I am subscribed to receive Seth Godin’s blog posts via email. For those not in the know, Seth is one of the most respected marketing gurus alive and kicking today. He is the founder of Squidoo, a best-selling author, a sought-after speaker, beautifully bald, and he gives out a plethora of free, useful marketing (and life) philosophy every day via his blog.
Seth seldom promotes himself or his products via his blog. Occasionally, he will plug a new book he has written or provide a link to where tickets can be purchased to his latest training/speaking/learning/brainstorming session (which are always out of my price-range… unless I could talk the wife into taking out a second mortgage on our home). I’ve never monetarily supported Seth Godin, but a friend gave me a copy of one of his books (Linchpin: Are You Indispensable?) and it was worth the read. Seth predicts a future work world that is quickly coming to fruition (it really is pretty much already here); a world where just doing what you’ve been trained to do (work hard and do what you’re told) does not lead to any sort of success. Of course, the “new” success means you have to go outside of your comfort zone and become indispensable in the world in some way, shape or manner… so I know there ain’t no success in my future. Also, Seth preaches that one should do his or her “art” to be fulfilled and become indispensable, and he claims that you can find “art” in working a job… so I have some basic philosophical differences with Mr. Godin. Of course, Mr. Godin is well respected, has thousands of followers, and is independently wealthy. I get no respect, write a blog that my dad and a couple of friends read, and scrape by. Whose outlook you want to subscribe to is up to you.
So anyway, I don’t feel the need to support Seth Godin. He does pretty well without my help. When he blogs about his latest book or seminar, I just chuckle to myself and delete that email. I likes me the free advice.
Today, I get an email with Seth’s newest post. It’s about his newest book, We Are All Weird, and I was about to send this little sucker right to my deleted items folder when I noticed a couple of phrases:
“limited number in stock”
“no plans to reprint”
Hold the phone… back that station wagon up, Betty Lou! Did I just read, “Limited edition book by a best-selling author that may some day be worth MILLIONS of dollars”? Seth sells millions of books, and he is only actually printing 11,000 copies of this one. So I’m immediately IMing my wife to see if we can squeeze about $17 out of our budget, and she says we can. So, before you can say “sucker”, I’ve secured one of the 11,000 copies of Seth’s newest book.
Seth is also of the belief that paper books will become a thing of the past. He is most likely correct. The release of this newest book has unlimited availability in it’s digital format. Is Seth Godin trying to hasten the decline of the paper book? I believe he is.
I don’t read digital books. I don’t believe in digital books. I believe that digital books will continue to trend for the next several years… until the zombie apocalypse! How are you going to charge your Kindle when there isn’t any electricity, Joe Bob? How are you going to get to that PDF when you can’t turn your computer on, Sally Sue? There will be millions of copies of books on digital storage devices that will be completely useless without power of some sort. Meanwhile, I’ll have my library of paper books that I can read at my leisure in between foraging for food and beheading zombies. Hahaha… take that, Kindle freak! Besides, there is nothing in the world like spending an afternoon browsing a book store; it may be the most relaxing experience on the planet. Plus, books smell good… you know, that dead tree and glue smell.
Seth is obviously smart. Many of his followers (or “Tribe”, as he refers to them), I’m sure, subscribe to his opinion that digital is better. Those people will buy the Kindle edition of his new book and be completely happy. I, on the other hand, would have never purchased this book in its digital format. I would have not purchased this book if I knew that I could check out a copy at the local library a few months from now if the desire struck me. Throw “limited availability” out there, and all of a sudden I’m interested. Make it seem like this is my only chance to own this bad boy in a format I would read, and suddenly I’m forking over 17 bucks for it.
I’m a sucker. I’m sure the book will be great. I’m sure it will be chock-full of great insight and advice (which I will probably never apply to my life). Maybe I’ll even review the book on this blog once I finish it. I am feeling, however, a little used… a little taken advantage of. Maybe it’s just a touch of buyer’s remorse. Or maybe it’s the fact that a master of the art of marketing just went fishing… and the taste of blood and metal from the hook and lead from the sinker is still fresh in my mouth.
So about six months ago, I go to our Quick Care clinic to get a referral for a sleep study. I leave the appointment with the referral… and a brand-spanking new prescription for blood pressure medication. Stinking people looking out for my health. Anyway, so I had a six-month prescription, and that prescription was about to run out, so I figured that I better go see a real doctor about my blood pressure.
Now, when I went to Quick Care, my blood pressure was like 170/130. I’ve been tracking it ever since, and although there are times when it spikes in the 160/110 range (which is pretty much any time I get pissed off… which, as you can imagine, is almost daily), it’s usually in the 140s/90s. Still high, but better, no?
