Groped At The Airport

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Flying today has become a pain. I now think twice about trips with air travel as part of my vacation planning. For years I trotted off to the airport with not a care in the world and the flight would take me somewhere exotic. Now it’s a pain in the derriere. Pun intended.

It’s not just the current news reports about excessive body searches. It’s the entire experience that has gone from a feeling of luxury and high-end travel to feeling like a porn star on a budget. Many years ago it was an absolute treat to go off on a trip with the airport as my first stop on the way to a fabulous vacation. Vacations are usually planned for quite some time and I’ve always found the time leading up to a vacation almost the best part.

I once traveled with two friends and for weeks we had meetings at coffee shops to discuss our trip and our plans and we brought maps to our meetings and practiced our destination language and by the time we were ready to go we could barely contain ourselves. Rather than take the airport shuttle my son volunteered to drive us to the airport and he spent over an hour listening to three giggling teens. We were all well over 40 (and a couple of us over 50) but we were giggling teens.

But we live in a dangerous world so air travel isn’t what it used to be. In fact, recently I dropped my daughter and her boyfriend off at the airport and as we arrived at the drop off location I barely had time to pull over, open the hatch for their luggage, and shove them off on the pavement before the security officer marched to my window and barked at me to move‑‑‑now. I started to explain we just got there but she had turned from me and had started barking at the kids. They had barely unbuckled their seatbelts. I didn’t even get to hug them. As I pulled away I looked in my rearview mirror hoping for a little wave and they were still in the street gathering their belongings with the security officer looming over them. They couldn’t even stop to look at me and wave.

When they came back two weeks later I arrived at the airport a bit early but didn’t park (we stopped parking years ago) and had to circle the arrival zone three times before they appeared. I had hoped to slow down and stall a bit since we were communicating by cell phone and they were almost at the pick-up point but each time I cruised by the area I was scooted away by a security guard. Finally, they were outside as I drove by and they literally threw their things in the back and jumped in the car and as a security guard approached I sped off. I was tempted to stick out my tongue but I knew that would land me in prison for engaging in an act of terrorism. We mostly use airport shuttles but sometimes they don't work out so we drive.

Check-in is not much better. We used to arrive at the airport an hour before our flight and sometimes we would see others arriving much later than that but still they managed to get on the plane. I remember thinking it was silly to arrive so early since those that arrived late didn’t have any problems. Those days are gone and will never return. I have friends who now spend the night at airport hotels even though they live fairly close because they are terrified of being late.

As to the “mystery” of the airplane’s operation, I had never had a fear of flying (my apologies to Erica Jong and her wonderful book of the same title, albeit a somewhat different topic) in the early years and I always marched along to my plane without a care in the world. In those years we could smoke on planes and I was a smoker and I smoked my way across the planet with not a worry in the world while sipping cocktails! I had great faith in the airplane mechanics, the pilots, the flight attendants, and air traffic control. My smoking habit was much more dangerous than flying.

So without a true fear of flying I just had an occasional annoyance with certain passengers and sometimes on long flights I got a little stir crazy and had to walk around a bit but I never considered these issues a problem. Today I am slightly fearful. It isn’t the thought of what it takes to get those things up in the air, which is absolutely astounding if we think about it too long and it’s not a good idea to do that, but I have that tiny seed of worry about someone on the plane intending to do harm to the passengers and/or the country of origin and/or destination. It’s tiny so far and won’t keep me from flying but I hate that my carefree ride to the airport is now not as carefree. I do feel that little bit of fear. Could be my age? No, it’s terrorism. There. I’ve said it. It’s not the flying I fear, it’s the suddenly not flying caused by an evil entity.

Yet, the security measures that are set in place currently are bizarre. If I have a choice I guess I’d choose the scanner instead of the touching. Some day we’ll have pat downs done by a robot and if it detects a suspicious item it will simply detonate the passenger. Robots will be perfect and never make mistakes. You know, just like our computers.

Recently we’ve all heard that security personnel have gotten a bit heavy handed on the pat downs. In fact, it has now reached the level of out and out groping. And these folks are feeling stress because they believe they are simply doing their job as trained to protect the public then we gripe at them for doing it. There are also sniffing dogs and sometimes they can be a bit exuberant and depending on one’s stature it is akin to pointy nose rape. As to the scanners, I think we now all go to the airport wishing we had lost a few pounds and wondering if we remembered to wear our new underwear. The scanners show all body deficiencies (and holding our stomachs in doesn’t help).

All of it is worrisome but not as worrisome as a plane exploding in mid air so we endure. We gripe and we hate it but we endure. The irony is that all the passenger screenings in the world are not protecting the passengers from disaster because the planes carry cargo that is often unscreened. Is anyone groping the cargo?

Cargo is shipped by the tons every day in the cargo sections of commercial flights for revenue purposes, according to the National Transportation Safety Board. Passengers might undergo invasive crotch groping but the cargo beneath their seats may never have been touched by human hands or by x-rays or sniffing dogs. I just did a few searches and found dozens of articles on the topic of cargo on passenger planes. I’m not a terrorist so that information is safe with me. But I know about it so I think terrorists know about it too and it’s only a matter of time before something happens. It’s a ticking time bomb. Pun intended, again.

Some “officials” claim that every piece of cargo shipped on a U.S. passenger flight has been screened for bombs. Really? Given the number and type of bombs available, especially when the bomb-maker doesn’t need to fear detection since he/she isn’t there, that would mean screening processes of enormous proportions. Can they really claim they have the capability to screen for all possible explosive devices known to exist at every single airport in the world? And through various packaging designs and types that are sealed? I think not. Even in the passenger screenings we missed the shoe bomber and the underwear bomber.

Some of the cargo that makes its way onto passenger flights is loaded in places that don't screen every piece—or screen at all. There are all types and sizes of airports. And things can happen to cargo in hundreds of places on the way to its destination. It could leave clean from its factory and arrive at one airport having been tainted along the way, or land in another airport and something can be attached to it at that location, and then it leaves without screening. Do we really think that every time a plane lands it’s re-screened? An entire planeload of cargo? Nope, I don't think so. Yet the passengers have had close, personal, and invasive encounters with security without so much as a dinner date before boarding. I’m missing the logic there. Is it window dressing to make us feel secure by annoying us with groping so we assume we’re safe? Irritated but secure? Doesn’t work for me.

Years ago there were no security checks per se. Luggage had to be appropriately closed with nothing hanging out and locked securely. Today we can’t lock anything. Carry on items were looked at externally to make sure they were not too big or too unmanageable but were not examined internally. Maybe an occasional peek inside. I used to knit on airplanes. I’d be in big trouble arriving with knitting needles today. There are actually people who fly today who have never flown without walking through a metal detector or guards checking them out. There were no surveillance cameras of the type we have today. If they had them they were looking at traffic flow and thievery not for terrorists and bombs. And our family and friends walked to the departure gates to wave us off and met us at the arrival gates to receive their gifts and hug us.

