their angst.) One call was actually from their neighbor, who was traveling, and was calling to ask if I would please move his car for him during the upcoming snow emergency. After a few minutes of confusion (it was a snow emergency, and a lot of our neighbors were traveling) I figured out before he did that he had the wrong number. In the process of convincing him that I was not answering the phone on behalf of Mr. or Mrs. Doe, he gave me their address (an apartment building not far away from us).
It got to be so bad that I turned the ringer off of our home phone for the first month. When the kids started giving their home number out at school, I finally figured out how to set up our voicemail system. There were 25 messages for Mr. or Mrs. Doe. It was quite an eye opener to listen to them consecutively. Some were from telemarketers. Others were polite, requests to call the banker and/or debt consultant back to help get back on track. One guy had a system, he called once a week at the same time every week (in my opinion, not a very good system if you are trying to find someone). And finally, toward the end of the month, the messages started out with, "if you are not Mr. or Mrs. Doe, please do not listen further…" Which, would probably usually be met with the response, "Yeah, right." But I chose to abide and not listen further. Mostly because I just didn't need to know any more about these poor people anymore than I already did.
I felt a little bad that I hadn't been more diligent in answering the phone. The calls I've gotten on my cell phone for a Mr. Smith (also a pseudonym) were somewhat more annoying but subsided more quickly, probably because I had to answer the calls. One was an an automated call, where I was directed to sit on hold so I could talk to a "debt planning consultant" - which I did so that I could tell them that it was a new number. Ugh. Although, the call I answered a few minutes ago was really sneaky. Someone pretending to sound like they were a friend…but the tone changed immediately when I explained that I must have Mr. Smith's old number because I've been getting all kinds of calls for him.
So I've learned a few lessons: 1.) I never want to be that person who has to make those calls; 2.) I never want to be that person they are calling; and 3.) If I am ever that person they are calling, I'm going to get a new phone number immediately. Although, on second thought, making someone else have to deal with those calls must run up quite a big bill in the karma department. I think I will just make sure I'm debt-free...in all respects.
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