For the love of (My) money

Last week, I received a donation request from an employment agency. It is affiliated with a cultural community and I used their services for about a year and a half. I attended employment workshops, courses and seminars and used their website to find jobs. I had more than sufficient experience and qualifications, but during that year and a half, the jobs I found were:
1) writing a help file for a man who, with his nephew, had an idea for software and was hoping to develop and promote it. However, he was lacking in some essential social graces: personal and communications skills. For example, the ability to inform and provide instructions with complete, comprehensible sentences. I suspected he had ADD. When he didn't like my work and I suggested that I could revise it, he became rude and insulting and attempted to get out of paying me. It didn't work. He paid me and I informed the agency of his rude, abusive behaviour.

2) A part time secretarial job at a family run car dealership. I was hired at the interview and then fired three weeks later. It sucked and I was not very good at it because it required mathematics. I took it because I was desperate, not a good motivating factor. Look what happens when you date out of desperation.
3) A three hour stint updating content for the website of a menswear boutique. It was an 'audition' to see if I would work out. They wanted someone who would work for them for the next 20 years. If that is their goal, they should consider paying more than 10 dollars an hour. But they paid me.
4) A minimum wage job as a receptionist at a health club, which was actually the best job. I liked the people I worked with. Unfortunately, the management was on another plane. They were known for firing people, some who had worked there for years, with no advance warning. I was one of them, alas, terminated after six months.

The agency's website was full of testimonials and photos from beaming clients who had found great jobs and gone on to be productive members of society. For me it was one frustrating, fruforay after another, or employers who seem to be unaware of the existence of the Normes de Travail, or that it is now 2010, not 1910. I did apply for a number of jobs that matched my experience, education and qualifications and went on interview but alas, I was never one of the success stores.

I was only able to find that on my own, by starting my own home business, not long after the health club unceremoniously booted me out on my rear with no advance notice. Since I no longer require their services, this agency assumes I'm in the position to give them my money.

Well I am. I am also in the position of tipping my Gazette carrier, who left me a Christmas card last week. He's relatively new. How do I know this? I only get the paper on weekends. For the past 8 weeks or so, my paper has been left at the door in front of my upstairs neighbour, which means that I have had to get dressed and go up the front stairs to get it- as it has gotten increasingly colder and snowier. I have called customer service nearly every week to request that they remind the carrier of my address. Twice in two months he's managed to remember that my front door is on the side of the building.
Now he wants a tip. I can either give him one and hope that spurs him to remember my address. Or I can say what I would say to the employment agency who brought me some of the most depressing, humiliating and demeaning work experiences and who are now soliciting my donations: BLOW ME.

thy name is narcissism

I've been reading The Narcissism Epidemic, by Jean Twenge and Keith Campbell. It's not that I hadn't noticed how narcissistic we have become. People are so wrapped up in their cocoons of self absorption that even acknowledging the existence of anyone else is seen as not just infringement, but almost a sign of weakness. Today's narcissistic interlude: Jean Coutu. I don't like going there on Sundays because the cashier who works there is the slowest, dumbest of the lot and inevitably has a long line at her cash. But there I was, because I had forgotten this little fact. When it got to the woman in front of me, she had a raincheck. Fuck. I would die there and my body would be found still clutching my items. The cashier suggested she take the form and go to the cosmetics counter, where they could fill it out and there was no line.

Instead of seeing an opportunity, the young woman saw this as an insult. "I stood in line, it's my right." I said to her, "She's suggesting that you go to cosmetics because there's no line there and you're not buying anything." She said, "Well I stood in line and it's my right." I realized there was no point in explaining this; it would be wasted time which I would not get back on my deathbed. "Whatever," I said. "I'll go to cosmetics." At cosmetics the young cashier was in the aisle involved with a haggle of some sort. There was still a long line at the other cash, although the young woman had left. I said aloud (but not loudly) "Who do I have to fuck to get out of here?" I called out to the cosmetics cashier. 'HELLO!' The cashier seemed to be relieved that I had rescued her from the woman who, I sensed, would not let up. "I am sorry," I said, "But I am overheated, there is a long line and I really do want to pay for my item and go." She smiled and said she understood, but the other woman still hectored her with questions.