I don't mind someone groping my body while I’m waiting to board a plane, but I’d like to be handed an affidavit declaring that the cargo was just completely and thoroughly groped as well by the personnel loading the plane. If I could have that piece of paper I think I’d feel better about a body search, with x-rays or hands. Without that guarantee, we’re all being molested for nothing. It probably isn’t a huge surprise to learn the reason the cargo isn’t THOROUGHLY screened is cost. Airlines complain the cost would be exorbitant and would be passed on to the customers who would not like that one bit. So if airlines make that statement (here’s the fun part) how can the aforementioned “officials” say it’s all screened? The airlines say it isn’t, the officials say it is. I hate to be a logical person. It can screw up my day when I hear things like that. There’s a concept problem there. I bet some of us would prefer better cargo screening. Knowing the cargo was cleared might make the passenger groping more tolerable. Then there are x-rays from equipment with questionable safety checks because checking those machines routinely is‑‑expensive.

I still don't fear the flying process itself. Just the bomb part. For those that have never liked to be thrust in the air in a thin metal tube thousands of miles up in the sky, having security reminding them that mad bombers are everywhere, cannot be pleasant for those fearful fliers. I have an aunt who will never fly or take a train. This started years before bombs on planes and trains. We tried to change her mind but we gave up.

So I think I’ll just drive to Yosemite. But wait. There are bears at Yosemite. Maybe snakes. Rabid animals. The beach? No! Sharks! (And hypodermic needles in the sand.) To fly or not to fly. That is the question. (Yeah, my apologies to Shakespeare too.)

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

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Bully Basics 101

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Bullies come in many forms because bullying is an equal opportunity behavior. The primary function of a bully’s life is to pick on those deemed to provide the least resistance. The kid who pushes another kid into a locker and takes his lunch money is a bully. The teen who taunts and mentally tortures a classmate driving her to suicide is a bully. There have been tragic headlines about cyber bullies as well. There are many ways to create a bully: negligent parenting, school failure, peer rejection, gang affiliation, and sometimes bullies are the victims of mental issues beyond their control requiring intense mental health attention.

I had one bully experience in my life. It was in the third grade. (Early elementary school is often where bullies hone their skills.) We were all on the playground and one of our regular bullies started picking on a small, quiet boy. They were different races but I don't think race mattered to this bully. Race was simply an opportunistic tool he selected from his bag of tricks. A racial slur was spit out at the smaller boy. A few kids gathered around the two boys, the bully spitting and cussing, and the small boy whimpering. I stood in the circle too but I looked around for a teacher. I would not have snitched but I secretly hoped a teacher was out there. I think I was using mental telepathy to get the teachers to look my way. Off in the distance I saw two teachers chatting while watching kids play on the playground equipment and I stared intently at them. We weren’t a large circle of kids and they probably couldn’t see what was happening. We might have been playing marbles for all they knew.

Some of the older kids started urging the two boys on to a fight. Mob rule. I was very young but knew that if the big boy started a fight with the smaller boy, the smaller boy would disappear into dust. I knew both boys but did not play with them because at that age girls and boys didn’t play together much. Part of me wanted to leave but part of me kept dashing desperate looks towards the chatting teachers. About the third time I turned around from glaring at the teachers I heard a “smack” and saw the small boy go down.

I was tall for my age. Taller than most of my classmates. I felt somewhat clumsy and awkward. We all feel that way at times in our development. By seventh grade others caught up with me and I eventually topped off at 5”7’ and I’ve been comfortable with that height. (I’m 5’6” now. Weird.) It gave me then, and it gives me now, a small sense of physical security. I can also produce a nasty “don't bug me” demeanor when necessary. I carry a fondue fork when I walk my dogs and I’m prepared to use it. It’s for off-leash dogs coming after us but there are off-leash humans out there too.

The boy on the ground was no longer whimpering. He was full on crying. The bully started toward him with fists clenched in preparation for a pummeling. I screamed, “Leave him alone!” I do not recall a thought process. I don't remember if I was afraid. To this day I just remember acting and I don't remember thinking. (A character trait in all areas of my life.) The bully turned and came at me like an out of control locomotive. He started calling me names and his face was bright red and he was very sweaty. He was a sturdy fleshy kid about my height. That I do remember—vividly.

The kids had stopped chanting “fight, fight, fight” and stood staring at this new turn of events. He got to about three inches from my face, with his clenched fists, and I knew he was not going to respect the time honored “never hit a girl” code. So I took the heel of my hand and slammed him in the chest with all my might propelling him quite some distance. The combination of his locomotion against my thrust was the end of him. My hand placement was slightly off-center so that he did a rather graceful twirl before he hit the gravel on the side of his face. I heard air escaping when he landed then he skid to a stop. Ouch. The small boy was now on his feet and had stopped crying. He edged himself over in my direction and stood slightly behind me. His savior. Everyone cheered and laughed. The bully cried. I had hurt him. Did my pre‑emptive strike make ME a bully? After all, another popular code in my age group was never hit someone first. It was only acceptable, with limitations, to hit someone after being hit first. I hit the bully first. Oh, crud. I was in trouble.

As it happened this event took place close to my classroom. My teacher must have heard the chanting and came outside just in time to see me slam the bully. She had not been outside to see the entire disaster from the beginning. She was a tall elegant woman and I adored her. She broke through the circle and went immediately to the smaller boy. She looked at his tear-streaked face and checked out his limbs and turned his head left and right looking for injuries then gently told him to go to the nurse’s office. Next, she looked at the now-standing bully and told him in a less than gentle tone (as he picked gravel out of his cheek) to go immediately to the principal’s office and she would be there in a minute. No nurse. She then turned to the crowd and told everyone to disburse and go play a while before the bell rang. I quickly ran off with them attempting to lose myself in the crowd but she caught me. “Sharon! Come back here!” Oh, crap. I was never a fast runner. More of a gymnast.

She put her hand on my shoulder and walked me back to the classroom. She asked if I was okay and did I need to see the nurse. I said I was fine. She looked at me for a few seconds and I noticed a faint smile. She told me to go back outside to get some air while patting me on the shoulder. And that was it.

I’ve thought about that event many times throughout my life when I’ve encountered nasty people. I eventually figured out that the bully had a reputation and the teachers all knew who he was and how he behaved. They also knew the small quiet boy and knew he was not a fighter. And they knew me. I was a fun-loving child, lots of friends, and never created a problem. I lived to play (to the detriment of my academics) and it was probably a miracle I stopped at that circle of kids because usually I was hanging upside down on the jungle gym on the other side of the playground. Or at the top of the large walnut tree obscured from adult eyes. Unfortunately for the bully, I was very strong because of those activities.

I’m sure it was easy for the principal, the teacher, and the bully, in their subsequent meeting, to ferret out what had happened that day and I wasn’t needed. I don't remember seeing the bully again but I do remember seeing the small boy all the way through half of the 8^th grade before my family moved. His name was Bob.

The sad research I did to prepare for this blog didn’t tell me anything new. We all know bullies. And it’s a behavior not restricted to children. We have bullies everywhere. And the term “bully” is very broad and there are defined sub groups for the various types of bullies such as verbal, physical, psychological, and so on. It was also not a surprise to learn that bullies are often mistreated at home. Sometimes it’s by parents but sometimes by older siblings or neighborhood kids (or entire neighborhood dynamics) and the parents/authorities don't or won’t control it. Some parents think kids need to toughen up. That thinking works. It creates little monsters. It also creates victims.

