Work Life Balance

You know you're overworked when:

1. Your son bursts into tears and tells you how much he misses you -- and you live with him
2. You meet a friend for a quick salad/glass of chardonnay at a restaurant in your hometown -- and you feel like you're on vacation 

Flickr image from John Lam

Crank v. Prank

Looking for a good, harmless practical joke? Put a million items for sale on Craigslist along with your neighbor's phone number.

You can thank me later. I'm too busy right now fielding phone calls about a Chevy Suburban.

Fire and Rain

Ah, nothing screams "springtime" quite like the warmth of a roaring fire in the midst of days upon days of endless rain.

Vacation Day!

Guess where I am? *&^%$#@#$%$^%&&^%$##(*%$#@^^

It's the most wonderful time of the year
There'll be much mistletoe-ing
And CPUs will be glowing
When coworkers are near
It's the most wonderful time of the year

There'll be meetings for hosting
Strategies for toasting
And driving out in the snow
There'll be scary client stories
And tales of the glories of
vacations long, long ago

It's the most wonderful time of the year

Photo Per Day #23: Diet Schmiet

I failed with Photo Per Day #22. Strike number two for this exercise. And 22 is my "lucky number." Wanna know where else I've failed miserably?

 

Flown straight from a UK-based client, via UPS, to my arse. Thanksgiving? Bring it on.

Take Me Down to the Infirmary

The scene inside my car at the tail end of a 6.5 hour journey with small boys and only Cracker to soothe my soul.

Take me down
“Give him back to me”
To the infirmary
“Mom, he stole monkey”
Lay me down
“OUCH”
On cotton sheets
“What is going on back there?”
Put a damp cloth
“He hit me in the head”
On my forehead
“Why are you hitting your brother?”
Lay me down
“Because he just BIT me”
And let me sleep
“I'm going to pull over and bite both of you if this continues”

I know the whiskey, it won't soothe my soul
And the morphine won't heal my heart
But if you take me down to the infirmary, oh yeah
I won't have to sleep or drink alone.

FML

I've been having a run of bad luck lately. Not major life events -- the hubby is dealing with that stuff. I mean little things gone awry. Forgetting to do things. Driving to the gym to find the pool closed. Almost running out of gas on the Thruway but not stopping, heart racing, because I'm cutting the timing to my meeting so friggin' close. Attempting to facilitate (ugh) a meeting that was god awful and absolutely out of control. (Nice work, huh.) Losing my glasses. Losing my sunglasses. Getting lost in downtown Syracuse without my GPS. Heading to a Red Wings game after an 80 degree, sunny day just in time for the downpour. Dumping a cup of cinnamon all over my oatmeal because I had the non-shaker side of the top open. Dealing with chronic, and amplifying, shoulder and neck pain that has spread from the right shoulder across my entire upper back over the past three weeks. And so on.

Then I heard about my coworker's best friend whose step father died over the weekend literally while on the Peace Bridge. (Thankfully his wife was driving.) He's a truck driver and wanted his ashes sprinkled over the Thruway. So they did just that: opened up the sunroof on Sunday and let him fly. And then, out of nowhere, came a huge gust of wind (a "tornado" in their words) which swooped him directly up and dropped him back into the car -- all over everyone. In their eyes, hair, clothes. This woman spent the rest of the weekend vacuuming up her step dad while grieving.

I guess my life isn't all that bad. I'm feeling thankful for the small things today.

JetBlew: The Screwquel

In addition to issuing this apology, I think the JetBlew CEO, David Neeleman, needs to go on CBS's Undercover Boss preferably as he and his family are traveling to a much-needed vacation. What better way to witness the company's immense inefficiencies firsthand?

In case he's too important to subjugate himself to a horror of that magnitude, here's my account of our trip home for his files:

• In Barbados, the bag count on the jet differed from the count on the ground. Result: almost a two hour delay while they removed all of the bags, recounted them and placed them back on the aircraft. While I'm grateful that we didn't fly away with a bomb on the aircraft, I think that JetBlew could have taken that same time to order food for its passengers: 150 passengers * $5 sandwich = $750 goodwill. Instead, 150 passengers boarding after lunch + Doritos mix for dinner = hunger at 10:00 p.m.
• On-board, the flight attendant moved us up to the front of the plane in mid-descent to ensure we could hustle through customs and make our flight which was "delayed until 11:00 p.m." and "being held" for us (i.e., she stated that she called ahead).
• In JFK, we literally ran through the airport -- from Terminal 4 to Terminal 5 via Air Train -- with our luggage. And by "we," I mean me, my 76 year old mother and two kids ages 8 and 9. At any time of the day, this would be exhausting. At 10:00 p.m., I was worried someone would collapse. 
• Because we switched terminals, we had to recheck our bags and go through security again. As we entered the security line, the woman glanced at our tickets and said, "Go to the left and run to Gate 23, they're holding the plane for you."
• No plane at Gate 23. 
• "There was a gate change. Run to Gate 10; we'll call ahead to let them know you're here."
• No plane at Gate 10. 
• "Try Gate 25." 
• No plane at Gate 25. 
• Back at Gate 23, we asked for more help and told the lady what happened. 
• "It left here 15 minutes ago. No one told me to hold it." (Note: it was now 10:50 p.m. which means it wasn't really delayed until 11:00 p.m. or being held for us.)
• We then told her what we'd been through. Her question: "You dragged your luggage here? Why didn't they recheck your bags in Terminal 4?" How the hell should we know? WTF? (Everyone from our flight was running with their luggage.)
• This kind lady placed the four of us on the first flight to Rochester the following morning. "Get here by 7:30 a.m. because the lines at that time are really long. You can then relax and have Dunkin' Donuts by the gate." Good to know. 
• "Would you like a hotel room or would you prefer to sleep in the airport?" Seriously? What family ranging in ages from 8 to 76 would prefer to sleep in the airport? She booked us at the Doubletree. 
• Arrive at the Doubletree to discover that they have not been notified -- even though their driver came to pick us up. The woman at registration then places a number of calls to different JetBlew teams to determine if we're authorized. Time now: almost midnight. Kids: starving.
• The next morning, we arrive at JFK to discover that only I'm on the 9:25 a.m. flight and the rest of my family is booked on the 7:30 p.m. flight. Why? No one knows. So much for getting everyone up and to the terminal early. Worse yet, there's a 1:30 p.m. flight with available seats. Idiocy at its finest. Somehow we manage to get two seats on the first flight for my mom and Son #1 to get home (because he has a party to attend) and Son #2 and I spend the day in the airport. Again.

As much as I love, love, loved our vacation in Barbados, I never, ever, ever want to fly again. Ever. Any carrier. Never. Especially JetBlew.

Nothing in the world is perfect
Grin and bear it silently or yell into my ear
Complaints, it's my department

JetBlew It

Yeah, I know: snowstorms screw up flights. But I've discovered that the chaos can be severely compounded. Take JetBlew, for example. Just prior to this storm that overtook the East coast, they upgraded their computer system which resulted in a planned outage. Seriously? In this day and age with testing, up/downtime statistics, sandboxes, etc.?

So here's what has happened so far on our "vacation":

• JetBlew changed our confirmation number due to the system change but never communicated the change. We could not log in to confirm: call #1
• Even the new JetBlew confirmation number shows an error on the online system (i.e., states that it doesn't match my last name) and my TrueBlew number says that I have no upcoming flights: call #2
• JetBlew canceled our flight out of the Roch so I scrambled to leave work, took the kids out of school and checked into a hotel in sunny Jamaica, NY: call #3 (due to high call volumes, we cannot handle your call at this time) and call #4 (40 minute wait time)
• Awoke early to discover that our flight to Barbados this morning was preemptively canceled -- long before the snow even dusted the ground: call #5 during which I was on hold for over an hour as I walked through the hotel, waited for the airport shuttle, took the shuttle and finally hung up as I entered the airport
• At the airport was told (with a straight face) that tomorrow's flight was fully booked and that the next flight with any availability was the 16th (i.e., the day before we come home). Huh? And there's nothing anyone can do?
• My new friend Dany must have been thinking "This'll get rid of her" as he told me to call JetBlew after noon to see if they opened new flights for tomorrow. If so, maybe we could get on one. 
• Called at 1:00 p.m. to see if they opened new flights, held for 40 more minutes and the lady basically laughed at me. She said, "I've never heard that one. Someone told you that?" She then said that my best bet would be to get on the standby list. Where? Oh yeah, gotta go back to the airport for that at least 24 hours before the flight (i.e., exactly when I was at the airport last time) 
• Back to the airport for me where I stood by the counter for 2 hours and 48 minutes while the entire staff tried to figure out the new computer system. First they could only get me on standby. Then they could get only my mom and kids on standby and I was kicked off. Nothing would work. It took six people almost three hours to figure it out. As far as I know, we're on standby. Standby on a full flight that's likely to be canceled, as well.
• Wait, six people all helping little ole me? Why yes because there were probably 30 JetBlew staff members standing around doing nothing in an empty terminal while thousands of people were on interminable hold with their call centers. Talk about poor resource allocation. 
• Interminable hold you say? Why yes and listening to on-hold messages like "Take a Vacation!"