It's not entirely the fault of Jean Coutu. It's a combination of bad service combined with an increasingly narcissistic population. I am rarely, if ever, rude to staff, always thank them for their efforts and don't abuse or insult them. I am not a patient soul but I keep it in my own mind and curse inwardly. I don't think "SERVICE" means I need or expect a servant. I am probably in the minority, as I saw with the woman in front of me in line. It's her right to be served after waiting in line; but she's so oblivious to the world around her that she can't even see an opportunity to get out of there faster. entirely unconcerned that there are six people behind her who are overheated, frustrated and eager to get out. However, I took advantage of her cluelessness and got out of a long line.

The advantages of narcissism, as Twenge and Campbell point out, are short lived. You may get the job by conning people and manipulating them: but you can't lie your way around your lack of skills or knowledge. You may get the attention you want, but you'll lose it when people around you weary of having to dote on your ego.

The other moral to this story: Never go to Jean coutu on a Sunday.

Phantom restaurant

Another one seems to have bitten the dust. This time, it was a lebanese joint, Massis, on Monkland near Hampton. It opened some time last year and had another outlet in Laval.

I passed by on my way to the hairdresser and stopped in to get a takeout menu. The food looked good, prices were good, the counter man suggested their sandwiches. It's a tricky location. Businesses on that strip don't seem to last long: an african restaurant, a convenience store, a small bakery, a deli.

I feel sorry for whoever sets up shop there. The corner gets plenty of pedestrian traffic, but rents are very high and if you don't make a go of it, you won't last long. Maybe the African joint was a bit too exotic for the local yuppie clientele; and it's not easy to compete with Starbucks, Pizzedelic and some of the other, more established eateries. The convenience store had good stuff, but nothing you couldn't get further down the road for cheaper. I remember an eastern european deli but was disappointed when I went in- they had almost nothing on their shelves. I called it the Cheeseless Cheese shop. It was gone in less than a year.

During the winter, I called the delivery number but it rang and rang and rang. No answer. A couple of months later, I stopped by to get another takeout menu. None available. I wasn't about to order takeout at 5 pm and have it sit on my counter for two hours, so delivery was a better option. However, without a menu, how can I order a delivery? that would mean asking them for the menu over the phone

Rule number one: always have a delivery menu available.
Rule number two: Answer your phone.

I also noticed the hours posted on the front door. The restaurant closed at 8 pm weekdays, 6 pm weekends. People don't generally eat dinner and leave before 8 pm, not in restaurants in Montreal, unless they have very young kids. I am not attracted to the idea of arriving at 7 and having to be out by 8.

My hairdresser is a few blocks west, so I would pass the restaurant on the way there and back. The next time I passed by the place was closed with a sign on the door saying they would be back the next day. I had given up on ever eating their food by then, since I didn't want rush through dinner, had no idea what I could order over the phone (if anyone ever answered) and it was too far to walk and carry home takeout.

The last time I passed by, the place was dark, closed, and the mailbox was full. Obviously no one had been there for a while. A sign in the side window said FERME.

The other outlet in Laval seems to have closed. I had to wonder what these people are thinking. In this economy investing in a restaurant is risky enough, why make it impossible by setting yourself up for failure? People aren't going to eat your food, no matter how yummy it is or how great the location (the Laval outlet was on Labelle Blvd) if you make it impossible for them to buy the stuff.

how can this be a democracy if you can't pee on the weekend?

I caught a news story about the G20 protesters, and saw one of them wailing "We were handcuffed in a cell for 20 hours! This is supposed to be a democracy, man!" Uh yeah....because you're OUT now...if it really were the fascist dictatorship you claim it to be, you'd be in jail indefinitely with no trial. Duh. Do they teach any recent history in Ontario schools anymore?

On a nice long sunday bike ride, during one of the few days lately when it hasn't been pouring, I was faced again with the dilemma of where one can pee on a weekend. Once out of lachine, a girl's options are limited. Stewart hall is my favorite spot, but everything closes early on Sundays in the summer or never even opens. Recently, it was announced that huge investments are going to be made to upgrade parks in Montreal but I wonder about the boroughs. You stop at a park, figuring you can use the chalet. Wrong. It's locked. No water fountains either. Where do the kids go to the toilet? I remember the crummy chalet in Houde park where there was almost never any toilet paper. But at least it was open.

