How to Ruin My Day

I went to the bank today and the teller greeted me by asking "How are you?" Without thinking, I gave my standard reply: "Okay." That's when another teller asked, "Just okay?"

This isn't the first time I've had someone challenge my answer to that question and every time it pisses me off. First, there's an inherent condescension, implying that my first answer wasn't good enough. And second, it ignores the point of the question. "How are you?" and the like are salutations similar to "hello." Any reply I give that's even moderately positive is simply me acknowledging the greeting.

When I was challenged, I replied "It's better than being [expletive deleted]." The teller who had rejected my first response laughed, apparently not noticing the tone in my voice. I was annoyed, but I tried to ignore it and just take care of my business.

When I was finishing up, the teller who challenged me said that she hoped my day would get better. I had tried to ignore her, but she brought it up back up. I asked her why she challenged me and she seemed legitimately taken aback. "I just always say I'm doing wonderful," she said.

"Not everyone has to say that," I said, pointedly, "and that should be fine. You kind of ruined my day." Then I walked out, noting that she didn't even offer an apology.

I made it back to the office in a sour mood, but I welcomed the distraction. Then, about thirty minutes before closing, the branch manager called me, asking me how my earlier visit had been. I've never gotten a courtesy call before, so I'm guessing she heard about the exchange. I told her what happened, making sure to point out that the teller who actually helped me had been quite pleasant, and explain why I had been so offended. The manager promised that she would address the matter and thanked me for my candor.

I try to avoid conflict, but today it seemed unavoidable.

#IanandSherlin2016

This past weekend, my brother Ian married his fiancé Sherlin.  Not everything was perfect, but it all came together when it mattered.

Leah met me at my apartment on Friday morning (both of us took the day off) and we took my car to Ian’s place.  We weren’t there long before we caravanned to Ian’s ward building to prepare for the reception.  After setting up the tables and about a dozen chairs, I noticed that the floor of the cultural hall was in need of vacuuming, so I volunteered myself for the task.  While I vacuumed, Ian, Sherlin, Isaac, Falisha, and Leah worked on more intricate preparations like setting up the microphone and putting tablecloths on the tables.  A lot of the decorations were customized by Sherlin and her friends, like the table banner with handwritten letters or the custom, machine-cut candle holders, making everything feel all the more unique.

Preparations

In the evening, when we were supposed to be practicing at the chapel at Fort Meade, we stood around in the brisk air just outside.  Due to a lack of communication and a severe case of absent-mindedness, the caretaker of the chapel key had failed to unlock the building for us.  There was a lot of discussion over how long we should wait, but eventually it was decided that we would practice in the hall of the nearby commissary.  We got plenty of odd looks as we lined up and practiced our entrances, but it helped us work out a few kinks, so I think it was worth it.  After a few times through, we were done.  Ian invited us back to his place for pizza, which I took him up on.

Since tradition dictates that the groom should not see his bride before she walks down the aisle, Ian stayed at my apartment, along with Isaac and Henry.  I was very tired after all of the setting up we did, so I asked Ian to drive for me.  Isaac rode shotgun, which put Leah and me in the backseat.  It was a bit strange sitting in the back of my car for the first time, but it was nice to relax.

The following morning, after all of the Larsen men were dressed in our wedding finery, we drove back down to Ian’s ward building for a final bit of preparation.  After the fiasco of not being able to get into the chapel on base, Ian planned ahead and got permission from his bishop to have the wedding ceremony there, just in case.  He made sure that very few people even knew about the backup plan, but those who did were sworn to secrecy—he didn’t want to stress out Sherlin who had plenty of things on her plate already.  Thankfully, the building was unlocked and we were able to proceed as planned.

Time to start!

The ceremony itself was lovely.  While the words of the chaplain were nice, I really liked the individual vows that Ian and Sherlin wrote: they both included each other’s kids in their vows, promising their love to them as well.  I looked over at the bridesmaids from my spot at the front of the line of groomsmen a few times and saw that all of them were tearing up.  Needless to say, it was beautiful to see these two people dedicate themselves to each other.

Since I was in the bridal party, I don't have any pictures of the actual ceremony,

so here's one of the chaplain signing the marriage certificate.

After the wedding, the reception began.  Most of the food had been prepared by Sherlin and it was delicious, as always.  The cake was great too, despite the center tier (which I made) not being as structurally sound as hoped—still, it held up long enough to be cut, which is what really matters.

So much good food!

Iris gave her maid of honor speech, which was beautifully prepared.  Then the groomsmen got up to deliver ours.  Ian had decided that he wanted to have us play an improv game for our speech and had given us our instructions a few weeks prior: we would all stand in a line and say a single word each in succession, until we had each said six words (for a total of thirty-six words).  When he gave us our assignment (via email), I immediately responded that he was being ridiculous.  I had decided that I would just be as silly as possible and say “dinosaur” or “laser” at some point, but one of the more practical groomsmen just wrote a speech for us to use.  Even though it defied Ian’s instructions to be spontaneous with our speech, I was happy to have something prepared.  Another groomsman suggested that we just write our words on our hands and blatantly read them when we delivered the speech, which we did.  Even so, we had to practice it a few times before the reception started, but it all worked out and I think that Ian appreciated the effort we made, even if didn’t follow all of his instructions.

