Is This High School All Over Again?

Have you ever left work early because you just couldn’t take it anymore?  Have you called in for a ‘mental health day’ lately?  Do you question whether your coworkers are the spawn of Satan?  If so, then Hi, my name’s Gen Clever; you must work with the same people I do!  Nice to meet you and I’m so very sorry.   

Image Courtesy of ClkerFreeVectorImages

Coworkers:  People we are thrown together with, usually by circumstances beyond our control, generally in a work environment.  Different but similar people may be found in your organizations, clubs, or civil activities.  The bottom line is that you wouldn’t spend time with these folks without some form of compensation, monetary or otherwise.  It is a forced relationship.  Maybe that’s why it’s called a work-force…

Back at work some days feel like a high school field trip where everything is fun and everyone is bonding like fingers dipped in superglue.  Other days feel like that day in high school when that note you wrote got passed directly into the wrong hands and you felt more embarrassed than if you’d shown up naked to gym class. 

Alas, there are those high school tales of undesirables undergoing extreme makeovers and a musical montage morphing them into the Prom Queen with a heart of gold…  Spoiler Alert!  These tales are unlikely to unfold in the workplace.  One is generally the victim OR the bully, the awkward loner OR the socially accepted, not one and then the other.  Sometimes a transfer or promotion will toss you from one status to another, but after an initial adjustment period, one usually ends up in the same old group, just perhaps now wearing heels from time to time.

Where am I going with this? 

If you're like me, it matters emotionally how your coworkers treat you.  It matters more than how your boss does.  (Much like in high school where your peers’ opinion of you was infinitely more vexing than any teachers’.) 

Nope, definitely not me.

I once was Homecoming Queen of the workplace.  Middle management with a smile.  Stern but fair and pretty darn likable.  Kinda like the Prom Queen but better because I got to hang out with the marching band and that is so much more fun than cheerleading!!  I mean let’s face it: upper management is just saying the right words with the proper enthusiasm while simultaneously shunning the minions and pleasing the shareholders.  I’m just not that girl.  

So there I was, minor royalty, when the company decides to cut corners and ‘laterally move’ me.  (That’s upper management speak for a demotion without a pay cut.)  So here I am, working in a department I used to run.  Ouch.  It feels like the queen is now forced to eat lunch at the Goth table.

It’s not that I mind the Goths.  I look great in black.  I appreciate Poe.  I’ve dabbled in cynicism and sculpted my own ‘Bell Jar’.  I get it.  So now I deal with insecure clones that push me around because they know I can and have done the job better than them.  I get micro-managed.  I get to be the scapegoat.  I internalize.  Then I go home and write.  Thank you?  

Image Courtesy of Gen Clever at insane_ekard Productions

It’s simple: treat me as you would a stranger.  It’s the least you could do.  And hey, we all know you’re good at doing the least…  

Please feel free to share this memo.

This post means no harm to Goths, Cheerleaders, Prom Queens, or Upper Management.  Especially that last one.  

How Many Parents Do You Really Have?

Image courtesy of supakitmod at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

You may think that most people have no more than two parents.  Could you possibly be wrong?  I'm asking...

Perhaps you have one or more voluntary parents.  What constitutes a voluntary parent you ask?

A voluntary parent is an adult that loves and nurtures a child (or a grown-up child) with which they share no blood relation.

They are adults that care for us out of compassion, rather than obligation.

Sometimes the voluntary parent holds a potentially meaningless title or prefix like ‘step’ or ‘in-law’.  These mean different things to different people and often require an explanation of the relationship. 

The voluntary parent does things without thanks and with acceptance of the fact that you’ll probably never send them a birthday card.

The voluntary parent can teach you a lot about yourself because they see you more objectively than perhaps the rest of your family does.

The voluntary parent rarely plays the guilt card.

You probably won’t become a duplicate of your voluntary parent as you age, but you will miss them fiercely between visits, sometimes even more than your ‘real’ parents.

The bonds between you and your voluntary parents are very special and cannot be broken by time or distance.

So here’s to the parents who are just as important as... your parents.  Here’s to the Steps, the Aunts and Uncles, and yes, the In-laws.  Thanks for the love, the laughs, and the lessons.  I cherish all of you.

I miss you, Dad!

Why?

Why...

Can I Not be the Grown-up in the Room?

Do you ever wish some pseudo more grown-up version of yourself would show up in a responsible looking ensemble to be whatever kind of adult the situation needs?  I don't clearly remember but I imagine that when I was a kid I had the typical drive to grow up, make the rules, and run the show.  It looked like so much fun... driving, paying for stuff, staying up late, reaching the top shelf.  Gee, that looked swell.