I make an appointment with an actual real doctor (figure I’m about at the age where I need a family physician). The appointment comes, I go to see the doctor, and my stupid blood pressure is still high. It’s 148/98. So, the doctor wants to double the dosage of the lisinopril that I’m on, and I’m fine with that. Aside from a constant nagging cough, I don’t really suffer any side-effects. Then the doctor tells me that he wants to check my cholesterol. Crap. I have no doubt that my cholesterol is high, and I’m sure that I’m going to have to fork out money for a prescription for that crap every month too. The nurse sticks a needle in my arm and draws a couple of vials of blood. I’m amazed at how dark the blood is… almost black… and I’m thinking to myself that may be part of my problem. With all of the tons of fat that I have eaten in my 41-years of life (’cause, damn it, it tastes good), the crap has actually morphed into actual oil in my system. Of course my blood pressure is going to be high with Pennzoil 10w30 running through my veins, and I’m way past the 3 month/3000 mile mark. Can’t I just get a stinking oil change and a lube job?.
I heard from the doctor’s office today. Low and behold, I have high cholesterol. SURPRISE! They called in a prescription for some statin-thingie to Walgreens, and as of tomorrow, I’ll be medicated for my condition. Possible side effects are muscle cramps, drowsiness, and liver damage. They recommend taking it before bed so that the side effects are less noticeable. The drowsiness thing happening while I’m sleeping makes sense. However, being awoken in the middle of the night with a charlie horse doesn’t sound very pleasant, and I’m sure my wife would agree with me on that. As far as the liver damage part goes, I’m kind of hoping to avoid that. I guess if I have liver failure or something, having that happen while I’m asleep might be a plus?!?
Why is everything that tastes good bad for you (and if someone tries to tell me that steamed broccoli or broiled fish “tastes good”… I may punch him or her in the lying, filthy little mouth)? “Everything in moderation,” you may say, but I would reply that moderation sucks. Stupid common sense. If I’m stuck in the Craphandle of Nebraska with nothing to do and no real future worth caring about, I want to be able to eat what I want when I want. Eating is one of the very few pleasures I have… and now it just happens to be killing me.
AARGH!
Apparently, high cholesterol makes one very pirate-like?
With the history of high blood pressure and heart disease that infests my family tree, I figured all of this was coming. I just hoped that maybe I was going to be the branch that could remain healthy. I’m telling you, optimism in all shapes, colors and sizes, leads to nothing but disappointment, which is why I usually do such a wonderful job of avoiding it.
Okay, so here’s the Catch-22. The potential side effects of the statin-thingie don’t sound very pleasant. So, I figure I need to lose about 20 to 30 pounds and start eating gross crap, which doesn’t sound very fun. Then, when I’m all sickly skinny and eating leaves and twigs, there is still a chance that I will need to remain on cholesterol medication. Stupid genetics. So, do I just let the doctor medicate the hell out of me and potentially destroy my liver (a problem that may never come to be… look at me, the stinking optimist) while I continue to enjoy one of the few simple pleasures I have in life: eating good food? Or, do I give up one of the few simple pleasures that I can experience in the Craphandle of Nebraska in an effort to extend my life so that I can potentially live out an extended life in the Craphandle of Nebraska with no simple pleasures? And even if I give up the simple pleasure, there is still the chance that I will need to remain on the liver-destroying medication, so I may actually give up the simple pleasure and still die of liver failure. Sounds pretty much like a lose-lose-lose situation to me. There… now I’m sounding a little more like the pessimist that I know and dislike an awful lot of the time.
So, now I have a doctor. He wants to see me again after about 30 days on the current medications to measure my progress. I should be proud of myself for taking some responsibility for my health and trying to be there for my family’s future, right? But all I can think about is how I’m 41… and it is just going to be a matter of time before Mr. Dr. is going to be thinking that he needs to be sticking his finger up my butt. Seriously… if I’m falling apart this much in my 40s, what bright, shiny stars can I expect in my 50s… and beyond? Well, with the Dr. seemingly intent on destroying my liver, I may not have to worry about it at all…
If you were to judge this post based on the title, you’re probably thinking this is going to be me ranting about some crappy service I received from some crappy company that I need to vent about. Wrong. I am feeling the need to rant about crappy jobs in customer service, of which I have held my fair share.
You hear “business gurus” lament constantly about how poor customer service can destroy a company. I do not disagree. The gurus preach of the importance of customer service skills for every employee who could potentially come in any sort of contact with a customer or potential customer. Amen! The gurus don’t seem to understand why so many companies can’t provide quality customer service. I think I can help answer this question with one word: money.