Key lesson learned: JetBlew is a one-trick-pony.

In other words, without partnerships or reciprocal agreements, if your flight is canceled, you're SOL. They don't even suggest placing you with another carrier; they just ruin your vacation.

One guy next to me on line this morning was freaking out because he attempted to fly out last night and they wouldn't put him on the flight. They were asking for $450 because he was confirmed on today's flight. This morning, his flight was canceled and they couldn't rebook him until next Tuesday. I thought he was going to pummel someone.

The JetBlew woman who was handling him was curt and borderline nasty. "There's nothing we can do about the weather." (Aside, other carriers including Delta, American and Japan Air were still flying international. We could hear planes flying overhead throughout the day as we were stranded.)

She's right but a little compassion would go a long way.

I need a hug. And a suntan. Instead, my mom, kids and I are probably heading back to Rochester tomorrow filled with dashed hopes.

United breaks guitars. JetBlew breaks hearts.

Safe but Not Sound

Winter mornings in Rochester consist of driving along the highway, steering your car quickly around large clumps of hardened snow that the semi in front of you just deposited on the road, and passing car after car after car that somehow ended up in a ditch on the side of the road or backwards/upside-down in the median. Police cars lit up. Tow trucks everywhere.

But that doesn't slow us down. Nope. It doesn't matter that the speed limit is 65, the roads are covered in black ice, 40 mile per hour howling winds are blowing snow across your windscreen and there's a hazardous weather outlook in place: you still need to drive as fast as possible, pass, cut people off and slam on your breaks when some idiot in front of you is doing the speed limit. No need to put down the cell phone. Multitasking is cool.

Come on people, you're going to make me late for that critical meeting that, this time next week, I'll have forgotten all about.

As I approached my office, the car in front of me was doing 25 in a 40 mph zone. Hey, what's with the caution? Can't see the road through the sleet? Then I noticed the out-of-state plates and I wondered what it must be like for someone unaccustomed to extreme driving to be thrown into the lunacy here. Would it be like lacing up my ice skates and trying to compete in an Olympic speed skating event? No, because at least they're all headed in the same direction.

Maybe I would understand more clearly if I was battling asteroids from a single passenger spacecraft. Or if I was suddenly thrown, without warning, into a Rugby game, say the Barbarians vs. New Zealand, and I had the ball.

It's all so very Norman Rockwell around here in the wintertime.

Fashion Challenge

I was thinking of attempting to buy my clothes for next 12 months from only one fashion-backward, mall store, like Sears or JCPenney, to see what I could come up with. I thought that, over the course of the year, I would possibly a) save some money due to the dearth of options, b) look absolutely heinous even by local standards (or lack thereof), or c) rise to the challenge and throw some *great* looks together on the fly.

Then I ran across the Winter '09 collection by Juliette Hogan (via Down & Out Chic). So pretty!

Professional yet feminine, the look above consists only of a simple cardigan, pencil skirt and blouse in muted colors. Shouldn't be too hard to replicate, right?

So I decided to compare against the online Sears catalog to see if they had anything remotely of that caliber.



Wow! A lime green, short-sleeved suit with white buttons and contrasting stitching? You betcha.

This could be fun.

I Wanna Be Your Dog

While the following story doesn't rankle me as much as my interminable Home Depot experience, my Dell hell, my two separate Delta experiences that I've never even chronicled (yet), or this Maytag debacle my brother found on Dooce, I have new found issues with Verizon Wireless.

Specifically, or at least initially, I was annoyed by the fact that the battery on my new phone won't hold a charge. I only got a new phone because my last one died, refused to recharge and, as a result, I lost everyone's numbers. But, I simply don't like the phone that I chose. I picked it out of necessity, out of a lack of time to think and out of a desire to not have to purchase all new accessories because, invariably, the cables on different brands/models are different.