So here I am now in all my full grown-ness drowning in the tiny minutia of chores that end up on a 'To Do' list that never seems too done.  I have so much to do, the only way I can keep track of it all is to write it down, like I have to trick myself into doing what I gotta do. Sheesh.

Image courtesy of jesadaphorn at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Friday afternoon I receive a call from the dentist's office.  My insurance company is dragging their feet paying for a root canal I had five months ago.  Add that delightful phone call to my list.  Next up: yard work!  I do enjoy most yard work and I think of how lovely it will be to have the work behind me so the fam can enjoy the yard this weekend.  Thirty minutes into my pleasure, the weedwacker quits working.  Ah well... I continue on with hedge clippers.  Not as fast, but my fence line looks pristine!  Hey, what's that pile of dirt under the tree over there?  Apparently, the mole colony I've been exorcising has returned. Okay, okay, they are a part of nature and a part of living in the wilds of Oregon.  I go to my deck box to get the repellent that doesn't really work but I can't kill the creatures no matter how ugly they are.  Oh my god!  There's a snake in there.  Really?!  What next?!  I need backup.

Image courtesy of geralt at pixabay.com

I go for help only to discover that I'm locked out of the house.  This is a true story kids.  I go to retrieve the hidden key from I can't tell you where, and the neighbors cat darts out from under the house.  Critters around the house are one thing.  Critters under it are quite another horror story.  It is at this point that I give up.  I throw in the proverbial towel and head indoors.  

Once safely inside I refer to my list.  I decide to assemble the new table I got from IKEA last week.  I realize at this point I'm tempting the fates.  Surprise! (or not) One of the legs has a manufacturing defect.  I may be getting screwed today, but this table leg sure isn't.  I spend the next two hours pondering a couple things.  Is it worth the risk of a highway ride to the Returns/Parts department? Also, are the fish tacos I want for dinner from the Pacific ocean and potentially toxic from the tsunami fallout?

Adulthood is fun but does not look like the brochure at all.  After all that I decided to scope Craigslist for a DeLorean or an old phone booth.  Anyone else on board?  I'm asking...

Why Can't I Buy What I Want?

Sorry guys, this one's for the ladies...  I have fashion problems.  These problems aren't that I can't dress myself in a fashionable way or that I'm stylistically impaired.  I do know how to make me feel brand new.  The problem lies with the makers of women's panties and tennis shoes.

Like any reasonable lady getting dressed, I'll start with the panties.  Why oh why can't I buy a package of solid black underwear?! I can buy a package of solid white underwear.  I can buy a package with one black pair in it, but inevitably that one lonely pair of black undies will share the package with at least one god-awful looking pair that has some juvenile pattern like polka dots or stars that I won't even wear on laundry day because no they're not 'fun to wear'. Seriously, why am I forced to buy my underwear individually simply because I prefer solid dark colors over silly designs or white granny panties?  I object!  I loudly, emphatically, enthusiastically object!  Who's with me?

"No trunks please" by Gerbil - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 
via Wikimedia Commons 
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:No_trunks_please.JPG#/media/
File:No_trunks_please.JPG

While we're on the subject of what really chaps my hide (pun intended), what's up with women's sneakers?  Why are they always covered in (or at least accented with) pink or purple or teal or coral?  Why is coral even allowed to be a color? Blech!  It's as if athletic shoe designers feel the need to emphasize the delicate gender of tennis shoes; as if women will go without gym shoes entirely if they aren't feminine enough.  Gross.  Have they forgotten our beloved Keds or our simple Reeboks of days gone by?  Did we not buy enough of them?  Have we not revived them at least once or twice? Now when I go sneaker shopping, it feels like a clown school costuming session.

Image Courtesy of Gratisography/Ryan McGuire

Dear shoemakers, I don't feel the need to draw attention to my running shoes.  I don't need flattering compliments on my kicks.  Nor do I want my feet to look like I ran through a puddle of toxic radiation.  I simply want solid colored tennis shoes dammit - and not Velcro strapped nursing shoes either.  And NO I don't want to buy them online.  I want to walk out of the shoe store with them under my arm while wearing my solid black comfy underwear that I buy in bulk.  Is that too much to ask?!  I'm asking anyway...

A Public Service Announcement about Grocery Shopping

Have you ever heard anyone say "Yay!  I get to go grocery shopping today!"?  Of course you haven't.  The supermarket can be a traumatic place for anyone, adults and hungry children who missed their naps alike.  As a public service, I have compiled a list of DOs and DON'Ts to help you on your next visit to the grocery store.

"Reihe Einkaufswagen" by 4028mdk09 - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Reihe_Einkaufswagen.JPG#/media/File:Reihe_Einkaufswagen.JPG

DO:  Take reusable shopping bags.  It's the green thing to do and you can avoid those pesky bag fees.  Some stores will even give you credit to boot!  

