"I'm a barista" "And I'm a Chance. Both good families."

I don’t mean to brag, but I have a pretty glamorous job.  I mean I get to do hours of filing and get to be the scapegoat for other people’s mistakes and get to retrieve the boss’ morning coffee.

The last task feels especially demeaning.  I realize that in the corporate hierarchy my job  amounts to little more than a glorified secretary, but still getting somebody some coffee is not the kind of thing I thought I would be doing ever, especially after graduating from college.

This morning I went to the break room and poured my boss his coffee and took it in to him.  I returned to the break room because I had left the coffee pot mostly empty and there is a giant sign above the coffee maker which was yelling at me to make a new batch.

Seems like a simple task, right? Not so much. I don’t drink coffee.  I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  The Lord has revealed a Word of Wisdom to help keep our bodies and minds healthy and strong.  The Word of Wisdom warns against use of alcohol and tobacco as well as ‘hot drinks’ which include tea and coffee. Because I don’t drink coffee,  I also don’t know how to make it..  One of my coworkers, was in the breakroom, so I asked her for help.  While she is also a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, she has worked at this job longer than I have, so I thought she would be able to teach me how to make coffee.  She attempted to, but she had a hard time remembering what needed to be done.  It was definitely an instance of the blind leading the blind, and when we eventually figured it out, we still weren’t sure if we had done it correctly.  

After that frustrating, harrowing ordeal, I returned to my desk, and the boss came out of his office and said, “You’re not much of a coffee drinker are you, Allison.”  I responded, “No,  why?” 

I had given him cold coffee that had been in the coffeemaker all night!  I was mortified! 

And then I was even more worried about how the coffee I had made would turn out…I gave the new batch to my boss, and as far as I know it turned out ok.  At least he didn’t say anything.  It’s entirely possible that the coffee was horrible and as my face was beet red for a good twenty minutes (at least) he might have felt too bad to make any comment.

By the by... the title of this post is a quote from an episode of Season 1 of Raising Hope--if you haven't see it, you need to check it out.

Prequels

I just saw that a prequel to the Wizard of Oz is coming out.

Really?

Didn't all of the important elements of the story already happen?

 Is it going to be about Dorothy as a kindergartner and the Scarecrow's progression from growing in a hay field to protecting the corn fields?


I'm just not a fan of prequels in general. Has there ever been a good one?  I can't think of one.


Why does Hollywood insist on ruining classic stories with stupid prequels and/or sequels?  


On the same website that I found out this troubling information, I also saw a headline stating that a 'Psycho' prequel was coming to TV.  I was too scared to click on the link....and not because of Norman Bates...but once again, didn't all of the important and exciting parts of the story already happen?


Hollywood needs to step it up in terms of their creativity.  Rehashing old story lines and adapting classic story lines into monstrosities that cast a horrible shadow over their classic, well-done forebears needs to be done away with.  At least that's what I would wish for if I had some ruby slippers.

Couch Potato

I wrote this a while back and just rediscovered it on my flash drive, so I thought I'd post it:

My new condo has new carpet and a new paint job, which is awesome.  The color palette for both is in the beige-tan area of the color palette, which is not my usual preference, but it creates a warm tone which is nice.  Also, I view it as a blank canvas to decorate with lots of color.

I’ve been looking for a couch for a few weeks now, even more so now that I've moved in and realize how much I miss having a couch.  I’ve been salivating over a couch I found online, it’s a beautiful floral pattern--which doesn’t sound like me, but trust me it is gorgeous.  Originally I’ve wanted a red, but not too red, couch.  The floral couch online looks like it has purple flowers, but its listed as red, so I’m not sure what  I would actually be getting if I did break down and purchase it. I love it, but I also think that it would be hard to find things to go with it.

So in the face of this indecision, today I branched out from online shopping and went to two furniture stores in the area.  At the first place I started wandering around, when behind me, I heard someone saying, “how are you today, Ma’am.”  Because it sounded so far away, and also because I don’t feel like I am old enough for people to call me Ma’am (sidenote: I don’t think that I will ever feel old enough for people to call me that…I hate being called ‘ma’am’ it makes me cringe) I continued to peruse the options, assuming it was directed towards someone else.  It wasn't.  After she called out to me again I turned around to find a saleswoman a good ten feet off, she hurried to my side, asked me what I was shopping for and then proceeded to take me around the entire showroom without my being able to tell her what specifically I was looking for in a couch, and then barely stopping long enough for me to touch the various couches, let alone to sit down and test them out.