A lovely speech by a lovely lady.

Margot and Bryan sang a song that Sherlin had specifically chosen for the day.  They did a wonderful job and sang the song beautifully.  Then Sherlin and Ian shared their first dance.

After I posted this picture to Facebook, Ian adopted it as his new profile picture. I guess that means he liked it!

Leah got involved, too.  On the way to the ward building, she picked up washable markers to write on  the windows of Ian's truck.  She got Iris, Falisha, Margot, and Jen (Sherlin’s best friend) to help her with the decorating and I think it was a nice bonding experience for them all.  I then worked to keep Ian away from his truck until they left for the evening.  I’m sure Ian thought I was being very nice running out to his truck for things a few times, but I was mostly just keeping him inside.  As for how the surprise went over, I can’t say.  When it was time for the big reveal, I was busy wrangling my several nieces and nephews.  Still, I suspect that they enjoyed it.

Sometimes wrangling kids is adorable.

One important activity that happens at every wedding is the bouquet toss.  Sherlin was very inclusive and invited all the women in the room to participate, regardless of marital status.  Even with the big crowd, Leah caught the bouquet.  Does that mean anything?  We’ll have to wait and see.

She shoots!

And it's good!

I’m so happy for my brother and new sister-in-law.  Marriage is tough and with them each coming from a failed one, it would be easy to swear off marriage entirely.  But they knew what they wanted in a spouse and found it in each other.  I wish them the best and look forward to many happy times with them and their children.

Congratulations, Ian and Sherlin!

New Policy

For many years, I have felt strongly about not giving money to panhandlers.  I have good motivation for feeling this way.  In one area of my mission, my companion and I knew a homeless man who regularly asked us for money that would almost certainly go to booze (he was at the stage of his alcoholism that he was having seizures if he didn’t drink every day).  I don’t want to help fuel an addiction, and since I can’t be sure where the money is going, I don’t give to anyone.

(Now, I do want to say that if a person on the street is playing music, I happily contribute.  They’re working as performers, which is a very different situation than simply saying, “Give me money for nothing.”)

However, just because I don’t want to unintentionally support an addict, that doesn’t mean that I’m unfeeling.  If I could lend support to the men and women I encounter in a way that can’t be used for drugs or alcohol, I would be interested in that.  Turns out, there’s something easy I can do that’s really a no-brainer, if only I had thought of it: water bottles.  Leah keeps a case of water bottles in her car, partly for her own use and partly so she has something she can give to panhandlers.  I thought the idea was fantastic, so I adopted it.  I was excited to be able to help out the destitute of my community, but since buying the case of water, I either haven’t seen a panhandler or I only see them when the light is green.  Even so, I’m sure that I’ll have a chance to give a bottle away soon enough.

I’m grateful that I have such a kind and clever girlfriend who inspires me to want to help those around.

Witness

After the baseball game a couple of weeks ago, I was driving home when I witnessed a car accident.

Traffic had been heavy near the city, but it opened up as I got farther away. On the freeway I was on, there are four lanes, which I will reference to as the lane closest to the center median as lane one and so on, with lane four being the far right lane.  As I neared the Fort McHenry tunnel, I tried changing lanes, moving from lane three to lane two (with the ultimate destination being lane one), but I saw a car in lane one move over to lane two where I wanted to be.  I was annoyed that he moved to where I wanted to be, so I slowed down and let him pass me.

Once he was in front of me, I kept an eye on him.  He kept moving from lane to lane, never using his blinker. I thought he was either a dumb kid messing around or was distracted (likely on a cell phone).  As I watched him, I noticed an electric sign with a flashing orange arrow in lane one, indicating that we needed to merge to the right—the Fort McHenry tunnel is made up of four tunnels with two lanes each (two tunnels going north and two going south) and occasionally half of the tunnels will be closed for maintenance, which was the case that night.  Not only did the driver who kept moving around not see the electric arrow, he drifted too far to the left and hit the center median, sending sparks flying.  Seconds after he hit the median, his car hit the electric arrow and he careened across the other lanes, finally stopping in lane four.

After witnessing the crash, I quickly decided to stop and see if the driver was okay.  I pulled over just ahead of him, parking my car in lane four with my hazard lights flashing (in retrospect, I should have pulled all the way over into the shoulder, though my car was fine where it was).  A truck driver also saw the crash and stopped his rig, blocking traffic immediately behind us.  I walked up to the crashed car (a white sedan that I would guess was at least ten years old), which judging from the damage, would never be drivable again.  The driver, a white male in his early twenties with a scruffy beard, was in shock but otherwise appeared to be fine.  He rolled down the window so we could speak.  While not word for word, our conversation went something like this:

ME: You okay, man?

HIM: Uh, I think so.

ME: Okay, good. Have you called 911, yet?

HIM: No.

ME: Okay, I’m going to call them.

HIM: Can I call my dad first?

ME: Let me call and get emergency services out here first, but after I call, yeah, you can call your dad.