DON'T:  Ask for paper inside of plastic.  That is nonsense. Who does that?? Instead do DO number 1.

DO:  Keep your cart to one side of the aisle.  It's okay to go around, but be sure to merge back into the proper lane after passing.  Treat the aisle as if it were a roadway, in the U.S., not in England.

DON'T:  Let your kids push the cart.  They can't drive or make decisions and they will end up violating the second DO repeatedly.

DO:  Make decisions quickly.  Let's be real.  Most of the time the store has the same selection that it had the last time you were there.  If you want to try something new, then by all means try something new but don't take an inordinate amount of time making your decision.  People are waiting.  Carts are backing up.  We can only pretend to look at something else for so long...

DON'T:  Have phone conversations loudly enough for people two aisles over to hear you.  You are not impressing anyone with your "I'm so busy I can only call my stockbroker while I'm grocery shopping" routine.  If I wanted to hear conversation while I was shopping I would have brought someone with me.  There is a radio playing softly somewhere.  Let's all be quiet enough to enjoy it.

DO:  Bring a list.  It's okay to wing it when you know you need everything anyway.  But if you have specific items in mind, jot them down or create a list in your smartphone.  You'll save yourself the aggravation of circling around trying to decipher those cryptic aisle directory signs. 

DON'T:  Eat all the samples.  It's called a sample, not free lunch you inconsiderate selfish bastard.

DO:  Be courteous to the cashier.  If you can't be the bright spot in someones day, be the spot they forgot.  The cashier is generally not responsible for coupon fails, under staffing, or the cost of what you purchased.

DON'T:  Leave your cart, wagon, basket, or buggy in a parking space.  Those things have wheels and can become a rolling agent of destruction.  Plus, it's just plain rude.


Remember that grocery shopping is the modern day version of hunting and gathering. People are wild animals, especially when given any device on wheels.  Follow these tips and share them with a friend.  Together, we can make adulthood tolerable!

The text written here is my own original thought, work, and opinion, shared with love. Photos in this post belong to their original owners (not me) and are captioned with appropriate credit and used with permission.  No copyright infringement intended.  I only offer my humble rambling opinion.  Thank you.

Who Is Gen Clever??

To whom am I posing these burning questions?

Answer:  A person or persons with answers.

Perhaps an entire generation of such people has yet to be born...  I'm hoping she or they are here and simply have yet to be properly asked the right questions.  Or perhaps Gen Clever is the one doing the asking.

Image courtesy of FreeMediaGoo.com

Perhaps you dear reader are Gen Clever.  Are you a compass?  Is Gen Clever out there, or in here?

I'm asking...

Let's start with the BIG stuff shall we?!

Who, what, when, why, and how.  Right?  The important questions in life:  Who am I? What do I want to be when I grow up? When do I have to know by?  Why is it so important?  How much does it pay??  Decisions and questions and then some…

When I was in grade school I knew exactly what I wanted to be (an astronaut) and pretty much how to get there.  However, being as young as I was, I wasn't as thorough as I could have been in my planning.  It turns out that engineering is really hard, not to mention boring, and being an astronaut is more than floating around in a tin can pushing shiny buttons and drinking Tang.  Also, unless you look a lot like Sandra Bullock, you more than likely won’t successfully fumble your way home if you are the only surviving civilian after a space catastrophe.  Soooo maybe I chose the wrong career?

I can do anything I set my mind to.  That’s what my mama told me.  What she didn't tell me (or perhaps she did and I forgot to listen) is that money sucks and has a paradoxical relationship with happiness.  Money cannot buy happiness, but not having money can buy lots and lots of misery, on credit, at a ridiculously high interest rate.  I grew up with just enough to know that everyone else had a little more, but I was happy nonetheless.  Or maybe that’s why my life’s ambition was to get off this rock.  They never run out of Tang in space. 

I am definitely not unhappy now, but I can assure you that having more money would definitely not make me less happy.  My spouse makes twice the money that I do, but also works nearly double the hours.  So we bring home a lot of those freakish peanut pods that only have one peanut inside the shell.  (Same amount of work for only half the reward).  I feel like there exists somewhere a secret balance; a mystical percentage if you will, that allows people to work a realistic schedule and earn enough money to pay the realistic bills, maintain a realistic social life, and put away for those future days of retirement bliss; you know, realistically.  Who can do the math?  What are you waiting for?  When will you have this figured out?  Why weren't we told about this sooner (OR why didn't we listen)?  And finally how do we spread the message once the answer is found?

People are being paid millions to catch vermin and air their dirty laundry and bad habits on reality television.  I have no answers, only questions.  For instance, should I have learned to wrestle gators instead of spending all that time in college?  I’m asking…