            To be fair, all of the couches were so horrible that I didn’t actually want to sit down.  Okay, they weren't all horrible, but she kept pointing out tan colored couches that would be camouflaged in my condo.  Seriously if I had put one of those things in my living room, I’m not sure I could have found it again. I did like some of the models, but couldn't get past the blah color, so I asked if any of them came in different colors.  They didn't.  My trip was subsequently short-lived.  Fortunately she asked me if I liked contemporary or traditional style and she actually listened to my response so I was able to avoid anything with brass tacks.  Unfortunately she used my response of liking contemporary furniture to tell me that I’m a modern girl, something I’m still not entirely sure how to interpret.

            At store number two there were several salespeople standing around doing nothing, and as I shopped they continued with their busy schedule of doing nothing.  In fact one customer asked me where the table section was, which surprised me because I was wearing my overcoat so I didn’t think I looked like a store employee, and I was also curious as to why he felt I was more approachable than the employee-statues.  As I was finishing up the semi-circular route I was taking throughout the couches, which led back towards the front door, one of the salespeople told me goodbye,  which is odd seeing as how I wasn't that close to the front door (where they have an actual greeter) and I wasn’t done yet! It was wonderful customer service, let me tell you. 

            Store number 2 had a better selection in general, and had more color options, but the only couch I really liked was a red (!) one, but it was a sleeper, and I don’t want to spend extra money on a feature that I know that I will never use. 

            I know that I’m a picky person, but I didn’t think that it would be this hard to find a couch.  My biggest problem is that I’m anti- microfiber (don’t get me started), and I really don’t want to deal with the upkeep of a leather couch, plus it’s not my style anyhow.  (There do appear to be an abundance of red leather couches, which are just about the most hideous things I have ever seen in my entire life.  Do people actually buy these things?  I’ve seen them at all the furniture stores I’ve been too.  Are they so popular that stores keep stocking them, or are they so unpopular that they can’t sell them?  It’s a mystery.)

 I’m just looking for a simple fabric couch with a little bit of personality, which is a lot harder to find than I would have originally thought.

****update**** This story has a happy ending. While I didn't end up getting my red couch, I did get an excellent deal on some beautiful blue couches, plus I got tables and lamps all for the same price as the red couch I was considering.

Tick...Tick...Tick....Boom!

I work for the government.  I got so bored just typing that sentence that I fear for the rest of this post. I had a point when I began this post, but that first sentence has summed up my pathetic work life a little too well and I'm not sure if I should even bother to continue. (Obviously work is going really well for me right now...).  Anyways, government buildings, like the one I work in, are sometimes targeted by disgruntled people, idiots, activists, and even pyschopaths (and in the case where the term "going postal" is derived, government workers themselves)....well at least that's what we've learned about in our security training seminars.

Today I was sitting at my desk diligently doing my work, when a coworker came by and told me the building was being evacuated.  (Kids, the lesson to take home from this is that hard work is rewarded, sometimes instantaneously).  I grabbed my purse and headed towards an exit, but the majority of my coworkers were hanging out the in the halls chatting and questioning if it was a real evacuation, a few people were leaving via the elevator (in an effort to get to their cars and leave before they were locked out of the building and potentially stranded), and others were sitting at their desks refusing to move until an "official" evacuation was called (perhaps they only considered an actual bomb going off as official?).

It was a well executed safety plan on many levels.

I headed to my department's designated emergency meeting spot and was informed that a suspicious package had been discovered near the building, hence the evacuation.  I speculated that the package was a homeless man's clothes. Roll was taken by our emergency team leaders, who were looking very dapper and not at all dorky in their official orange vests, with their clipboards and walkie-talkies (they were  very Dwight Schrute-esque).

Luckily it was right before lunch and after they took roll we got to go eat anywhere we wanted--provided that we could walk there, seeing as our cars were trapped in the parking structure under the building.

After lunch we still weren't allowed back in the building.

We waited....and waited...and waited....until....

BOOM!

There was a small explosion as the bomb squad detonated a bag of clothes (See! I am psychic).

We returned to work, but its amazing how tiring waiting around can be, especially when that waiting period stretches on for two and a half hours and has no end in sight. I was exhausted when I got back and all of my motivation and probably even my ability to work was gone. Plus it was Friday afternoon, when all of my motivation and ability to work competently is gone anyways---but I'm sure you can imagine how the forced evacuation would make these feelings multiply exponentially.


I not only survived the suspicious bag filled with clothes, but I survived the rest of the work day.  I'm thinking of having t-shirts made up....