I made the call and told the dispatcher where we were, which was easy since we had stopped right next to a mile marker.  She told me that crews would be on the way soon.  I then asked the kid (whose name was Billy) for his dad’s number so I could call.  With the number dialed, I passed Billy the phone.  His dad didn’t pick up, which makes sense since it was approaching midnight and my number would only show up as “unknown.”  Billy left a voicemail and passed the phone back.  With the calls made, we waited.

During all of this, the trucker walked over and checked on us and told me that he would wait for the road crew to arrive before taking off.  I expressed my gratitude and he walked back to the cab of his truck.  I asked Billy if he wanted to get out of the car and he decided that was a good idea.  I could tell that he was still in shock, so I decided to talk to him to try to get his mind off of what happened.  I asked him if had done any drinking that night (which I realize now was not a great opener), with the assurance that I wouldn’t say anything to the police.  His response?  “Obviously.”  I told him that at least he was okay, so things would work out.  He then started having a bit of a panic attack, saying that he wished that he had died in the crash.  He even got in my face a bit too close and said that if I had a gun that I should shoot him.  I think he was worried about getting a DUI on his record and didn’t want to face the consequences.  I tried to calm him down, but nothing worked, so I ended up just walking away, leaving Billy to lean against the side of his wreaked car.

Before too long, I saw lights flashing and heard sirens.  Before I saw any police, I saw the road crew come in so they could clean up the mess and get more than one lane of traffic flowing again.  The trucker told me that he was taking off so he would could his delivery and wished me well.  As the trucker walked away, I saw a police officer, so I walked up to him and explained that I was the witness who had called and gave my testimony of what I saw.  True to my word, I said nothing about Billy admitting to drinking that night.  I reasoned that my testimony of anything beyond what I actually saw would only count as hearsay and that the cops would use a breathalyzer anyway.  Once I got through everything, the officer asked me to wait in my car in case they needed anything else from me.

I waited in my car for about ten minutes when a different officer came up and tapped on the passenger window of my, which I rolled down so we could talk.  The officer gave me a paper form and a pen and asked me to write down my testimony, along with my contact information.  He also thanked me for staying saying, “Not a lot of people stay, so thank you.”  I filled up the allowed space on the form with my testimony, finishing just as the officer came to retrieve it.  He thanked me again for staying and told me that I may be called to testify in court, but that that was unlikely.  With that, I drove off, getting home around 12:30 AM.

The next morning, around 6:45 AM, Billy’s dad called me to ask how his son was doing.  I gave him the gist of what had happened and suggested that if he hadn’t heard from his son, that he call the Baltimore City police for more information.  He thanked me and wished me a good day before hanging up.  While the emotion strongest in Billy’s dad’s voice was concern, a close second was annoyance.  I think that Billy was arrested for driving under the influence and spent the night in jail.  I also suspect that it wasn’t Billy’s first time in that situation.

What I took from this experience more than anything else is how important it is to listen to promptings from the Spirit, even when we don’t realize that’s what they are.  I saw Billy switching back and forth between lanes with enough room to avoid him.  I decided to hang back and watch what he was doing, rather than speed up and pass him (which may have made me a part of the accident).  Once the accident occurred, I pulled over to check on him.  All of that was from the Spirit, subtly directing me, first keeping me safe, then keeping Billy safe.  I’m grateful that I was able hear the promptings and that I heeded them.

The City of Brotherly Love

On Saturday, I went to the Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Temple open house with my ward.  The trip down was a bit longer than expected due to heavy traffic, but the wait was worth it.

The Philadelphia Temple was designed with a neoclassical aesthetic and most of the people I talked to said that it reminded them buildings in the National Mall, like the White House.  The outer walls are covered in granite, while the interior had lots of intricate wood work on wall moldings.  Unique to the Philadelphia temple is a painting in the waiting room depicting the signing of the Declaration of Independence, an event that was ordained of God and happened in the same city.

While I was mostly marveling at the architecture and design work, others were impressed with the spirit of the temple, which could be felt even before being dedicated.  Brian, who was baptized that morning before we left Baltimore, felt especially moved while we were in the Celestial room, saying how he can't wait until he's been a member long enough to be worthy for a recommend.  Alex, who's struggled with his activity in the Church, asked the Bishop "What would it take for me to get a temple recommend?"  It's amazing how people are touched, simply by seeing a temple.

The DC Temple has a permanent replica of the Christus, so I've seen it several times very recently.

Even so, it doesn't get old.

Most of the group from my ward in front of the Christus.

After the tour was over, we met up at large indoor food court for lunch, though a late one.  Being in Philly, I had to get a Philly cheesesteak.  The one I got was from a food stand called By George.  It was a really good cheesesteak. It was also huge -- I still have half of it waiting for me in the fridge.

The picture may by posed, but that facial expression is genuine.

While Leah didn't come to the open house with the ward (she's going with her mom later this week), I went to see her after I got back.  I met most of her family at a get-together at her mom's house and they were all very nice, if uproarious, people.

And, unrelated to my visit with her family, Leah and I have decided to exclusively date each other.  That's right: we're going steady.

Leah and me outside of our church building.

This weekend was jam-packed with activities and people, but I enjoyed it all and I'm happy with the results.