Another one of my fave rest stops, a veterans hangout in St Anne de Bellevue near Senneville was closed and the park is being renovated. I have no idea if this was just temporary or if they have moved. It was after 5 when I headed home so I was screwed until Lachine. Stewart Hall was closed. The Dorval Arena had closed. I had stopped there in April and a very nice man who was working a hockey tournament said I could use the facilities. A girl on a bike must rely on the kindness of strangers. Is this a democracy, man, when you have to hold it in on a Sunday?

More notes from the worker's underground

The Community Employment agency sent me to a few interesting interviews, including one located in the industrial park in st laurent. I went there the day after a snowstorm and had to cross the highway on foot. It's not exactly designed for public transit or pedestrians. Shortly after that, I got a call from a social worker in the same buildng as the CEA who told me of a job at an office. In st Laurent. I should have said nothing but I asked where, as parts of it are very hard to get to.
SW: what difference does that make?
Me: Well, I have to get there every day, I need to know where it's located.
SW: People take the bus, they take the metro
Me: Yes, but I also have to get out there for an interview and it can take over an hour.
SW: You know you need this job!
Me: Yes, I know. I also have to know things like location, transportation and other details.
SW: I'm giving you a great opportunity. You're nixing it!

It's easy to see how she got to be a social worker. The last time she took public transportation was probably...well never, since it's likely she got a car at 16 and likely had the same job since graduating university. Later, I received a questionnaire from the agency about their service. When asked for comments, I suggested that they start being bit more empathetic to the people they are supposed to help. And stop hiring people who grew up in cloistered, upper middle class eggshells who have no idea what it is to actually have to LOOK for a job.

oh those nutty clients!

I just got a new client which oddly enough, resulted from an aborted project. A woman at a small translation agency, which I had never worked with before, contacted me about a translation one of her translators had done for a company website. They were not happy with it, and I could see the problem. It was very awkwardly translated and sounded stilted, although she had done a decent job with the more technical parts (heavy machinery). I began work on it and the next day, Maryse told me they wanted it done a bit earlier. I suggested that in order to save time, I just revise the English. So we worked in tandem and managed to get it all done. But alas, the company sent back the document with more changes, some of which were reasonable, and more complaints about how 'french' it sounded. While I was doing the revisions, Maryse asked me if I thought they were being difficult, and I said yes, a bit. Some of the mistakes they pointed out were their OWN mistakes, for example and I was beginning to suspect they may never be satisfied, but at the same time they kept raising the bar by wanting it done faster and faster.
Maryse and I agreed that we both did our very best.

While I was working on the revisions, Maryse was emailed by the company.They decided they didn't want to spend any more money and would do the rest of the work themselves. Maryse was sorry to lose a client but I told her my impression was that these people would probably never be satisfied and that they didn't seem to understand much about the work process. We all get impossible clients who don't have a clue and sometimes, it's just best to cut your losses get out of dodge. Just make sure you get paid and that's that. She agreed.

Sometimes, the problems come from communication- when people aren't very good at expressing what it is they want, then crap on your work because you didn't deliver what they want. A few years ago I got a freelance gig writing a help file for a man hoping to sell a software product. he wanted it to be clear, precise and to the point, which was totally at odds with his conversational style which was impossibly hard to follow, almost dyslexic. At no point was I able to get anything resembling a clear, precise sentence. I decided to wait until I got his text. It was simple enough and I submitted it by email when it was done.

When he called me he said nastily, "This is SO not what I asked for."
Me : What is the problem?
M:You didn't do what I asked for.
Me: can you be specific?
M: I wanted it to be precise, clean and easy to read.
Me: I am familiar with help files, and I did it exactly as a help file. I read it over twenty times. Why not look it over and then send it back for revisions?
M: You mean I have to send it back and take more time?
Me: That's how it goes, I can do revisions. Sometimes you need to make changes. It's part of the process.
M: After all the trouble I went through sending it to you? (He sent it via email). It seems to me you don't know what you're doing.
Me: I'm sorry but I've been a journalist and writer for years..
Me: Look you can send it back to me and I'll revise it.
Him: I don't think you know what you're doing.
Me: Then just send me a check for the work I did and we'll call it a day. You can get another writer.
M: Well, ok.
Me: If I don't receive it in two weeks, I'll call you.

I told the employment agency that Mr G was a slimebag,that he was insulting and rude and had tried to get out of paying me. They were sympathetic and removed him from their clientele. I did get paid.
Another story...next time.