Lo and behold, I can't easily swap batteries at Verizon. Instead they took my phone and placed it on a 1.5 hour test call which, in their words, "only went down a bar" apparently indicating that my phone is okay and I'm smoking crack.

Me: I rarely even use the thing. Look up my usage. How is it possible that I have to recharge it every day?
Service tech: Do you text a lot?
Me: I rarely text at all.
Service tech: Do you have poor reception at work?
Me: No.
Service tech: Do you store it in a locker?
Me: No. No. No. Not only do I not store it in a locker, it's a brand new phone. I'm comparing it to my last phone of the same brand which did not have to be charged constantly.
Service tech: Well, the new batteries are not as good as the old batteries.
Me: Did I just hear that correctly? And there's nothing we can do about that?
Service tech: That's right.
Me: Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're telling me that I'm SOL?
Service tech: Not in those words.
Me: Can I get a new phone?

Nope. Verizon won't let me trade in or up for another two years. It's how their crappy contracts are written. To hell with customer satisfaction.

But wait. Here's the kicker! I got a call that night (just a few short minutes later) from Verizon offering a new contract to raise my minutes.

Me: Why would I want to raise my minutes?
Call center lady: You had a sharp increase in minutes last month.
Me: Wow. How is that possible? I was out of the country for a week and phone-less in a conference room in CA the following week.
Call center lady: It jumped from 300 last month to over 400 this month.
Me: Well, let's just assume that was a blip and I'll raise my contract if it continues.

And a minute after I hung up, I realized what had happened. They were subverting the minutes used for my TEST call to talk me into a new blinkin' contract.

So. Messed. Up.

Bad Day: #6 and #7

On Monday night, I met my girlfriends at jojo for BYO wine night. The husband of one friend joined us which initially I thought may have stifled the conversation somewhat given that we always seem to talk about vile matters or sex (especially about her crazy, empassioned, sex life with him) but that wasn't the case. He was just as bad as we were. Instead of remaining quiet, I shared two stories from the past year which never made it to my blog (and, be forewarned, probably for a good reason).

While on the topic of Brazilians, I went into graphic detail about how, during my last bikini wax, after realizing how much intolerable pain I was in, I asked the woman if this was her first time. No, of course not! She then proceeded to maim me while telling me how she had gotten fired from her last position. Mid-wax, I had to make her stop and I bolted. The side that was done, what was remaining at least, was completely erratic (i.e., jagged edges); the side that was incomplete, albeit wider, looked smooth and even. I was a walking, God-awful, unsightly mess. (But really, who would see it?) The worst part was later that afternoon, when I went to the bathroom, I had to cut myself out of my underwear and throw the wax remains out. Honestly, who brings scissors to the bathroom? I had to go back into the office, grab them, field "why do you need scissors in the bathroom?" questions from the guys in the office and move on.

Another time, I went into the bathroom for a "routine visit." As had happened on a few occasions before, I got locked in but this time the lock wouldn't budge. So I spent what felt like a monumental amount of time pounding on the door and calling out for help. At times, men would enter the bathroom next door and ignore me. Finally the insurance agent down the hall rescued me. When I finally got back into the office, I asked the guys, "Did anyone happen to notice that I had gone missing for the better part of an hour (slight exaggeration)?" They responded, "Yeah, we just thought you were taking an enormous dump." OMG. Next time, assume that I'm not and come look for me, pleeeeeeeese! Later that week, the same thing happened to my boss. And the same guy rescued her. After that, they changed the locks. How you may ask? By putting our crappy lock on the downstairs ladies room, that's how. Now the Ameriprise folks, and their clients, can suffer the same embarrassment and we no longer have to send out the troops.

Maybe I should become a regular contributor to FML.

Mrs. Laura David

So when you're continually slogging it out at work and dreaming of downsizing to a doublewide just to ease the financial tension, what normally would make me pause and laugh, today makes me insanely jealous.

This woman is seeking $54K a week in her divorce settlement. No, that's not a typo; that's her weekly expenditure. Expenses include $4,500 for her clothing allowance where presumably she's paying her personal tailor to design an entirely new wardrobe daily and sew it right onto her body -- how else could you possibly spend over $600/day on clothes?? Especially when you have a weekly dry cleaning bill of $650? So she must "recycle" some of her clothes. Or maybe she's dry cleaning her linens.

Which leads me to: how big are her closets?