Audience Participation

Now that I'm on Facebook, I share smaller things more regularly.  That ability to post constantly makes it tough to know what works best for Facebook and what works best for this blog.  In the case of Independence Day, I went into more detail on this blog than on Facebook, but I still posted about the exact same things in both places.

Additionally, I've been struggling with thinking up content to post here.  For most of the last three years, I've written out the post for the next day the night before so it can go live in the morning.  But for the past several weeks, I've barely gotten each day's entry out before midnight and I completely missed Wednesday's post this week.

So, rather abandon this blog -- because it is important to me -- I am asking you, dear reader, to leave comments to help give me some ideas about how I can do better with my posts.  Offer suggestions, tell me what you like about the blog, tell me what posts made a big impact on you.  Should I only talk about my daily life or should I try to include more essays?  What do you come to this blog for and how can I do better at meeting your expectations?  Now, this will only work if a lot of you participate.  I know that not everyone who has access to this blog reads my posts regularly, but for those of you who visit at least once every couple of weeks, please leave me some kind of feedback.

I look forward to reading your comments and, hopefully, improving my role as a blogger.

Mild Success

I attended a YSA temple night tonight.  It was the most packed I've seen the Endowment room in quite a while.  And while the session was uplifting and quite nice, my main motivation for going was the fact that after the session was over, we all met in the cafeteria in the basement for snacks and hanging out.

The promised snacks (cookies) were replaced with something else entirely (a vegetable tray), but there were singles from a much greater area than just my ward, which I liked.  In fact, I met one woman from the Columbia Stake, which is the stake I was in while I lived in Ellicott City.  We were talking with the group, but I noticed her noticing me (because I was noticing her) and as we were leaving, I asked for her phone number.

And she gave it to me.

So far, we've only texted each other enough to confirm that we have the right numbers, so don't read too much into it, but it feels good to get my feet a wet in the dating world.

Shut Up

I attended the local YSA ward on Sunday and joined them for FHE this evening.  I made sure I introduced myself to as many people as possible, but I ended up interacting with more men than women.  If I'm to be attending this ward moving forward (which I haven't decided on yet) than I'll need some guy friends too, so that's okay for the first week (rest assured, though, that I'll be focusing my efforts on talking to the sisters in the ward).

Well, this is a pretty young ward -- the men more than the women -- and I feel a bit out of place, especially when compared to my last ward where the average age in the Elder's Quorum was in the early-to-mid thirties.  What's one thing that all young men have in common?  They think they're right even they aren't (I suppose it could be argued that all men have this in common, regardless of age).  That can pose a problem when I offer an opinion (which is neither right nor wrong), only for someone to argue otherwise.  This very situation unfolded a few times this evening, with several different men spouting nonsense and backing up their claims with something approaching sense that only fell apart when examined with any scrutiny.  (And yes, the irony that I did this sort of thing all the time not that long ago is not lost on me).  I was starting to get annoyed when I realized the solution.

I can't convince them of anything, so I shouldn't waste the effort.  Basically, I need to keep my mouth shut.  And I just realized that this approach will probably help me stand out more: in a ward full of guys endlessly pontificating, the one who doesn't always need to be right is unique.

Sometimes we need to see our own flaws in others in order for us to realize how negative they are.  After my interactions tonight, I want to make sure that I'm better than that moving forward.  Here's to progress.

Chance Coincidence

I had the missionaries over for dinner last night (a different pair than before) and the Elder who gave the spiritual thought challenged me to share the gospel with someone soon.  I said I had a coworker in mind who might be ready, so I accepted the challenge.  Now, this particular coworker who I had in mind, is away at a trade show until sometime next week, so I didn't think too much of the Elder's challenge, at least for now.

At work today, I sent an email to someone and jokingly used the word moron (facetiously referring to myself).  This email was deemed humorous enough to be shared with a few friends, one of whom was the receptionist.  The receptionist responded back with a joke about how I left out the second M (making "moron" into "Mormon"), though only to her friend that sent it to her and not to me.  After all of this happened unbeknownst to me, I went and asked the receptionist an unrelated question.  Once she answered my question, she shared her joke with me, not realizing that it's a joke that I've heard off and on since high school.  And then, because I'm an explainer, I gave her a brief summary of the word Mormon (the prophet, the book, and the nickname for the church).

With that completed, I was going to walk back to my desk, but she asked another question: what do Mormons believe about karma?  (Not sure how she made that leap.)  So, I gave the Golden Rule as a quick answer, but then I delved a little deeper.  I explained that while we should do good, that doesn't mean that only good things will happen to us.  Sometimes bad things happen to us because of either our own or others' free agency or because God is placing an obstacle in our way so that when we overcome it, we're better for it.  I closed by quoting my current favorite scripture, 2 Nephi 5:27: "...we lived after the manner of happiness."  This seemed to really connect with her and she thanked me for sharing, adding "I needed that."  Before I walked away, I asked if she was interested in a Book of Mormon.  She said she was.

I wasn't planning that encounter and I'm not saying that it happened because the Elder challenged me to talk to someone, but it did all line up pretty well.  I don't know if anything will come of this exchange, but I'm glad I opened my mouth.