Big (Not) Yellow Taxi

My car was sick this past week. At least that's what I assumed based on the fact that the check engine light was on.  With a road trip pending I felt even more urgency than normal to get my car fixed.  So I braved my extreme fear of telephoning strangers and called up the car dealership and scheduled an appointment.  The appointment being on a workday, I had to figure out a way to work after I dropped my car off to be fixed. Which is how I rode in a taxi for the first time in my life.

I'm kind of an urbanite. I'm a city girl, and riding in a taxi cab has been an unfulfilled dream for pretty much my whole life.  When I was nine I got to go to New York City, but a cab ride was not in the stars for me at the time, it was rather disappointing.

The long-awaited cab ride was disappointing on several levels. First off, the cab was red. Granted that was my fault for calling the particular cab company that I did, and normally I love the color red, but in my opinion taxi cabs should be yellow. They just should.  Second, every time I looked at the meter, I had a mild panic attack as the dollar amount I owed rose and rose and rose. Third, the cabbie didn't ask me any trivia questions (ok, I didn't expect to be on the show Cash Cab, but I couldn't help but think of that show during my car ride).  Fourth, it was kind of awkward to ride with a complete stranger.  I actually ended up having two taxi rides to and from work that day. The first cab driver was friendly and we chatted for a little bit, and it was actually pretty fun.  The second driver had a pretty severe case of anti-social personality disorder and was stoically silent. I have this compulsion to make conversation when there's silence of any kind, but feeling that it would be less awkward to sit in silence than to strike up a conversation with this gruff, abrupt gentleman, I refrained from trying to fill the silence in this instance. Barely.  Finally, the cab ride was disappointing because, as I discovered first-hand, cabs are smelly.  It wasn't overwhelming, but it was pretty unpleasant.  I'm not sure how some people in larger cities can handle having cab rides as their main mode of transportation--I know that my nose wouldn't be able to handle it.

Although disappointing, I can now say that I've ridden in a cab! Which is oddly fulfilling.

On a completely unrelated note (meaning completely and totally separate from me or my circumstances), did you know that not having your gas cap screwed in tightly enough can set off the check engine light?

Design Seminar

I dragged my friend to a free design seminar at a local furniture store this past week because:

A) It was free

B) I like interior design

C) The store was giving out $25 gift cards to the participants

When we arrived, there were only a handful of people there. It was also immediately apparent that we were a lot younger than the rest of the group. The designer conducting the seminar was obviously surprised by our youthful presence. He was also apparently quite excited by this fact because he spent the evening mainly speaking to my friend and me and asking us questions, while either ignoring the rest of the group or calling them 'old' numerous times as he explained complex terms such as 'retro' and 'vintage.' Also, whenever he attempted to explain anything (such as contemporary vs. traditional style) he ended u p contradicting himself. A lot.

It was entertaining, if not very informative.

At the end of the session, while they had a drawing for a $50 gift card, the designer came up and talked to me about the comments he had forced out of me earlier. I was content to just sit back and soak in the information but while he was preaching solely to the "young crowd," he also wanted the "young crowd" to share their opinions and ask questions.

It was nice of him to follow up, fur the problem was he didn't let up. I tried to break up our conversation numerous times, but with no success. His persistence and the fact that he wasn't actually listening to what I said, made for a not very interest, mostly one-sided conversation.

I purposely avoided eye contact with my friend, because I was holding back laughter at how absurd this guy was, and I knew I was about to start laughing if I looked at her. He continued in his persistent efforts to convince me that the designing world was at my fingertips, even though I am completely broke and had informed him of such.

I ended up breaking out in a hearty laugh, which caused my friend to laugh. My new designer "friend" also laughed, but it was a social laugh-simply laughing because we were. I felt bad about laughing at him, and I had tried with all my might to keep it in, but failed miserably. He was completely oblivious to the fact that we were laughing at him, which unfortunately caused me to laugh harder.

Finally I found a gap in the conversation to thank him and inform him that we needed to be on our way.

To this he responded, "Okay, let me show you something."

Another bout of laughing ensured as he led us halfway around the store to show us some retro designs mixed with modern furniture. On this little tour my friend pointed out to me a couch that she liked. I excitedly informed her that that was the exact set that I had purchased the week before for my new condo.

Interrupting me, the designer told me, "No, you don't want that one." At this point I almost couldn't breathe, I was laughing so hard, but he continued to lead us through the store and then showed me a horribly ugly burgandy colored couch which was clashing terribly with a red rug.

I guess our non-enthusiasm about this furniture set, and my once again thanking him and telling him we needed to go finally convinced him to leave us alone, and miraculously he left.