Workplace bullying is alive and well. Sometimes it’s by superiors to subordinates but very often it’s peer abuse. Some literally do fight to get to the top using all manner of behaviors to attain their goals. Believe it or not, the physical abusers are somewhat easier to deal with in society because it’s a clear violation of the law to assault someone. Psychological and verbal bullying is harder to deal with but no less traumatizing to the victim. I was stunned to learn that suicide related to bullying is on the increase. Partly because it’s being reported more accurately and investigated more thoroughly but in the past, even long ago in human history, subordination by bullying has been part of our human evolution. Remember Clan of the Cave Bear? (Reality TV comes to mind as assisting the evolution of bullying by exploiting human degradation, honoring the bully, and feeding it all to the masses.)

Many schools have developed ways to deal with bullies when they are able to spot them. Because we have a strong anti-snitch rule amongst youngsters it isn’t always easy to find the bully and deal with him. I say “him” but certainly girls bully too. Boys just do it physically more often than girls. In statistically larger numbers. Girls are now using more mental forms of bullying via social networking and texting: tech bullies. Malicious little malcontents.

The bully all too often crosses the line from common bully to criminal. If left unchecked a bully learns they can have almost everything they want (cell phone, sneakers, lunch money--attention) by pushing kids around. That loot will not suffice when they reach young adulthood so they graduate to weapons and the general prison population gets new friends. It is not surprising to note that many bullies have image and self-esteem issues. Like the bully in my childhood.

He was a flabby kid, poorly dressed, not terribly healthy looking, not very clean, squinty eyes (I’m not kidding) and I do not recall a single pleasant thing about his appearance or personality. I suspect he was one of those boys who made it through puberty with a diet of snack foods and a body to match. I do not recall whether or not he had a group of kids he hung out with. I, on the other hand, was a curly-haired blond with cute dresses my grandma made for me and a nice fresh one was taken from my closet each morning and I went off to school quite the little princess after having a breakfast of hot chocolate and cinnamon toast usually with my mom and grandma but sometimes my dad too. (Did I mention I was an only child?) What did the little bully have and did his grandma make his clothes? Did he have hot chocolate and cinnamon toast? No. I’m sure he lived a sour life with a sour family. It didn’t make me sad then but it does now.

Though the authorities have come up with hundreds of plans to thwart bullies, the best plan is good parenting. It’s amazing what simple parenting can do. No fancy equipment is needed. Just a loving parent/adult or two (though one works very well) spending as many hours a day as possible with their kids explaining how much they love them, going to all their plays, concerts, and games, and teacher meetings, cooking dinner every night, watching movies with them, talking to them, taking them places even if it’s only to the grocery store (so many leave their kids at home when they grocery shop because they don't want the hassle but it’s a wonderful missed opportunity to communicate and argue about food purchases and whether or not a 14-year-old can go out with his or her older friends who have cars while other shoppers are critiquing our parenting skills), and working hard to provide for them by going to a job every day of the week (which is also a role model thing).

Parents don't have to be rich, they don't have to be educated, and they don't have to be particularly clever or smart. They just have to love their kids and be with them as much as they possibly can every day and treat them kindly and lovingly and firmly and get on them when they screw up. Those homes do not produce bullies. Oh, throw a nice dog or two into the mix, maybe a cat, stir, and instead of bullies you get sweethearts. I did.

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Blog series began in March 2009.]

Relieving Shopping Stress at Christmas

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The week before last I posted a blog about the mechanics of a stress-filled Christmas. I had planned on posting a follow-up on the stress of Christmas shopping, specifically, but instead posted a celebratory piece on the World Series Champions, the San Francisco Giants! (I do have my priorities.) But back on topic, along with other elements that can create stress at Christmas the part I dislike most about Christmas is the shopping. There are many reasons why. Here they are.

I don't like to shop generally. I know that’s anti-American and definitely not female, but I am indeed an American and I am a female. I was not born with the shopping gene. My grandmother was, my mother was not, I was not, and my daughter was. It’s skipping around our generations somewhat sporadically. My son doesn’t like to shop either but he actually shops more than I do because he cooks more than I do.

I only shop once a month for food and basics. If I run out of something, I do without. I’m good at planning so I usually don’t run out of really important items. Fresh foods go first but I cook the aging fresh foods for future meals and freeze them. The exception to this rule is if I know company is coming then I will go out and shop. If they drop by unannounced, they will starve to death.

But it isn’t just food. It’s everything. I never shop for clothes. I have clothes in my closet that could bring a tidy sum at the Antiques Roadshow. In the past if I needed, say, a white blouse, I used to go shopping for a white blouse. Nothing else. I used to go to three or four stores and if I couldn’t find what I liked I left and came home and practiced deep breathing. I may not have shopped for the blouse again for weeks. I needed to gather my strength to go back out there. I am not agoraphobic. I go many places. Just not shopping.

Many years ago I discovered shopping online. Since that time the only physical store shopping I’ve done for anything, including the holidays, is for food and basics or maybe if I’m driving by I’ll stop and pick up a box of gift candy somewhere but only if the store has an outdoor entrance and I do not have to go through the mall to get to them. I help my mom with her basic shopping and her Christmas shopping online too. I also make a few gifts each year, however, family and friends can only take so many homemade gifts, even though I am now a quasi-professional in the world of crafts having had a small business making and selling a variety of crafts.

About two Sundays before Christmas I pour a large cup of freshly ground coffee splashed with eggnog, set my iPod and Bose to my Christmas playlist, and begin. I’m usually wearing Christmas pajamas, gifts from the previous year. I start with a recipient list sitting next to me along with my debit card. I never shop on credit. I budget small amounts all year. I have no idea whatsoever what I’m going to buy or look for. Sometimes I do have an idea for a gift based on a conversation with a family member in passing but usually I fly blind. I stick to the budget and sometimes it’s a slim budget.

I’m a cautious Internet shopper and I avoid all the ads for “fantastic savings” and “one day only” sales that appear as I snoop around. Instead I shop at the major stores I trust and use often and check out their offerings. I also click on links embedded on websites I trust. Those websites do the investigative work for me. Because I’m usually a returning customer I often get even deeper savings than a newish customer. It’s amazing to me what is to be found two weeks away from Christmas. I have learned that the discounts do not get much deeper any closer to Christmas. There will be a bargain or two if there’s a certain something a shopper is looking for but the best discounts are about two weeks prior to Christmas or even a week-and-a-half before. And there are usually great shipping bargains at that time. And did I mention I’m in my pajamas while Christmas shopping?

My goal each year now that I’m experienced at this method of shopping is to only purchase items with free shipping and deep discounts. If I find something I love and the shipping isn’t there or the price is a bit high I shop for the same item at other online stores and have never been disappointed. One year I bought beautiful cashmere sweaters for the men and women in my family for almost nothing as well as many other great gifts. I find I can give more gifts and nicer quality gifts by shopping online.

As the gifts are delivered to my door, I wrap them immediately and place them under the tree. I have a nice wrapping paper storage unit that sits unobtrusively by the garage door so that in just a short time the gifts are wrapped and the wrapping mess is put away awaiting the next delivery. The entire online shopping process takes about two hours and the subsequent wrapping about 15 minutes per delivery. (This will change some when there are grandchildren of course.) Last year I purchased an item for $50 that sold for $100 at most stores I visited online. A little diligent searching can produce amazing results. It included free shipping. Sometimes I need more coffee to finish. When I’m done I take a celebratory bubble bath with candles and more Christmas music.