Seeing All the Errors

Recently, one of my coworkers asked for some advice planning out a big trip this summer.  He's originally from Estonia and is in Baltimore as part of a postgraduate program.  His current position is temporary (I think he worked for Danfoss in Europe, though I'm not positive), so he's planning to take full advantage of his time in the US by seeing lots of sights.  He spends nearly every weekend traveling to different locations all over the east coast, so for his vacation, he's heading west.  His plan includes places like the Grand Canyon, Zion National Park, Las Vegas, Joshua Tree National Park, Disneyland, the Monterey Bay Aquarium, San Francisco, and more, all in two weeks.  Like I said, he's making the most of his time here.

While we were sitting at a table in the breakroom during our lunch hour, my Estonian coworker pulled out his itinerary to ask the group of us questions to see if we could offer any advice.  The first thing I brought up?  His itinerary's title of "West Coast Trip" was inaccurate: the more correct title would be "West Coast and Southwest Trip."  As soon as I pointed it out, I realized that I was correcting an insignificant problem, and one that he hadn't asked for help with.  I immediately apologized for being overly pedantic.  In good humor, he scribbled out part of the title, leaving only "Trip" behind.

I have been a pedant for most (if not all) of my adult life, but I think I've been even more scrutinous lately.  I know that I'm doing it because my job is to catch errors and flaws in writing and when you do that day in and day out, it becomes hard to "turn it off" when I'm not working.  In an effort to be less of a jerk, I'm trying to be more aware of my corrections.  So far, I'm starting to catch myself as I make the unnecessary -- and unwanted -- corrections.  Now I just need to be able to catch myself before I say anything at all.

The Weekend Where Everything Happened

My weekend was long and full of adventure:

• I reduced my medication and was full of energy again starting Saturday.
• I met Ian, Sherlin, and the kids for lunch and playing.  The younger kids still make sure that I take turns flipping them around and fulfill my duties as the Fun Uncle.
• We went to a barbecue hosted by Jimmy, the guy who plays lead guitar in our not-a-band.
• We had a jam session in front of everyone (the only people who were really invested were the ones we brought).  We were missing our drummer, Joe, and his absence was really felt, but it still felt so good to play with a group again.  And I don't know if the others could tell, but my lessons are really paying off.
• I got home late because I stopped for groceries on the way home and my neighbor asked for some help moving a dresser into his upstairs apartment.  After the dresser was in its new home, he offered me money as reward, but I refused (as I did to his offer of beer); I did, however, accept a box of high-quality chicken breast -- the man works as a delivery man for a meat company and was allowed to use some product for his own purposes, so he used one box to pay me. I may have to help him again.
• I attended a Linger Longer after church on Sunday and stayed the whole time and talked and met new people -- it's amazing what happens when you're not depressed and have energy to do something about it.
• I cleaned up my dining room that had been messy for months due to my depression.
• I baked a loaf of whole wheat fig bread, a strawberry cake, and a double batch of cream cheese cookies.  I took them with me for my visit with my good friends the Simciks.  It was so good seeing them again.  In fact, when I got there, my arms full of goodies, I went right in their open door so I could put the food down before turning to see Mark and suddenly I was giddy with excitement.  Based on how he and Lori reacted, they were too.  It was just like seeing family that you haven't seen in a while.  It was so wonderful talking with them and sharing a meal (the loaf of bread was intended for Samuel, my old roommate, which they promised to pass on).  When it came time for them to leave for a dinner engagement, Lori started debating if they should flake out to stay and continue visiting, but I made their decision easy for them by making my way to the door.  Hugs were exchanged and we agreed that we needed to meet again sooner and not go so long between visits.
• On my way home, I stopped by a clothing store to return some pants that I decided did not fit as well as I had thought in the store.  When I was parking, I noticed a set of missionary Elders walking around.  I made sure to say hi them and ask how they were doing.  I told them what ward I attend and they named some of the Elders serving there, though I had trouble confirming all of them (we have four companionship in my ward).  It was about 5:30, so I asked them if they had a dinner appointment that evening.  They admitted that they did not, so I told them to wait while I handled the return and then I'd take them to dinner.  I had them pick the restaurant because I didn't know the area very well (I knew the store I had gone to and not much else), so we went to a Chinese buffet.  We talked about where they're from and what they're plans are for careers and education, but they mostly asked about me.  After they were sufficiently fed (I had a few pieces of sushi, but I was mostly full from my visit with the Simciks), I paid the bill and I drove the Elders back to their car in the parking lot where I had seen them earlier.  As they got out of the car, they asked for my name because they want to talk me up to the Elders in my ward when they see them at the next Zone meeting.
• I came home and made banana bread to take to work tomorrow.

Like I said, my weekend was busy.  Busy, but great.

Resume-Man

Just as I had in my last ward, I've been volunteering my time in my current ward to help members with their resumes.  I admit that I'm not very quick about it and I know I could be doing a better job with my timeliness, but the senior couple that act as the ward's Employment Specialists only say nice things about the work I've done.  While I know that they're being sincere, it feels like too much.  Maybe I'm thinking about how I don't get to the resumes as fast as I know I could, while they only see what I actually turn in.