I especially love the $8K per week in travel expenses because I can see how that would actually add up. Two homes in Switzerland, private jet, hangar, fuel, pilots, etc. It cannot be cheap. However, she spends in only one week roughly equivalent of how much we spend on our annual trip to a fun, kid-friendly resort. Damn!

Lastly, only $250 on her personal trainer? What's that, one hour? After spending $1,500 on meals and entertainment, she might want to step up the exercise a bit more, no? Mind you, she does look great. I think that $1K on weekly skincare is paying dividends.

Shoot me now: All of this is on top of the $36 million he's already given her.

I'll be thinking of her as I take out a home equity loan to repair my collapsing tract house. And I'll be tracking him down shortly thereafter. Doesn't he need a new woman who can live modestly on the paltry $36 million without asking for more?

The nerve of some people!

Sign Sign Everywhere a Sign

I have two clients with very different signage adorning the parking spaces by their respective front doors:

• Client #1: "Our customers come first" (four spaces/identical signs)
  
  
• Client #2: "Parking reserved for the CEO" (three spaces/signs for Founder, CEO, President)
  

In one of the latter parking spaces, a giant black Cadillac Esplanade is parked. In the space next to it, a Mercedes.

Where would you rather work?

Unless everyone at client #2 is making heaps of money and is being treated exceptionally well, I think the signs signal, at the very least, a ridiculous, internal pecking order. I'm not sure I would want to put in the requisite hours in order to pad someone else's wallet especially if the effort comes with an extra dash of hubris.

Thanks but no thanks.

Office 2007 is so retro!

I'm a fairly quick study but the new Microsoft get-up is not really intuitive to me. Trying to teach an old dog new tricks ain't easy, I guess.

But will someone please tell me why pattern fills are no longer an option in PowerPoint 2007? Doesn't anyone else use pattern fills?



The workaround: draw in Word and paste as a picture into PowerPoint. Yea! Everyone likes to draw in Word 2007 . . . oh wait, that's another topic you don't want me ranting on.

Ah well. Never mind the bollocks.

On a related note: I have to stop complaining! It's bad for my health!

Bad Day: #4

Last January, I wrote three posts entitled Bad Day (i.e., #1, 2 and 3 respectively) and somehow I had forgotten this little tale -- maybe I had thankfully suppressed the horror. The memory of it arose recently when I read on a friend's Facebook "25 random things about me" note that he was a "debutante escort" in his late teens.

When I was in my mid-20s, my girlfriend Meg talked me into a girls' night out (GNO). I had zero interest in going because it was to her roommate's boyfriend's work Christmas party (yawn!) but she is extremely persuasive and I ended up reluctantly agreeing. The premise was that every year the party is boring with a capital B because none of the guys have dates so, because Andy was bringing Leanne this particular year, she was encouraged to bring all of her friends. Free meal. Free drinks. Whatever.

The night of the party, Leanne and another girl showed up at my apartment to pick me up. Note: Everyone else backed out. Note #2: Even MEG! Note #3: I didn't know either of these girls well at all. What the . . . ? Why didn't Meg call me? Why am I going out??

So we arrived on the late side at a Japanese restaurant and the description was right: It's only men at this party. Literally. We were the only three women there. We didn't even have a chance to order drinks when we were whisked off to dinner -- at separate tables. What? I can't even sit with my friends?

The minute I was seated, the man next to me asked, "Are you a professional stripper or just an escort?"

Uhhhhhh, I think you have me confused with someone else.

It turns out that the business owner a) usually hired "talent" for the night and decided not to this year, b) didn't let the clients know, c) didn't let us know and, most importantly, d) didn't allow any of the men to bring their wives. Lucky us.

Well, doesn't that make for awkward conversation at the dinner table?! To make matters worse, seated at my table were some of the company's clients. From where you may ask? Why Eastman Kodak, of course. Where I worked. Big company, yet, small enough that I saw all of them in the cafeteria the very next day. I was beyond mortified because I wasn't sure if they bought my "story" or not. To this day, I am shaken to the core just thinking about it.

Back to the party. As we were walking out the door, the business owner followed us into the coat room and asked us how much he owed us for the night. Wait? What? Leanne's friend was joining Oak Hill at the time and this dude was actually a member. She was aghast and positively refused to take his money. I simply asked, "How much are you offering?" and pocketed all the cash that he held out.

I figured that I had had a lot of crappy dates in my life; I may as well get paid for one.