I started this process while still working full time. I ordered the gifts on the weekend then had them all sent to the office. Now they come to my house and I’m here to greet the delivery person since I’ve retired. My last few years on the job were significantly less stressful around Christmas thanks to online shopping.

I believe the reason for the amazing discounts and free shipping is simple. If I visit my local physical department store their display items are limited in floor space. If I shop online at the same store I’m shopping their huge warehouses loaded with goods. Their goal is to reduce inventory by discounting to thousands or millions of customers during a short seasonal period. My local stores try to unload their floor items and whatever is delivered by truck during these days and stored locally. Last year I learned that retailers did not re-stock their mall stores because they were stuck with inventory from the year before. Of course they offer discounts but they have overhead so the discounts can’t compete with what I find online. 

Many years ago when my kids were little (before my online shopping) I did all of my Christmas shopping in October and November and sometimes part of December, wrapped it all, and hid the items “from Santa.” It was a huge undertaking. It took many trips to malls and stores and lugging everything in and out of the car. I hated that part but was desperate to avoid the Christmas rush at the shops. Then a few days before Christmas I took the kids to a large mall to visit Santa. While there we would walk around and look at all the decorations and the strolling minstrels and occasionally go inside a store but we didn’t buy anything. We also would stop somewhere in the mall and have lunch and then head home with our house all decorated and presents from the family under the tree. (Santa’s presents were always hidden and wrapped in bright distinctive foil paper that was completely different from the regular paper under the tree.)

While at these malls with the kids on our Santa visits I received a perverse pleasure out of watching people screaming at their kids while pulling them around by their armpits. I witnessed countless arguments between couples over gift items and spending amounts. Everyone was on the run, exhausted, spending what they shouldn’t just to get out of there while we happily strolled and listened to Christmas music. No bags and no stressful baggage.

The thought of going to a mall or store the day after Thanksgiving practically makes me break out in hives. And besides, that’s the day I start decorating my house while snacking on Thanksgiving leftovers with my family. Participating in “early bird saver” deals at any store never coerced me to shop in the cold wee hours of the morning. Do we really need items so desperately that we would go shopping at 4 a.m. or midnight? If so, why do we feel we need those items? One item last year that was promoted at one of the stores as an early bird special was online the same day, cheaper, with free shipping. It wasn’t an item I needed but I wanted to see what the online competition had to offer.

Each year I hear about cars being broken into, people being mugged in the parking lots, people having their credit cards mishandled at stores, horrible storms, spending too much because they are out shopping after work in the dark and they start impulse shopping just to get out of there and so on. So many people get sick at Christmas and it’s because they are exposed to hoards of sick shoppers. I have never once had any difficulty with shopping online and I’ve never caught the flu shopping online. If I have to return something it’s always credited to my account and/or a replacement has been sent. I shop at the stores I trust and have never had a single problem. I receive emails from them with very large discounts prior to the holidays. My car is happy as she sits in her dry garage with a tummy full of gas. Did I mention I’m in my pajamas when I shop?

I have never liked shopping. I pretended to like it when I was younger because that’s what girls and women are supposed to like. My friends all loved shopping so I’d go along. Now that I’m older I don’t pretend behaviors anymore. I don’t like shopping and I do my best to avoid it. When friends want to do lunch and go shopping I go to the lunch portion of the outing then excuse myself and come home and walk my dogs.

Of course, I have to shop for some things. I do need food and items for my home; I do occasionally need clothing (but not often) and other things. However, I usually keep a list in my kitchen of things I need and when it gets fairly full I go online or plan my trip and hit the stores in one outing. And how much does a person need? Some people like to hop in the car and head to a mall and just shop. Without a list. For no reason. Just an outing. Something to do. Mind-boggling.

As of this writing I don’t believe I’ve stepped inside a shopping mall for three years. Maybe longer. Oh, and when I do occasionally stop by a mall to purchase a box of gift candy I do not buy a lawnmower. My attitude is not popular with our local municipalities because of the sales tax they don't receive from my purchases but some online companies do charge tax computed on my area code. However, a great many still don't. I want to support my community but I have to watch my pocketbook. No one else does these days.

[Update: I had to visit a mall before this posting. Karma. However, it was a popular computer store and a tech helped me with a computer issue. I was in and out in 30 minutes and I did not visit another store while there. It was a free visit by the way. I didn’t break out in hives. Alas, I couldn’t wear my pajamas but that’s okay because I wasn’t technically shopping.]

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

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I left my heart in San Francisco--with the World Series Champions—the San Francisco Giants!

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Paris, London, Tokyo, New York, Rome, Mumbai, San Francisco, and the list goes on. Pick a favorite international city. Those of us living near major international cities are lucky beyond belief. Those of us born and raised in and around San Francisco, as do those born and raised near all top cities, may take these amazing cities for granted. The cities are there and we visit, we have fun, we go home. When we actually live in an amazing world city, we work, we go out, we buy groceries, we do our chores, we do our laundry after work, we do all the mundane things people do all over the world in every community. Sometimes we don’t stop and think, “Wow. I live in [or near] San Francisco [or Paris or London and so on].”

This past week, those of us living in or near San Francisco were treated to a major life experience. We came together as a cohesive, over the top happy group from every race, ethnicity, religion, gender orientation, color, creed, intelligence level, socio economic status, etc., and we celebrated (together) for many days culminating in the parade of the century because: The San Francisco Giants won the World Series. Ah, but it’s so much more than that. That was the icing on the cake, but it goes so much deeper.

Though I’m not generally a sports fan (and will post a blog on my perverted view of competitive sports one day) I appreciated this event because I’m alive. That’s all it takes. I’m alive and aware of what’s going on. How could I not be happy when everyone around me was happy including folks on TV and the radio and at the grocery store and the dentist and the gas station and the book store and the dry cleaners and the car repair shop and my family and my neighbors and all of my friends? We’ve all been genuinely happy for weeks, possibly months for the hardcore fans.

Speaking of the hardcore Giants fans, some are a bit miffed because so many of us Johnny come latelys jumped on the Giants’ bandwagon and watched all the playoff games and the series having not watched any of the previous games that led up to it. I felt a tinge of guilt when some of them scolded people like me--for a few seconds.

So I admit I’m one of those. I suppose with that logic we would have to live in San Francisco to celebrate because they are the San Francisco Giants, not the California Giants or the Bay Area Giants. Or we can only share in it if we were born in San Francisco, native San Franciscans. Go back far enough and that would only leave Latinos and Native Americans who were here first as true celebrants. But it can’t be that narrowly defined.

When 911 exploded the entire world suffered. Yes, the people who lived there and lost family and friends suffered more but because we are members of the human race we are connected. We all cried. We all watched the news unfold for days and weeks. Some never set foot in New York City. Anything that happens to segments of society, good or bad, brings us together and thankfully it does. We need a lot more togetherness because we have little of it.

I follow the news and current events and somewhere it entered my stream of consciousness that something amazing was happening with the Giants. Well, of course I wanted part of it! Millions of us did. When something good happens it’s human nature to want part of it. Likewise when things go bad it’s hard to walk out the door in the mornings--and we’re crabby. Sometimes for days and weeks and months and years. So this was a good thing. (Excuse me, Martha.) In fact, it was one of those wonderful things that sports should be about and often is not. Not just the winning part because that comes and goes. It’s the intangible feeling this team managed to create. I’ve experienced other World Series events in my 65 years but I do not recall the excitement level of this particular event. This was just fly to the moon excitement. This was it.