This last Sunday, I got to see some of the fruits of my labors. At church, I was introduced to a member who I had not met, but I had worked on her resume.  She came up to me to personally thank me for the help I had provided.  Apparently, she had submitted her resume with my changes and had found a job.  I congratulated her and pointed out that I had only helped with the presentation: if she had had nothing to for me to work with, making it pretty wouldn't have helped.  Still, it was nice to see that my efforts had helped someone.

In an effort to improve my turn around time, I got another resume this afternoon and I already edited it and returned.  Hopefully, I'll be able to keep that kind of pace up in the future.

The Unrelenting Manager from Another Department

There was a bit of a kerfuffle at work this week, but the story actually started a few weeks ago.

One of my responsibilities at work is to copyedit documents that address changes to products or policies.  The change is usually something small, like a product made in the factory in China will now be made in the factory in Mexico.  These are internal documents, but if customers need to be informed about the change, a letter will be drafted for them, though they’re usually just like the internal documents but without certain details (because the information is irrelevant to customers or it’s something the company doesn’t want made public).  I do not write either of these documents, I merely copyedit them.  The document author is usually an engineer and a non-native English speaker, so some wording hiccups are expected.

This is not one of my main responsibilities and I’ve even been instructed to not copyedit anything beyond these documents (unless instructed by one of my direct managers) because as the only English-speaking technical writer in a global company, I could easily spend all of my time copyediting and still never finish everything.  However, the internal documents and customer letters are the exception.

A few weeks ago, I went through the same process where I copyedited the two documents and sent them back to be approved and distributed.  This time, however, I left in some company jargon in the customer letter because I didn’t recognize it for what it was.  When some of the upper managers saw it, they panicked.  I got a call from a manager I had never heard of (apparently, he’s right below the VP for my segment) to go over the letter.  He was polite and didn’t blame me for what had happened and was instead focused on how to fix the problem.  I quickly made the changes he asked for and submitted it.  So, an unfortunate mishap occurred, but we quickly fixed it.

A couple of days later, I got an email from the new manager of Product Information (they handle document coordination and archiving) asking me and the other people involved to explain our roles in the process of handling these documents.  I noticed that my boss, Magda, had not been included in the conversation, so I forwarded her the email and told her how I would respond, to which she agreed.  I explained my role to the head of Product Information (PI) as I did above and I thought that would be the end of it.  Well, the next week I get another email asking for a more information: not only was I to better define my own role, but I was supposed to also define the roles of everyone else involved.  Again, Magda was left out of the loop.  After we talked and made sure we were on the same page, I wrote my second response (and had Magda read it to make sure it had the right tone) and I sent it off.

That brings us to last week.  I had my seizure on Monday and only worked the second half of the day, but I had emailed Magda about what was happening and she was very supportive.  When I came into the office, I saw that I had missed a meeting, even though I knew I had no meetings scheduled.  It turns out that I had been sent a meeting request around 1 AM on Sunday and my calendar updated automatically.  I don’t check my work email outside of work hours, nor am I expected to, and sending me a meeting request to Skype at 9 AM the next day is at least the very least discourteous.  Guess who called the meeting?  The PI manager.  I was too out of it to care, so I ignored it and moved on.

Monday of this week, I got an out-of-the-blue Skype request from the PI manager to discuss what the meeting was about.  Apparently, my role in the document creation process is going to significantly increase.  Now, I’m supposed to still copyedit the internal document, but write the customer letter by having a conversation with each product engineer.  According to the PI manager, the engineers don’t like writing and I should help them more.  I protested and said that I had other responsibilities and I don’t have time to take on these extra roles and even if I did, I don’t know the company jargon to know when to challenge if something was appropriate to share with customers.  She said that I would need to learn the jargon through these conversations.  Remember, all of this came from a meeting I didn’t attend because I didn’t know about it and I was recovering from a seizure.  She didn’t know about why I came to work late, but she was still dumping a lot of work on me when I hadn’t had a chance to be a part of the discussion.

While I was Skyping with the PI manager, I sent Magda an instant message to let her know who I was talking to.  Once again, my boss, the person who actually decides how I spend my day, hadn’t been involved.  Magda said she wanted to talk when I was done.  So, my conversation continued with the PI manager and every time I explained that something wasn’t my role, she simply responded that it made sense for it to be.  I decided to stop fighting (she wasn’t listening anyway) and just let her talk.  At the end of the conversation, I said “I assume you’ve already talked to Magda and [Magda’s boss] about this.”  I knew she hadn’t and I thought that was a reasonable way to call her out.  She said she would email Magda right away so that she could get onboard.  Finally, the conversation ended.

Magda had left for a meeting, but before leaving, she left a note saying that I call should her cell as she was driving.  I was really hot-blooded at this point, so I went for a walk outside to cool off and called Magda.  Unsurprisingly, she was mad too.  The PI manager had crossed the line from being discourteous and was firmly in unprofessional territory.  Magda explained that she would talk with her boss, but assured me that the PI manager wouldn’t get her way.  The next morning, I walked into the office and saw Magda talking with her boss.  While they weren’t talking about my ordeal when I passed them, Magda later confirmed that they had discussed the situation and agreed that my role won’t change.  My position exists to support the office I work in, not the entire company.  I have done work that has impacted the company on a global scale, but that was because I was trying to solve a local problem and it was easier to make a major change so that other segments wouldn’t be working against us (it can happen with companies our size).  I help out with the internal documents and customer letters as nice gesture, but my main responsibilities are not on a global level, nor were they ever meant to be.  Magda sent the PI manager an email explaining everything and hasn’t heard back yet.

