USPS, my love

Most of you who at least I think read this thing don't know about my run-in with the automated "phone tree" tracking hotline operated by the United States Postal Service several weeks back. Truly, only William can fully understand and appreciate the humor of the situation simply because he was there, and I might add he was all but rolling around on the floor laughing at my antics. The situation unfolded something like this:

I received a phone call in January, a reference from one of my video clients in College Station, from a woman who wanted me to create a video presentation for her father's 60th birthday party. Marvelous! This freelance work is the only thing that's keeping me afloat right now! A week and a half later, and down to the wire, I was finally able to get everything from her and get the thing done, with literally no time to spare with shipping. I traipsed to the Post Office in the freezing Wichita Falls weather where I had been staying with my sister.

A side note about that trip...the three people ahead of me in line where 60 somethings who were carrying on a hearty conversation about weather - it was very interesting to hear the first woman, a nurse, talk about a time where she was stuck at the hospital where she worked for 4 or 5 days following a snow storm that dumped eleven feet of snow on Chicago. The gentleman of the group, who was hilarious, received a phone call and quickly answered:

"Hey...no, I'm at the post office....Yeah...Well, I've been here since I was in High School, so don't count on me being there any time soon...I'm telling you, it was 1989 when I got in here..."

And the conversation continued. I about died laughing at the comment. And listen, the post office employees were moving at a rate that would put the turtle packers union to shame.

I did finally get my package in the mail, guaranteed to be delivered by 3 pm the following day. The day I was headed to visit Mr. Meier in Irving. Literally, as I was pulling into his apartment complex my client calls, freaking out because the package hadn't arrived. Great...of all the dumb luck. I'm trying to visit with a friend and now I have to deal with this. I assure her that I will contact the post office and figure out what's going on...a long story short I finally call the post office's next day air hotline to get her the best and most up-to-date information that I can, in my mind, from a helpful operator.

Much to my horror, I hear the worst. The dreaded mechanical woman calling forth from the receiver to taunt me. She was leading me to believe that I could dig information out of the web of deceit, winding trails, and dead ends that she was painstakingly weaving.

Ok...I can handle this. Deep breaths...as a communication professional, I have been trained to handle situations like this. I listen carefully to my menu options:

"For tracking and shipment information please say 'Tracking' For all other inquiries please say 'other' "

Fantastic! This is starting out well. Two options, one clearly the one that I need. I calmly state my choice,

"Tracking"

"Tracking...is this correct?"

Would I have said it if I didn't mean it?

"Yes"

"Great, let me see how I can help you."

This woman is certainly friendlier than the guy from India that helped me with my computer earlier in the month...and I can understand her more readily. I do wonder about her ability to "see" anything, but I listen on...

"Do you have questions about a late shipment?"

"Yes!" I did indeed! Either she's a mind reader or this happens a lot...either way, I'm disturbed.

"OK. Please give me the shipment number for your package. This number can be found on the original receipt given to you at the post office of origin."

I knew this number! I even knew where it was...things were looking even better. Until I glance down. The 254 digit number that stretched before me contained no letters. It contained no commas, no breaks, no anything. Just 254 single numbers stretched out in a looooong row. We all know my phobia with numbers -- we just don't get along well. But I forge ahead. What could go wrong? I'm getting along famously with the computer woman. I may ask her out before we're done.

"Six-one-seven-nine-four-one-three-eight-eight (that double ALMOST threw me)-one-seven-three-four-one-six-nine-four..." So on and so forth through the rest of the numbers I continued. It was an impeccable performance - was proud, and I knew she would be too.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear the last five digits. You said Six-one-seven-nine-four-one-three-eight-eight-one-seven-three-four-one-six-nine-four..." and so SHE continued, but stopped before the last five digits. All is not lost, I think, I can just give her the last five numbers and we'll go on. The unthinkable happens:

"Please repeat the number so that I may accurately assist you."

That was it. I was going to lose it. How did she possibly expect me to get this right a second time? I'd gone too fast, according to Will. My apologies. I assumed the woman would be able to keep up -- after all, this is what she was trained to do! Apparently I was too good for her. How do you like that? Technology -- my butt!