My son was born in San Francisco, currently lives in Sacramento, took a day off from work, drove an hour to the Vallejo ferry, cruised to San Francisco on a clear sunlit bay with a boatload of delirious fans, was met at the Embarcadero by the wild parrots of Telegraph Hill (see documentary of the same name) and spent the entire day reveling in the glory that is the Giants—and his beloved birth city, San Francisco. The grainy photo I’ve posted with this blog is due to his Blackberry’s limitations and the lighting and the pulsating crowd. But it’s a keeper! He’ll tell his great grandkids that years ago when he was a young man . . .

This event touched everyone. People who never watch baseball or couldn’t name a single player on the Giants roster roared and danced and cheered and screamed then participated in a huge outdoor event that produced almost zero violence or trouble and instead brought close to a million strangers together in a way no one could have imagined. It came at a time when we needed it so desperately. A time when people are out of work, losing their homes, filing bankruptcy, divorcing due to economic stresses, election atrocities the likes of which we have never seen in this country including voting booth “accidents,” wacky candidates who are totally out of touch with the average person and what real life is about, corporations screwing us at every turn of the road in our every day lives, court systems failing, businesses failing and closing and tossing out their employees, crime everywhere we turn, endless wars and death and sadness of horrific dimensions, lousy customer service, even lousier goods being produced ELSEWHERE in the world and not here, drugs, gangs, nukes poised to strike if we look sideways at certain countries, and the list is endless. Then San Francisco went and produced a team that made us ALL world champions.

I can say that because we proved it at the celebration. We are all world champions because we didn’t riot or behave like Neanderthals or out of control freaks. We were simply and completely a sea of black and orange. I watched most of it on TV and could not distinguish race or even gender or size or any other factor we generally judge our fellow humans by. It was just a blur of gyrating images. And for a few hours we all loved each other. And California and perhaps the country as a whole shared in our local collective glee and pride and happiness.

Well, Texas not so much. [heh heh heh]


When I come hooooooommmmme to youuuuuuuuu, San Franciscooooooooo,
Your golden suuunnnnnnnnnn will shiiiiinnnne for meeeeeeeee.

Written by George Cory, with lyrics by Douglass Cross

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Blog series began in March 2009.]

S-T-R-E-S-S-E-D at Christmas?

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It’s almost Christmas. No, don't gasp in horror. Take a long hard look at the calendar. Count the pay periods. For those who do not celebrate Christmas this posting may seem a bit odd. For those who do celebrate Christmas but do not cook or purchase presents and rely on their wives and moms to do those things, this posting may also seem odd. This post is for those of us who do it all. Year after year after year after year after year. For me it has always been a love/hate relationship. [This blog is about the mechanics of celebrating rather than the religious importance. It’s such a huge event that people all over the world celebrate even if they are not Christian. Talk about an impact one human made on the world!]

The Ghost of Christmas Past (Sorry, Mr. Dickens)

I began my solo adult Christmas season prep at 22 when I married. Prior to that, Christmas meant going out with all my single friends during the holidays, dancing, parties, restaurants, ski trips, then two or three days at home to gluttonize and more presents than would fit in the car and my tiny apartment. Ah, the good ole’ days. I have vague peripheral memories of my mom during my childhood at Christmas. She was a blur in a pretty apron. Sort of like she was caught in a transporter beam and hadn’t quite materialized after being beamed up.

Childhood Christmases at my house were the year’s top event. Nothing came close. Not birthdays nor anniversaries or new babies. Nothing. We were Christmas fanatics. We were Catholic too and the Catholics really do Christmas. And we are Portuguese. For those who haven’t had the pleasure of eating meals prepared by the Portuguese at Christmas, well, there’s nothing like it. (One summer while camping when I was about 10 we found ourselves camped next to another Portuguese family. I’m still not fully recovered and I still haven’t lost the weight I gained from all the food. I’m 65.) I’m not maligning other Christian celebrations or other gene pools but I experienced Catholic Portuguese Christmases and then later Methodist and Presbyterian during marriage. I have to say, by comparison, the Catholics in my group were more intense. And not just the celebration with food and gifts but the religious element was huge.

For the first few years of my married Christmases I did very well. Lots of holiday decorations and nice meals. I invited family to our tiny apartment a couple of times but mostly we went to my sister-in-law’s home because she had a family and a large house. But I eventually had kids and preferred staying home and that’s when my childhood memories took control of my brain and wrung me out year after year. I became a stressed out fanatic. Though we weren’t devout churchgoers, when the kids arrived we made an effort to introduce them to religion and found a couple of churches we liked depending on where we lived. They were not Catholic churches and I found them somewhat tame and, I’m afraid, a little boring. I think that’s because they weren’t Portuguese. I could be wrong.

Each year while the kids were growing up I purchased more and more decorations. Eventually my boxes filled ¼ of our garage. To set up the house properly it took more than a week. Just lugging the boxes inside took a couple of days. Next, I moved things out of the house into the garage for the Christmas season so that I’d have room for all my decorations. So let’s say just preparing the house for decorating with moving in and out took about 2.5 days. More depending on the size of the house we lived in over the years.

Initially I started this about two weeks before Christmas but with Christmas shopping and food planning and grocery shopping increasing in insane amounts each year it never seemed to be enough time so I moved it out to three weeks. Eventually, I started Christmas prep the day after Thanksgiving. While others were out taking advantage of Christmas shopping bargains the day after Thanksgiving I was lugging boxes and furniture all over my house and garage. I decorated the entire house first then did the tree. The kids “helped” me and when they went to bed I took the 10 ornaments they put on one branch and placed them more evenly on the tree. Likewise with tinsel. I took the giant glob they had placed on the tree and spread it out. Years later I learned that tinsel was bad for pets so I told my kids we couldn’t put tinsel on the tree anymore because of our dogs. They were very compliant because they loved our dogs. (I hated tinsel.) By the following weekend the house was done.

Next, shopping. Shopping during the holidays is intense. The crowds, bad weather, stressing about finances, planning, learning about new guests that were coming, placed shopping at the top of my list of things I hated. At that time I did a lot of shopping for a large family. The in-laws, my family, and my stepsiblings. I had gone from a single-child childhood to a large family spread out all over the country. I also had a rather strong make-it-myself vibe and quite often made personalized gifts for each family member. I sent out over 300 Christmas cards and some years made them myself. When I bought gifts for my kids I had two distinct types of gift-wrapping. One would be traditional wrapping paper in various patterns but each year I purchased special foil wrap with special nametags—all from Santa. All the gifts that weren’t from Santa were placed under the tree early on. On Christmas Eve when the kids went to bed I brought out all the foil gifts and placed them sort of sloppily around the front of the tree to look like Santa dropped them there because he was in a hurry. The dogs ate the cookies and drank the milk the kids left for Santa. (Sorry kids.)

Finally, food. I spent a lot of time on menus. Sometimes we had out of state family staying with us which meant many meals. And because it was Christmas season I didn’t want ordinary meals so I always came up with holiday fare I’d find in magazines or recipes from friends. It all had to be special and it had to be cooked from scratch. I never took a short cut though there were plenty out there. I cooked and cleaned and cooked and cleaned and when the big day arrived I was up at dawn and cooked my heart out all day having already put on a huge buffet the night before. The day after Christmas I was unconscious.