If history has taught me anything, this isn’t the end of this ordeal.  Here’s hoping that I’m wrong.

The Tale of the Picky Theif

Last week, I had the inside of my car detailed.  It's not that I'm fancy or rich or anything; it's just that my car was pretty dirty.  In addition to the backseat being covered in crumbs from Clara and Henry sitting back there to and from Chicago for Thanksgiving, I spilled a still-cooling cherry pie on the passenger seat soon after I bought the car.  I don't begrudge my niece and nephew being messy -- at their age and for as long as we were in the car, I expected it -- but with the mess they made, the mess I made, and the car just getting dirty though normal use, I decided I'd rather pay someone to deep clean it rather than spend the time myself and not do as good a job.

After calling a couple of places, I decided to go with one in particular due to the combination of good pricing and a convenient location.  I even coordinated with a coworker so I could drop the car off during lunch and pick it up at the end of the day, so I wouldn't need to wait around.  I made sure to remove most of my personal items from the car, as I had been instructed.

When I came by to pick up the car, the crew was finishing up the last few touches.  I should say that the "crew" was just one guy.  Not the owner, though I got the impression that he does plenty of the hands-on work himself.  No, the crew was an uncomfortably-thin looking man with at least one tooth missing, a couple of tattoos on or near his face, and one gauged ear.  The man had made a lot of bad life decisions, is what I'm saying.  After paying and driving away in my car, I was impressed with the job they did.  They cleaned up the cherry stain so well that I couldn't tell it was ever there.  The inside looks like new!  I was very happy with the job they did.

That's where I was expecting this story to end, but there's a little more.  On Saturday, I went to a grocery store that locks up their shopping carts.  You insert a quarter and it unlocks, you lock it up when you're done, you get your quarter back.  Pretty basic and it eliminates the need to send an employee out to collect the carts.  I keep a bag of change in my car, mostly just as a place to store it (I see change as more as an inconvenience than anything else).  I reached into my glove compartment, pulled out the bag, and found nothing but pennies.  I laughed out loud.

While it was frustrating (and a bit disappointing) that one of the people at the detail shop stole from me, I thought it was hilarious that they went to the trouble of just stealing the silver coins.  Apparently whoever stole from me (I assume it was the crew member) has high standards of what they're willing to pilfer and pennies just do make their cut.

Unofficial Third Calling

I found out from my bishop yesterday that the Ward Employment Specialists in my ward have appreciated the help I've provided in editing resumes enough that they have asked multiple times for me to be called as a welfare missionary.  In fact, just yesterday, the bishop had to tell them "no" twice.

The way he explained it to me is that I'm already fulfilling that need because I have the skills and I offered to help; I don't need a third calling to continue to do what I'm already doing.  Plus, by it being something for which I volunteer and not an official calling, I have a bit more flexibility on when I work on the resumes.  That's not to say that I put them off, just that I don't have to feel guilty for not getting to them right away.

Even so, I'm acting like I have another calling, even if it isn't on the records.

A Little Rock and Roll Music

Friday night after work, I went to Ian's place for another jam sesh.  The first time was a lot of fun, but this second time was even better.  I'd been practicing and had improved enough that Ian said that the change in my skill level was noticeable.  There were even a couple of times that I got to start what we played: one time I just started playing a note progression that laid the ground work for Ian and Jimmy (in addition to studying bass riffs and scales, I've also started learning about music theory, i.e., what kinds of notes sound good together) and another time I played the bass part to "Seven Nation Army" by the White Stripes.

The first thing you hear is the bass line.

In the case of the White Stripes song, I started and Joe, the drummer, came in right when he was supposed to.  I hadn't told anyone that it was going to happen, I just did it and suddenly, we were playing a song.

I even tried my hand at singing.  It's hard to play and sing at the same time, but I did my best with the old classic "Sixteen Tons."  It was more blues than rock, but I think I made it work and I even started improvising with an alternate melody at one point.

I look forward to jamming with these guys in the future.  Hopefully, I'll continue to improve and be able to bring even more to the table next time.

Joe, me, and Jimmy (Ian is behind the camera).

Investigative Baking

On Thursday, my boss, Magda, dropped a hint to one of my coworkers that her birthday was coming up, but she didn't say when it would be exactly.  When I heard about it, I walked down to the HR department to see if they were allowed to tell me.  Since I've built a reputation for myself of being a skilled and generous baker, they knew exactly why I wanted to know, so they looked up the date.  As it happened, Magda's birthday was the very next day.  With the little warning we had, my department members and I each took an assignment, with me handling the cake.  I asked for suggestions on flavors and someone said that I should just make a cake that I liked.  I quickly jumped at the chance to make another Angel Food cake.