Olympic proportions

It's amusing to hear about the 2010 Olympics being referred to as 'jinxed' and 'cursed' and full of glitches.The Cauldron made me laugh, because it reminded me of "Spinal tap" when the pod refused to open on stage and the Stonehenge was only 18 inches high, instead of 18 feet. The fence was another miss, but at least a repair was swift and organized.

But have we forgotten the disaster of Atlanta? I recall stories about horrendous screwups regarding transportation,, scheduling and inept employees. Not only spectators, but journalists who covered were given bad direction and had to rely on gand braindead, inefficient employees who were unable to follow instructions because most of them were probably in written form. Journalists never arrived to events they were supposed to cover and some left in disgust.

Then there was the searing heat. Heat is always an issue in summer games: Mexico city, los angeles, athens..but those are, as they say, DRY heats. There's a reason it's called Hot 'Lanta. If you can't handle the oppressive humidity, you will suffer, but even more so if you're just sitting in it. Spectators had to be sprayed with water in the pitiless afternoon sun,where there was no shade. The horses began to suffer. (Of course, that was also a problem in Beijing, where the triathletes cooked like shrimp in a 27 degree water.) But when Atlanta bid for the games, they said their average annual temperature was 72 degrees. That means 90 in the summer and 50 in the winter.

Homeless residents (mostly black) were chased out of the area, so as not to scare off tourists and guests. However, a white trash lunatic managed to set off an explosive device, then fled and disappeared for 5 years. Obviously, Munich didn't have much of a lasting legacy.

And Lake Placid was plagued with similar transportation problems. Americans seem to have problems with public transportation. Unless it involves massive amounts of cars, it's beyond their scope.

I had a feeling all along that weather would be a problem and thought that Vancouver was possibly the dumbest place on earth for the winter Olympics, even with Whistler. As for the snow, I had a sort of premonition that this would happen. I remembered that Calgary, affected by warm chinook weather did have some snow problems as well.

Quebec city still has plenty of snow and perfect snow making temperatures, but it's not hard to understand why Quebecers would not want to take a dive into yet another Olympic toilet.

Oh, what a relief it is.

I just got over a horrendous bout of a flu-like virus. For the better part of a weekend I did little else besides sleep. I could eat almost nothing and was so weak, I could barely make it up the three steps to my front door to get the mail. I went through four boxes of Kleenex and generally felt as if I had aged in dog years.

When I was a child, being sick meant staying home from school and watching TV, eating my mother's chicken soup and reading my favorite books if I was well enough to concentrate.

No more, however. These days, according to ads for cold medicines, a cold and fever shouldn't prevent you from getting out and conquering the elements.. 'I won't let a cold or fever stop me!' says one superwoman, who rises from her sickbed to go kayaking. It's not enough to just feel well enough to get out of bed. No, we should be conquering Mount Washington, deep sea diving and being lowered into glaciers like Dr Agassiz.

Same for children. One poor mopey child in another ad, sits forlornly in front of a piece of paper. Alas, she's unable to be creative because she's got a cold, but give her decongestant and she's painting pictures again. God forbid the kid should get one day where she just lies in bed.

Adults need to get back to work, so a good decongestant makes sense. But do we need to risk bronchitis by climbing the polar ice cap? and do kids REALLY need to be creative when they have a cold? are they somehow slacking off if they don't take one lousy day off to watch tv and eat chicken soup?

Finally a week later I'm capable of going to the gym. A whole week and no glacier climbing. I'm a failure as a sick person.

The eyes have it

I am going in for laser eye surgery in early February. I would gladly have done this years ago, but it's just now at my advanced age that I can afford it, alas. I remember the interchange from Goodbye Columbus, where Neil tells spoiled Brenda, "Why don't you get your eyes fixed?" This was 1963? Getting your eyes fixed was probably on the same sci fi level as going to work in a jet-pack.

Aside from the good old fashioned vanity, it's really the convenience: no more stupid contact lenses when I want to go to the gym, or cycling. N0 more glasses fogging up in winter. No more contact lens solutions. No more having to put on cheap reading glasses over my lenses to see small print.

I will still need my reading glasses. Everyone else says, I like your glasses. They also always have perfect vision. I quote Brenda Patimkin, "Break the goddam things. I hate them." But even spoiled Brenda coudn't get her eyes fixed.