There were definitley strings attached to this free seminar, mostly in the form of trying to ward off the persistent designer...but for a free night I did get some pretty good laughter therapy.

How I Learned that Trespassing is Just a Citable Offense

Today I went to get the keys to my new condo and to hear "the good news and the bad news" which I had been informed of earlier that week. I met my aunt (also known as the Amazing Realtor) and her trusty assistant (my cousin) at my condo, where I found them deep cleaning my bathrooms, but they had been hard at work cleaning my whole apartment before I had arrived.

My Aunt asked me if I wanted to hear the good news or the bad news first. Being the eternal pessimist, I opted to hear the bad news first (plus my curiosity was overwhelming me). This is the bad news she relayed to me.

She had been informed after our closing (read after the property belonged to me) by the title company (I believe...not entirely sure) that the seller was upset that I was living there already. Apparently after his closing he had gone to give his goodbyes to his friend and former neighbor. She had informed the seller that she was under the impression that someone was already living in the condo. My Aunt informed the individual from the title company that she had been coming and going with plumbers and electricians who were creating bids for a little home improvement project, and so that was probably why the neighbor was under the impression that somebody already lived there.

Well with that topic on her mind, when she went to go get the condo keys for me from the lockbox, she decided to check out the apartment (something that she probably wouldn't have done otherwise). In the kitchen was a cell phone charging, there was a bra hanging off a doorknob, and a camp chair set up. She bravely stepped further into the condo and called out to see if anyone was there. From the bedroom she heard snoring, so she promptly went outside and called the individual at the title company to inquire if they knew who it was. They didn't and advised my Aunt to call the police, which she did.

Yes. I had a squatter in my condo. A SQUATTER! IN MY CONDO!

An officer arrived on the scene, who announced, "Salt Lake City Police. Identify Yourself."

My squatter apparently started freaking out and packing up. At some point she informed the officer that she was the sister of the cleaning woman and then later told him she was the woman hired to clean the apartment (I'm assuming that the seller had hired a cleaning woman, because I certainly didn't). Either way, she definitely did not have permission to be there.

The contractor,(hired by the seller, for who knows what) ended up coming by and he knew the woman but informed the police officer that he had given her permission to stay there (not that he had the right to give her permission anyhow...).

The squatter was cited for trespassing and the contractor drove her away.

The whole time I was hearing this story I was feeling shocked, amused, and completely creeped out.

The Good News:

1. That very hour my Aunt had a locksmith come out and now I am the only one with keys to the condo.

2. The police officer, who works the entire area for which I was looking for my new home, informed my Aunt that the area my condo is in is excellent. He's been on the force for I believe 10 years, and says they never get calls to come to the Condo Association. He also informed her that there was probably not a better place for a single woman such as myself. (I felt really good about the condo and the area, but after hearing about my squatter I was justifably concerned, but hearing this opinion of the area from this police officer has allayed my fears. Also, the new locks certainly don't hurt).

3. Timing-wise it worked out well. I'm moving in officially tomorrow, and if I had run into the squatter tomorrow, I know that I would have been too freaked out to live on my own. Also, my Dad probably would have gone gone ballistic and someone would have ended up hurt.

4. It is a GREAT story! Even though I was mortified by the creepiness factor of someone being in the condo, and was grossed out by the fact that she was living there (which was the main reason my awesome Aunt and Cousin were cleaning up the place. For a self proclaimed cleaning woman, it was really dirty.), the story was still really comical and amusing.

My Aunt told me that this was the weirdest thing that has happened to her in all her years in real estate. And this story even tops her Broker's story of going over to a couple's house to sign papers and the wife was cooking dinner in the nude.

Additional Details:

I joined in on the cleaning and as we did so we found remants the squatter had left behind: a plastic bag of hygiene items in the bottom of the storage unit; lipstick, a sweater, and a tangerine in the top kitchen cupboards, newspaper in the closet....There was also spilled alcohol in the freezer (yuck) and tangerine peels and a beer bottle cap in the kitchen disposal.

After hearing the story, my Aunt asked me to go check in the storage unit to see if the squatter had left anything in there. She had. It was then that I realized that when I had first viewed the condo, there was a sleeping bad and other camping supplies in that closet, which I had just assumed belonged to the seller. They weren't there today, so I guess they were the squatter's. Which is even creepier because that was at the beginning of the February. I'm not sure how long the squatter has been staying there, but it appears to be at least a month!

I'm so grateful for my Aunt and all that she has done to help get me into this condo, and then subsequently in helping to evict the squatter and cleaning up after her! She really is amazing. Thank you Janet!