I hearkened to a previous run-in I had with this woman's sister a while back. The sister seemed to have a hard time understanding any of my well trained and highly developed pronunciations of complex words such as "yes" and "no". She finally offered me an alternative solution. If I would just say "operator" I would be "transferred to a 'customer service representative' who would be able to further assist me." I hoped and prayed, then, that this would be an actual human. You know, someone who actually gets paid to solve the problems of ordinary people like me. It worked and my problem was quickly solved.

But she, she was not going to disclose such information so easily. I could tell it. She was not of the "helpful" mindset. She preferred to torment and tease me, stringing me along, knowing full well that I could do nothing about it. I was completely at her mercy.

So I did anything and red-blooded American would do. I revolted.

I began saying any word in English and any other language I could recall at the moment that might possibly prompt the smart alack to release me from her clutches. I spoke in English, Spanish, and German. I'm fairly sure I threw in some Swahili, Icelandic, and Uzbekistani (if there is such a thing). If she wouldn't cooperate, I would show her -- I would blow her fuse, confuse her so much that she would be certain to cave in.

The string of "helps," "customer services," "operators," "assistances," "humans," and "LET ME OUT OF HERES" that spewed forth from my mouth would have made even the most liberal of computer women blush. Oh, she tried to remain composed--sure. She calmly gave me an "I'm sorry, I didn't understand your last request." But this transformed quickly into a more desperate "I'm having a very difficult time understanding you," and finally, my goal reached, a simple "Please hold while I transfer you to a customer service representative for further assistance." HA!

The poor woman (the real one) who responded to my call, answered with such timidity that I was certain she was either expecting an angry 700 pound woman whose girl scout cookies had been lost in transit, or a confused Uzbekistani who spoke one word of English -- "No". She did manage to help me (if you can call her evasive, non-committal answers help) and I was able to pass the information along to my client, a few beads of sweat and a several blood pressure points later. At least I managed to entertain Will, who called my escapade the "funniest thing he had seen all week."

Which brings me to think about where we stand in our modernized "improved" technologically advanced society. I'll be writing more about this soon...but for now, I think you've had enough. Call me first if you need to call an 800 number or "help line." I offer free coaching consultations.

That's all.

Rejection

I just got the official rejection from Bass Hall in Fort Worth. I'll add it to my list of approximately five hundred and seventy-six other rejections. Guess I'll be stuck in Graham for another couple of months now - great.

Bass Hall - X
400 NYC Jobs - X
Dallas Opera - X
25 Dallas/Fort Worth Jobs - X
Journeyman - X

When am I going to get another acceptance letter?!
This sucks. I knew deep down that Bass had hired someone else, and I knew that I didn't know if I really wanted that job anyway, and I knew, too, that I prayed that if I wasn't supposed to have that job that I wouldn't get it - but this rejection is really affecting me -- I don't guess I'll ever get used to it.

After so many of these you have to wonder if anyone is ever going to see your worth again.

that's all.

selections from "What Do You Do With a BA in English?"
from the Broadway musical Avenue Q

What do you do with a B.A. in English,
What is my life going to be?
Four years of college and plenty of knowledge,
Have earned me this useless degree.

I can't pay the bills yet,
'Cause I have no skills yet,
The world is a big scary place.

But somehow I can't shake,
The feeling I might make,
A difference,
To the human race.

dream interpretation, please

Dreams. I think I'll write more on that in the coming days. I don't often remember massive detail from my dreams, but last night is a huge exception. I remember at least three or four seperate "story lines."

The first involved a simple car ride home (probably from a job - what a novel idea!) and a high speed rear-ending that probably ended in my death, at least in ended up in my eyes popping wide awake and nervous breathing. Great.