One would think that after my divorce I would have pulled back. Nope. I became more fanatical. I think I tried to make up for the loss of our two-parent family so I went berserk. I continued doing the same routine but now with very limited finances. It was a juggling act of major skill and talent to pull great Christmases out of my sorry purse. But I did. Then, like always, the day after Christmas I was unconscious.

There are countless horror stories I could share. One year while working as a single¬ parent with two kids I spent an entire weekend in my pajamas decorating the house and wrapping gifts. I never got dressed. I was so desperate to get it all done that I got up at dawn and stayed up all night. When I drove to work Monday morning I hallucinated. Reindeer were flying over the top of my car. Preparing for the holidays as a crazed mom is a familiar story. There are those reading this who are tired just thinking about it. I’ve read so many articles on Christmas stress and how moms, in particular, experience major depression, horrendous fatigue, massive debt, and the overwhelming responsibility of presentation that this blog pales in comparison. But I think it’s fairly typical of my age group and perhaps younger women coming up are following this trend. Ugh.

The Ghost of Christmas Present

I don't do that anymore. It’s easy for me to pull back now because I’m no longer married and I don't have small children and I don't have grandchildren yet. When I do have grandchildren I hope I don't go crazy and if I do I hope my friends kick me. The last few Christmases have been peaceful events with fires, food (but not of the crazy caliber), visiting, watching great movies, a few simple gifts, and fewer days of celebrating. I still decorate and I still have ¼ of my garage filled with decorations, but that’s the only craziness I’ve allowed to remain. (I stopped sending Christmas cards and that added years to my life expectancy.) I still decorate because I love to see all the lights and colors and I have so many special decorations that were gifts from family and friends and I love seeing them each year. But I cut back on everything else. And I’m retired. No more racing home from work to prepare for the holidays. But even my last few years at work I had cut down on the hoopla and started just enjoying a more peaceful season. I’ve even purchased prepared food at the better stores that make wonderful specialty items for the holidays.

Our lives change over the years. We lose in-laws through divorce or passings, our kids grow up, our parents sometimes are gone, and life evolves. We should evolve too. We should only do Christmas Crazy if we can do it without a meltdown. I still see my mom as a flash of white light from my childhood. She did it all and worked full time. She wasn’t June Cleaver. Later in life she stopped and started really enjoying her Christmases. And now I do too. As someone said long ago—just say no.

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

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Voting is hard!

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Voting rights around the world are an ongoing disappointment. Through research before this posting I refreshed my memory regarding how problematic voting has been historically (and currently). Our own country only granted voting privileges to African American men (not women of ANY color) in 1870 with the 15th Amendment. 1870 isn’t that long ago for the land of the free. In 1920 women were finally allowed to vote after a huge movement and struggle. 1920. That’s only 90 years ago. President Woodrow Wilson wasn’t too keen on that amendment, but Congress was so we have the 19th Amendment. 1920. How old are you? That just doesn’t seem that long ago to me.

In addition to voting rights still evolving we have voting fraud in many parts of the world. We have armed men standing outside polling places forcing people to vote for a particular “candidate” and their ballots are reviewed to make sure they did. We also have armed men standing outside polling stations keeping people from going inside! It’s 2010. How can that be? And women are excluded in many places from voting at all. Here’s a link on our struggle in the U.S.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voting_rights_in_the_United_States

With all that said, the concept of voting is hard. And it seems to be getting harder. I have never missed any election in my entire life. In the beginning it seemed so clear and simple. I didn’t spend too much time looking things over and studying the people and issues. Now I spend hours on it and when I finally vote there is usually hair pulling and lots of coffee. Sometimes wine. When did that happen? (Not the wine, the stress about voting.)

Partly it’s because I’m older and wiser. I may have voted carelessly in my youth. I understood the big issues and the big people but I don't recall delving into all of it quite the way I do now, especially local issues and propositions and measures. I’m driven now and I’ve made major changes in how I vote and how I prepare to vote. For one thing, I’ve dumped going to the polling places and I’ve been voting via the U.S. Mail with absentee ballots for many years.

I couldn’t wait for the opportunity to vote. Way back then we had to be 21. To me it was truly when I became an adult. I could vote! The very first time I voted I lived in San Francisco. I got up on the morning of the my first vote and left a little early to arrive at the polling place when it opened to avoid being too late to work. I told my supervisor I was voting for the first time the next morning and he was thrilled and told me to take my time. Voting does that to people. It’s so incredibly special and so, well, American (except before 1870 and 1920).

So I skipped my leisurely morning coffee and walked over to my polling station. It wasn’t far and in fact was on the bus line I needed to continue on to work after voting. When I arrived there was a riot. Not a riot with guns and people running and screaming but a large confused and agitated bunch of people standing in front of a locked garage door. I joined the line and soon learned that the people responsible for opening the garage for voting were not there yet. We didn’t have cell phones in those days so we were all stuck wondering what in the world was going on. Some people knocked on the door of the home and no one answered. I waited 30 minutes then left and decided I’d vote after work.

When I got to work my supervisor was very excited and wanted to know how it went. He was wearing a button that stated in red, white, and blue “I voted! Did you?” He glanced at my chest (looking for the button) but I explained the problem and how disappointed I was. He immediately marched to his office and made several phone calls and shot questions at me and then asked for my address and after a few minutes he came out of his office with a piece of paper and my new polling location. Though volunteers were assigned to the closed location that morning they never showed up. Never. In fact, though I thought I’d be going there after work I was indeed directed to another location because—the poll volunteers never showed up. To this day I wonder how many people didn’t vote that day because of that failed location. My boss tracked down my new location. Did others have supervisors that did that? Polling location mishaps are more common than we like to think. Each election thousands of people are not able to vote for a variety of bizarre reasons. Some reasons are questionable.

After work I had to take a different bus, not as close to my apartment as the first location, and found the new polling place. I stood in line then found myself standing in front of three volunteers. After a painfully long period of time they determined I wasn’t on their list though I explained that fact to them when I arrived. Remember: no computers, no cell phones. Of course I wasn’t on their list. This wasn’t my official polling place! I was on the verge of becoming hysterical when a man approached the check in table and took me aside and we went to a small desk in the house (in the laundry room) where he made a phone call and found me. [Note: recently child molesters were discovered to be living at a few polling places in the Bay Area. Some voters checked the list of convicted molesters and found polling places housing these people. Those locations were then broadcast on the news. Bet that didn’t help voter turnout.] By this time many from my morning riot line had arrived and this poor man must have spent the rest of the evening checking them all in by phone in the laundry room. Very sophisticated voting procedure. The United States of America voting via laundry room authority. I wonder how many didn’t make the cut? Happily, I was allowed to vote and I did. Well, I wasn’t “happy” but it was done. I didn’t get a button that said “I voted! Did you?”

Prior to arriving at both polling places I had a list of people and issues written on a piece of paper clutched in my 21-year-old hand. As I waited for my turn, which took a very long time, I realized I was one of the few voters with a list. Not a single person seemed to have a list of options to take inside their booth. I was in and out in no time. As I put my ballot in a box the volunteer standing there asked “Are you sure you read the entire ballot? It didn’t take you very long.” A gentle scolding for a newbie. I showed him my handwritten list and he shielded his eyes.