The next day, I came in and sat the cake (in a carrier) on my desk.  I didn't announce what it was, but I didn't hide it, either.  After everyone had had a chance to sign her birthday card, we presented it to Magda, who was visibly touched by the thoughtful act.  She asked that she be able to take us to lunch, to which we agreed.  When we had decided on a place, I called ahead and asked for permission to bring in the cake, which I was granted.

I'm guessing that Magda hadn't had Angel Food cake before because she kept commenting on how light and fluffy it was.  I encouraged her to take the leftover cake home to share with her family, but she instead decided to share it with the rest of the office, including the HR department.

While I bring baked goods to the office fairly regularly, this was the first time that I brought a birthday cake, though I doubt it will be the last.

Ensemble

On Friday night, I went to Ian's place to meet him and some of his friends to play some music.  Ian, Joe, and Jimmy had met once before, but lacked a bassist.  When I bought my instrument -- with no intent to join a band -- Ian was quick to invite me.

By Friday, I'd only been playing the bass for two weeks, so my skills were very limited.  Even so, I was able to keep the rhythm and pluck away at the root of the chords being played.  Joe, the drummer, told me that I really brought something that the group was missing.  At one point, Jimmy, the guitarist, started playing a song that I didn't know, but I was able to follow him by watching what chords he was playing.  Ian was on piano, so unless he told me ahead of time what he would be playing, I couldn't recognize just by looking.

We recorded the whole thing, but the audio is really poor quality -- not that it's static-y or anything; not everyone can be heard.  The guys said that they want to get a better sound rig so that we can record everyone properly.  Hopefully, we'll have a recording that's worth sharing next time.  That's right: we're planning on meeting again later this month.  Ideally, we'd like to meet every two weeks, but there are some conflicting work events coming up so we don't know when meet after that, but at least we have a plan in place for the near future.

I had a lot of fun.  I'm playing my instrument in the most simplistic way possible, but for now that's enough.  I'm still practicing everyday and I hope to be able to bring more to the table next time.

Community Outreach

As predicted, there was a lot of snow.  My guess is that the area outside of my apartment got a little over two feet of snow.  I was safe in my apartment and I never lost power or access to water.  Due to the extreme amount of snow in such a sort period of time, church was cancelled.

Sunday afternoon, I ventured out to take a look at the snow around my car.  It was packed in deep and I didn't have a shovel.  (I found out on Thursday evening that the maintenance crew of my apartment would plow the roads and driving sections of the parking lots, but they would not unbury our cars.  I tried to find a store still selling snow shovels, but they had already been picked over by the time I arrived.)  I went outside ready to use a snow scraper as best as I could, when I saw that the whole building was outside shoveling.  I went back in and grabbed some cookies I had baked the night before -- not with anything in mind for them, I was just bored -- and offered them to my neighbors.  Almost immediately, someone lent me a shovel.

I worked on the snow for about two hours, but eventually gave up with my car still trapped.  The reason?  I have the option to work from home today (of which I'm taking advantage) while many of my neighbors don't.  If I were to completely liberate my car, I'd almost certainly cover someone else's car or at least block their way out.  I decided to walk away and save my back.  Plus, the forecast calls for rain on Tuesday, which may take care of the problem for me.

The best part of this situation was that I had the chance to be a part of a community.  I don't make a point to talk to my neighbors, but it was nice to see that the kindness I showed was quickly reciprocated.

Take a Stand

On Friday evening, I met the missionaries in my ward for a teaching appointment.  I almost didn't accept their invitation to go with them -- I was really annoyed with them because they almost exclusively text me and they're really vague, which means that I have to text them several times asking questions before I know what's going on -- but I didn't want to punish their investigator for their faults.

When we got to the place of our appointment, the investigator met us with warmth and enthusiasm.  At first, I thought that meant that he was accepting the gospel, but I later decided that he was just being friendly.  The lesson was unusual and the Elders seemed lost every time we veered off course.  I did my best to pick up their slack, which they thanked me for afterwards.  The gentleman we were teaching, Dan, was uncomfortable with declaring anything with certainty.  The Elders brought up the apostasy and Dan said that there probably some bits of truth somewhere in the world.  I pointed out the New Testament makes clear the importance of Apostles and that without them, we don't have a complete church and while Dan didn't say he disagreed with that sentiment, I noticed that he didn't agree, either.

Later on, the Elders ask Dan to read the Book of Mormon, which he agreed to.  They then asked if he reads and prays about it and gains a testimony, would he be baptized -- which is all part of the pattern that I was taught to use while I was on my mission.  When the challenge was extended, Dan became very uncomfortable.  He talked about how he was Catholic and how that was fine and how our church was fine and how other churches were fine; different churches existed because that's what people needed.  Basically, he was espousing a form of moral relativism.  He seemed to be afraid of committing to any belief, perhaps because if he committed, he'd feel obligated to live by it.

In the end, Dan promised to read the Book of Mormon (with the caveat that he'd take his time and it might take him more than a year to finish) and the Elders asked him to call them when he was ready to talk more about it.  I was surprised that they let him go so easily, but maybe they felt a victory just in him accepting to read.

I'm happy that I went with the Elders to teach because it was good to be reminded that we need to take hard stances on our beliefs.  We can still be polite about it with other people, but we need to decide for ourselves what we believe and stand by it.