The next was a massive job-rejection drama from the Bass Hall job that I interviewed for a month ago in Fort Worth. It was pretty nasty - but involved a loooooong explanation that it was indeed not necessarily me that was the problem, in fact I would have been the choice until the superiors of the organization decided that the position I interviewed for was no longer necessary as a separate job. Instead, they felt it could be absorbed into other positions. That scenario ended with me and the friend who works there and just so happened to have interviewed me planning a scheme to show his superiors how the position could be recreated in a different fashion and be more vital than ever.

The next was an exciting job-acceptance scenario from the same above-mentioned epic (the original postion, not the newly created one). It was so nice to have a job - wow.

And the final was an odd scenario which I can't remember enough details about. I do know that it involved an intense graphic design project I was hired to create that impressed me immensely. I think it was for the opening of some restaurant...or maybe for the release of a new film or something (and yes I DO understand that these are FAR from similar).

The moral to this story is (I think): I seem to be thinking about finding a job both awake, and now, ASLEEP! Geez...I really need to figure out what to do with my life -- soon!

that's all.

Thanks Jamie - I couldn't have said it better myself

Twentysomething
by Jamie Cullum

"After years of expensive education,
a car full of books and anticipation,
I’m an expert on Shakespeare and that’s a hell of a lot but the world don't need scholars as much as I thought.

Maybe I'll go travelling for a year,
finding myself or start a career.
I could work for the poor though I’m hungry for fame
we all seem so different but we're just the same.

Maybe I'll go to the gym, so I don't get fat,
aren't things more easy with a tight six pack?
Who knows the answers? Who do you trust?
I can't even separate love from lust.

Maybe I’ll move back home and pay off my loans,
working nine to five answering phones.
Don't make me live for my friday nights,
drinking eight pints and getting in fights.

I don't want to get up, just let me lie in,
leave me alone, I'm a twenty something.

Maybe I'll just fall in love that could solve it all,
philosophers say that that’s enough,
there surely must be more. Ooooh

Love ain’t the answer nor is work,
the truth eludes me so much it hurts.
But I’m still having fun and I guess that's the key,
I'm a twenty something and I'll keep being me.

I’m a twenty something.
Let me lie in, Leave me alone.
I’m a twenty something."

It begins..

well - i'm about to embark on a web design journey of epic proportions. My graphic design "business" is starting to take-off, so I've officially purchased www.figurativeleespeaking.com. Now I've got to figure out how to build a website. Oh geez.


P.S. I'm still waiting to hear from the Bass Hall job, which I'm fairly certain is a strong indicator of a no-go situation. oh well.

that's all.

Church Signs

What is the southern church's fascination with cheesy church signs and even billboards? We've all seen them, I know. But do these signs really speak to a non-believer? Is someone really likely to come to Jesus after seeing His name in eight foot tall letters on a billboard? How about after reading a clever (and I use that term loosely) sign about the "Christian" lifestyle:

"GOOD
without GOD
is just O"

Something isn't quite right here, I understand, yet I saw this lovely gem on a church sign in the metroplex this weekend. Perhaps if "good" were spelled with a "0 (number)" instead of an "o (letter)" it would make more sense. Of course, many people probably don't even realize the difference.

I guess this just continues another chapter in my frustration with the United States church. Why can we not just be real? What happened to building relationships and showing Jesus to people, rather than insisting on cramming Him down their throats? Contrary to what we often believe, Jesus doesn't really need our help to be cool, to be attractive, to be desirable. Sure, we are supposed to share Him with others, to live out his calling in our lives, but the last time I checked this doesn't really include force feeding.

Building relationships with non-believers is so much more effective than screaming condemnation at their faces. Provided we are living a life worthy of our Savior, a non-believer will eventually, if not quickly, see something mirrored in our life that they are missing, something that they long to have. Our job may not be to recite a salvation prayer with them, our job may simply be to show them the love of Christ. And that may look and seem like a small and insignificant gesture, but God can take something simple and turn it into something spectacular. I suppose like so much else with our attitudes, we feel like a failure if we are not the one there at the moment of salvation. But this is simply not the case. We should consider it a privilege to be there at any part of the race, whether that be at the warm-up, the starting line, an encouragement station along the route, or the glorious finish. How I long for the church to see this.

that's all.