Over the years I experienced similar situations but none quite that bad. Many had horrendously long lines with “volunteers” who were less than efficient. Many times I watched voters leave the line to pick up kids or husbands or wives or whatever and wondered if they ever came back to vote. Few brought their sample ballots or notes with them. In addition to that, new voting methods were introduced frequently, which propelled voters into frenzy. Let’s not forget the hanging chads. I read about that again while preparing this post and ended up laughing hysterically. It wasn’t funny. I was truly hysterical.

Shortly after the hanging chad fiasco my son and I came to a miraculous conclusion. Why couldn’t we vote from home on our computers? For many years I’ve been voting via the absentee method but why isn’t there a system for voting from home on our computers? We can pay our income taxes that way. We can pay everything that way. I signed up for Social Security and Medicare online. Certainly no more private or secret than voting. When we shop at a department store our item is input by our sales associate and it immediately inventories the item by numbers and colors and stocked items and the store knows the minute they need to order more of that item and my tax is charged and my credit card accepted and off I go. If I buy 30 items (say 15 candidates and 15 propositions) it’s all taken care of in a matter of a few minutes, possibly fewer than five. Why can’t voting be that way? It can and I believe there are sinister reasons that it isn’t being done. Or incompetent reasons. Either way it’s a mess. And why is voting so wildly different from location to location throughout the country? My computer can run my house and a small business and an airport but I can’t vote online?

I know I’ve said before during the 86 blogs I’ve posted that I’m not a conspiracy theorist but really, why does voting have to be so hard? My vet sends me lab results my dogs online .I get reports from my gynecologist online. That’s a lot more private than voting for my local mayor. And if privacy isn’t the issue, which the “powers that be” claim is a valid reason, then fraud must certainly be out there. Those same “powers that be” are worried about fraud. Guess what? We already have plenty of fraud in voting. Some deliberate and some due to incompetence. Lots of incompetence. [Though the absentee ballot is my preferred method I have some issues with the little packet. It’s insanely “busy” and easy to destroy by accident. A little rip here, a small tear there--and it becomes garbage.] For the folks without computers they could use a family member’s computer or vote at a voting center with volunteers---to assist them. My 85-year-old mother would prefer voting online because she doesn’t get out anymore but is computerized!

So the above diatribe is why I chose long ago to vote via absentee. I’m a permanent absentee voter. I have some acquaintances who enjoy going to their neighborhood polling place. I never once found that an enjoyable experience. Not once. I took both kids to vote when they first voted and we had the same poor experience getting through the line and waiting and waiting and waiting. Perhaps it’s because I mostly vote in urban settings. Maybe if I voted in Yreka it would be a more pleasant experience. (Small town in California.)

All that aside, the problem I have with voting now is I don't like most of the candidates and I don’t trust the issues. So though I’ve resolved polling place nightmares I now face the biggest problem of all: who’s telling the truth? That’s a lot worse than a hanging chad. Our politicians and the people who propose the propositions and measures are not to be trusted. Perhaps they never have been but today I don't believe any of them. So I spend hours and hours and hours and hours ferreting out the truth and the records of the candidates and then I feel like taking my entire ballot and putting it through the shredder. But I won’t and I can’t. I still believe those who fought for my right to vote deserve my respect even if our politicians don’t. So I vote. And it’s hard and it’s painful.

But like changing my polling place options I have now changed my ballot options. I no longer vote for the lesser of two or three evils. If I don't like any of the candidates after my research I do not vote for any of them. I always vote for the measures and propositions even though I get migraines after reading the materials and trying to figure out who’s lying. I still vote for the measures because I want to make sure whoever needs the money, if I believe them, gets it. If I don't like them, I vote against the prop or measure. With candidates it’s so much harder. If we research each candidate it is entirely possible to end up not liking any of them.

Some family and friends have told me I’m wasting my vote by not selecting the least objectionable candidate. I can just see that button: “I voted for the least objectionable candidate! Did you?” Back in May I posted a blog entitled Voting for Dollars. In it I discussed my dislike of the vile advertising that our politicians are allowed to spit at us for millions of dollars. Because I’m 65 I’ve watched it get worse and worse with every election, right down to local elections. There are countless reports on the evening news that depict awful commercials from other parts of the country that are deemed funny or outrageous or even scandalous. Some are absolutely untrue and sometimes the campaigns are sued but the cat is already out of the bag.

I persuaded readers not to vote based on the commercials but rather to read about everything instead. There’s so much information on all these people and the issues that it’s quite easy to find the right vote for each person. Voting for commercials is stupid. We can’t be stupid and we don't have to vote for anyone or anything if we don't want to. But we do have to vote. Especially women. Our sisters of long ago fought hard for us and we must honor them by voting. Even if it makes us sick to our stomachs.

We don't get buttons if we vote absentee. Maybe it’s for the best. How about “I voted but my heart wasn’t in it. Did you?” Or “I voted but only for one proposition. Did you?” Or “I voted only because my foresisters fought so hard for me to vote that I feel guilty if I don't. Did you?” They don't make big enough buttons.

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Blog series began in March 2009.]

Stuck in a copper mine with YOUR coworkers?

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Let’s examine our past or present coworkers and supervisors. What would it be like to be trapped with them in a mine for a couple of months? I retired at 62 and started my adult work life at 18. I’ve thought about the various offices I’ve worked in and wondered which of those “teams” would have survived in a mine disaster. I think I would have been dead in two days.

In each of the offices I’ve worked in there have been disappointing coworkers. Some were discourteous and disingenuous on a regular basis and would stomp on the bodies of those in the mine to get the last drop of water. I know that sounds harsh but I had very few coworkers I would trust with my life if stuck in a survival shelter. In fact, Lord of the Flies comes to mind.

In an early job my desk was downstairs in a textile company. One day I went to lunch and when I returned my desk was gone. It had been moved upstairs next to the owner of the company in an isolated part of the factory. He made advances. There were only four women in the company (downstairs) and the rest were men. I left and never went back. With this man’s serious aggression issues I would have had a tough time trapped in a mine with him for two hours let alone two months.

How many TV shows, movies, and books are out there on the topic of working with horrible people? Countless studies have determined that work efficiency can be directly related to the cohesiveness (or lack there of) of a work group. Selecting the right employees is an art form. So many managers failed art class.

Countless times over the years my lunch/beverages disappeared from office refrigerators. Not just a few times but countless times. In one office it happened so often I brought a “surprise” lunch one day with questionable leftovers and wrapped it all up nicely and waited. I suppose it was risky and the thief could have gotten sick but I was so angry I didn’t care. Sure enough, the lunch disappeared. I checked to see if it turned up in any of the lunchroom trashcans, uneaten, but I never saw it again. I believe to this day someone ate that disgusting lunch.

Sometimes the thieves took my sandwich storage containers as well so I switched to foil. I tried using lunch boxes and that didn’t help. Thieves went inside the lunch boxes and took what they wanted and left me with an apple. In one office I started writing the department manager’s name on all my lunches. They were never taken again.

Then there are team “projects.” So many misguided managers think they can encourage minimal workers to come up to speed with a team project when all that happens is the overburdened workers end up with the work in the end. The level of efficiency per person varies tremendously. The expectation that a person can be motivated to complete a project on time when they can’t get to work on time and can’t come back from lunch on time is ludicrous. Yet they need employment, but employment that suits their work style, whatever it may be. Management fails all of us when not providing proper tasks for individual abilities. Everyone can do something. Some can’t do much but can do small tasks well. It’s a management issue.