Yep, the one thing missing from my list of "25 random things about me" because it requires an in-depth explanation: I was once a paid escort. Poor guys who were expecting something entertaining! The holiday party from hell.

The Weekend's Too Short

Our long weekend at the beach was much too short. More on that later.

The drive, on the other hand, was waaaay too long. Due to construction in the Poconos (in two separate places), traffic was reduced to one lane and merging was a long, drawn out, slow motion hell. And, unbeknownst to us, traffic was also congested due to the fact that it was Nascar race weekend. Yippee.

Lucky for us, we had two kids in the car -- one of whom was hungry. "I want a cheeseburger." "When are we stopping for a cheeseburger?" "Are we there yet?"

So we had the pleasure of stopping for the night at a lovely Howard Johnson's in Bartonsville PA. I wrote a one word review on TripAdvisor that hasn't yet been posted: "Ew." However, in the process of contributing, I happened to notice that many others who stayed at that hotel had experienced car break-ins and stolen items. (Except for one reviewer who writes, "Truly a wonderful place to stay. Clean, upscale, great service. The restaurant is very romantic . . . " Huh? And by romantic, do you mean dimly lit?) Just feeling grateful that all of our stuff is still with us.

But my favorite part of traveling to the beach was our brief visit to Dunkin' Donuts (a.k.a. Stinkin' Donuts) the following morning when the woman standing beside us in line had either fallen asleep the night before in a vat of raw sewage or she possibly had a festering wound on her (insert unnamed body part here) that needed some critical attention. America certainly does Run on Dunkin' cause I cannot imagine what else is keeping that woman alive.

Am I grateful to have spent some time with my girlfriends and their families? Yes. Was it nice to spend a weekend with the hubby and kids? You betcha. Am I happy to have had a lone walk along the beach where a perfectly formed sand dollar washed up right on my toes? Very much so. Do I want to do it again any time soon? Not so much.

O, Dana

The other night, Dana Perino, the White House Press Secretary, was on The Daily Show. When Jon Stewart asked her if she had ever been asked to lie, she (of course) said, "no" and promptly gulped. I'm no expert on human behavior but it seemed awfully telling.

Jon Stewart also asked her, "The President has said that he's going to sprint to the finish. Can you get him to run faster?"

I'm willing to pitch in for some new Asics.

On a related note, take a look at this article written by Greg Palast regarding how the Feds took Eliot Spitzer down just in time to allow Ben Bernanke to loan $200 billion to bail out predator banks while "Spitzer was in Washington to launch a campaign to take on the Bush regime and the biggest financial powers on the planet."

Yeah, I know, I know. What the governor did was wrong. But the timing is impeccable.

Bad Day: #2

When I was in grad school, I drove to Buffalo in a blinding snowstorm for a job interview at a management consulting firm. I had heinous snow boots on but when I pulled up in front of the beautiful mansion that housed this company, the first space, right in front of their door, was remarkably vacant. As always, the parking gods were shining down upon me: this was going to be a fabulous day. So I turned off the car, switched into heels and got out.

Alas, when I slammed my door shut, a giant, black mountain of NYS Thruway car sh*t fell off my front wheel well, crashed into the ground and splattered all over me. From my feet to my face and hair, I was covered. And I was approximately one minute late already.

I entered the building, told the receptionist my name and who I was there to see, and immediately hit the ladies room where I took what felt like an hour washing myself up as well as I thought was humanly possible.

After I met the man I was interviewing with, he began to take me on a tour of their building. It was gorgeous. Chandeliers. Persian rugs. But I couldn’t concentrate on a word he was saying because I could feel something dripping down my leg. I looked down and I was creating a huge, black, tar-like stain on their rug. I had to interrupt him and explain my debacle. I’m sure he was horrified but he remained calm, sweet and understanding. We went to his office where I took off my shoes and he handed me paper toweling to get the rest of the muck off my legs. What I still didn’t realize (and to this day I’m not sure how this enormous realization escaped me), the biggest chunk of icy black gook was still lodged under my skirt and beginning to thaw.

As I interviewed (poorly I may add), I knew that my legs felt wet. But I kept going, answering all of his questions, and listening with feigned interest to the details of the position. I didn’t dare look down. Big mistake.

When I went to stand up, there was a giant, thick, filthy puddle below my chair on his Oriental rug and I began repeating profuse apologies.

Needless to say, I didn’t get that job.