How many team-building sessions conclude with a return to the office and resumption of our collective complacency as though the team had never gone through a team building session? The team building sessions are fun but I never learned a thing about anyone that I didn’t already know. The same people who griped about everything every day griped at the team building sessions—often about the team building sessions themselves.

This same process was observed at inclusivity training. If one hates a particular group (ethnic, gender, religion, orientation or whatever) and has from birth, it is unlikely they are going to suddenly embrace those coworkers after an inclusivity session. I’ve never witnessed changes of that nature take place. However, when proper behavior is demanded I have noticed people pull in and at least behave civilly but their inner core remains hateful and it’s always on the surface. In a mine shelter it could turn ugly.

I’ve spent some time the last couple of days remembering specific coworkers and tried to place them in the mine. It isn’t a pretty picture. I recall one incident years ago when a sniper appeared on the top of my office building. The building went into lock-down. Most people quietly visited or read. Some continued to work a little to keep their minds off the activities outside. It was a tremendous opportunity to observe people in a scary situation and all the people behaved exactly as I thought they would. Some immediately took charge and told everyone to move away from the windows. They weren’t supervisors, just coworkers who knew instinctively what to do. More than one supervisor closed themselves off in their offices. Later they said it was because they wanted to continue working since their windows were on the opposite side of the sniper location. So they left their subordinates alone to fend for themselves. Pity the miners with those leaders.

A couple of people got a bit too emotional right from the beginning long before we had news about the situation outside. It only takes one emotional person to turn others into jelly. It’s contagious. Some got their lunch out of the lunchroom (probably my lunch). Some griped. There are always those. Others tried to figure out a way to get out of the office through a back exit. We were not allowed to leave the area where we were locked down but some decided they were not going to listen to the experts and therefore possibly put us all in danger by opening a locked door with the potential to allow the gunman inside.

The sniper turned out to be a homeless man with a broom sweeping the roof. As the office returned to normal after we got the all-clear very few of us were able to return to our routine work day. We sat at our desks and pushed papers around but we all talked softly and excitedly about the experience and recalled similar situations we had heard about in the news. Some with tragic endings.

I felt we should have been given the remainder of the day off to go home and relax and take deep breaths and be thankful that it was a broom and not a rifle. But the powers that be wanted their pound of flesh and so we remained. They concluded it was best for us to return to our normal routine. I wanted to go home and hug my kids. Screw the normal routine. Were the miners instructed to mine copper while they were waiting for rescue? No, I don't think so.

Some workers may not be the strongest or most clever or most organized but perhaps they are the strongest in character. People who would eat a tiny bite of cracker and be happy with it so that everyone would have a bite of cracker. (These would not be people who would steal someone’s lunch from a lunchroom.) Quite often it’s the quiet thinkers that get people through the danger, people who assess and think quickly but with common sense. Common sense is a gift. I know very few who have been gifted.

Years ago in a group of social friends, all married couples, we met for cocktails one evening to discuss where to go to dinner. Everyone had a favorite restaurant so I suggested we put all our choices in a bowl then pick one and that would be the place. We did that and a restaurant was selected and everyone griped and complained. I grabbed my purse and was ready to go to dinner but instead an argument ensued and another round of bowl picking began.

Another restaurant came out of the bowl and again an argument commenced. They were about to do this again when I said “forget it” and left with my husband. In the end, everyone left and went to their own restaurant of choice. I liked this group. We had fun together. I was tremendously disappointed that they behaved this way. Initially I blamed it on alcohol but I don't think that was it. I think it was their individual core values and I wouldn’t want to be stuck in a mine with them.

In addition to the sniper event the same building also experienced a bomb threat. It was years after the sniper incident but we all remembered the homeless man with a broom. We were inclined to think it was another hoax. We’d heard a pickup truck had a bomb under it in our parking lot and we were to vacate the building via the opposite exit. Naturally we could not head to the parking lot for our cars so we all took off far away from the scene. There wasn’t too much in the way of assistance for us because the concentration was in the parking lot. We ended up across the street but there were so many fire engines and trucks and police cars we couldn’t see a thing.

Not everyone had cell phones in those days but some borrowed phones from those who did and made calls and had loved ones pick them up. They left for the day. Others without alternate transportation left the area and went to lunch. We didn’t believe there was a bomb. After a comfortable two-hour lunch we went back to the bombsite and most of the fire engines and trucks and cars were gone but a few police officers were standing outside. They said we could go back to our offices and that the bomb had been located and removed. The bomb had been located and removed. There really was a bomb!

For those of us returning to the office it was an uncomfortable afternoon. Much worse than the sniper incident. After the sniper/broom incident we all relaxed and spent the day chatting nervously about the exciting adventure. Because the bomb was real we did not have the same casual carefree attitude. We were serious and concerned. At this point we didn’t know the origin of the bomb or the reason it was planted. None of us were eager to go home that night without inspecting our cars.

About an hour before we left that day word spread that the bomb was planted as the result of a personal dispute between spouses. With that knowledge we all felt relieved it wasn’t an act of terrorism but some of us worried that the spouse could have left other bombs just because he was deranged. The police assured everyone all cars had been checked and it was safe to leave.

The next day those who had left the event and gone home when we vacated the building earlier the previous day were in trouble. They had no authority to leave and they would have to take a vacation day for leaving without permission. So here’s my point: we had zero leadership that day and it was a real bomb. If we find ourselves in trouble without leadership it’s up to us to fend for ourselves in the most reasonable way possible. I probably would have gone home as well but my kids were too young to drive therefore I had no one to pick me up. Those who had rides went home.

This issue was hotly debated for quite some time and it’s my understanding that the employees eventually received regular pay for that day since we didn’t have a bomb threat pay policy. We in fact didn’t have any emergency policy related to pay. We had some safety policies for fire and earthquakes but that was the extent of it. There was also a lot of contentious bickering about the pay the workers received who did stay. The debate was they should have received extra pay because they remained at work in harm’s way. It was all so disgusting. We could have all been killed and the nastiness about pay lingered far longer than it should have. Longer than the memory of the real bomb. Wonder if the Chilean miners have to take vacation pay for their two-month stay in their shelter?

Another romantic disaster incident took place where a boyfriend brought a gun to work to shoot a woman’s boss and/or boyfriend. This happened in another building (same organization) and I’ve never gotten all the details. However, just hearing someone brought a gun to work sent a lot of us into a tailspin. Shooting people in the work place is somewhat commonplace and we all know innocent people are shot all the time when the shooter only meant to shoot one person. Work is scary, copper mine or otherwise.

I’m glad I’m retired. If I have an emergency now it will be just my dogs, my cat, and me. I trust them completely. (There could be cat nibbling I suppose, but no endless childish contentious sniveling money mongering bickering.)

[Here’s a list of fun items on the topic of coworkers, supervisors, and office dynamics. These are my favorites.]

9 to 5 (movie)
The Office (U.K. version and U.S. version, TV series)
Office Space (movie)
Ikiru (movie, Akira Kurosawa)
Mary Tyler Moore (TV series)
The Peter Principle (book, Laurence J. Peter & Raymond Hull)
Dilbert (comic strip)
Desk Set (movie, Spencer and Tracy)
The Firm (novel and movie, John Grisham)

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Blog series began in March 2009.]