Oh, I know, money isn’t everything; job satisfaction isn’t reliant on money alone; there are numerous ways to motivate employees other than with money; blah… blah… blah. The people who come up with these unrealistic views of the importance of money in employment have listened to the gurus for far too long! Money is the reason that most people go to work every morning. If you don’t believe me, think of it this way: if you won the lottery and would never have to work again for financial reasons, would you go to your current job every day and do it for free? If you would, you are either a very lucky person who has found your calling and are able to utilize your inherent gifts and talents in a satisfying manner or… you’re an idiot.
So, back to customer service. I am going to use my recent employment experience with an unnamed cellular telephone company for demonstrative purposes. The unnamed cellular telephone company was Alltel.
For anyone who has ever had to wait in line at a cell phone store to have an issue resolved, I feel for you. For anyone who has had to wait in line at a cell phone store to have an issue resolved and then took out your frustration on the person who finally waits on you… go pound sand! You have a problem; you would like that problem fixed; you’re mad because you’ve been in line for 45 minutes or so; so you yell at or cop an attitude with the person who you expect is going to fix your problem… seriously?!? Remember, this person who you are yelling at has probably already had half-a-dozen other nincompoops yell at him or her and your yelling is getting pretty close to the straw that is going to break the camel’s back. Do you want help or not? If so, please remain calm and speak the way you would like to be spoken to. If getting your problem resolved is not the true reason for your 45 minute wait in line and you really just want to yell at someone and make a donkey-butt out of yourself by causing a big scene to prove to everyone within a 4-block radius of the retail store exactly mad you really are… keep yelling, sap-sucker, ’cause when you finally finish your little tirade, you are most likely going to be told that your problem is unsolvable: “So sorry, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to GO POUND SAND!” And it’s not that your problem is really unsolvable… it’s just that you have caused such a commotion and made such an… uh, to put it in acceptable English/slang/cockney format… “arse” out of yourself that you are beyond help. If your problem is actually fixed, a precedent is being set that people who throw a temper tantrum and behave like an arse get their way just to shut them up… and that is a precedent that is not going to be set. Why, you may ask, is that precedent not going to be set? Why will the squeaky wheel not get the grease? What is going through the head of the customer service representative at that crucial moment when he or she makes that uber-important decision not to help you resolve your problem? I can tell you in one succinct sentence exactly what is going through the mind of that representative: THEY DON”T PAY ME ENOUGH TO DEAL WITH THIS. And Mr. and Ms. business guru, all of a sudden monetary reward is important to get people to perform in menial jobs!
“Well, if current employees won’t get the job done, fire them and hire people who will!”
While I put in my time at Alltel, the turnover rate was over 30%. What that meant was that for every 10 people hired, more than 3 people quit… and this was at a time when Alltel was striving for aggressive growth! Finding someone who is willing to deal with belligerent customers all day (and actually not making any real money unless selling to said belligerent customers) takes more than $8 to $12 dollars per hour, especially when the rules that are put in place to actually take care of a ripped-off customer are ignored by all levels of management from store management to regional management… and rules that actually benefit the customer are few and far between! Let’s look at an example from my personal portfolio of the crappy-life files:
A friend was having trouble with his cell phone. I had recently quit Alltel, but I was still the “go to” guy for friends’ and family’s cell phone questions. The friend had trouble with his cell phone ever since he first got it. He was on his third replacement phone (“replacement phones”, by the way, are often refurbished pieces of crap… as are “insurance” phones). His original new phone and three refurbished phones all froze up. He was about a two-weeks past his original one-year warranty, but he had received his last replacement less than a month previously.
I wasn’t a vast clearinghouse of knowledge for every rule and regulation of Alltel while I worked there. However, I did know every policy and procedure that was beneficial to our customers as far as receiving a POS phone (and there were a lot of POS phones) and what extents could be gone to in an effort to make a pissed-off customer happy. I explained to my friend that, although he was past the original one-year warranty on the phone, each replacement phone (exchange by mail phone, or XBM) came with it’s own warranty above and beyond the original manufacturers’ warranty. It has been over three years since I worked at Alltel, so I don’t remember if that warranty was 30, 60 or 90 days, but I remember that my friend’s was well within the XBM warranty period. I told him that, at the very least, he should be able to get another POS XBM phone. However, since he and had been through three replacements, there was a “lemon policy” that the store manager could apply which would result in a brand-spanking new replacement phone of like value. I told him to go to his local store, to be “nice”, not cause a big stink, and ask politely for the manager if the customer service rep wouldn’t help him. I stressed the “be nice.”
Well, he called me a couple of days later and told me that no one there was willing to help him. The rep and manager who helped her both said that I didn’t know what I was talking about. They told him that the XBM phones had no warranty of their own and since he was past his original warranty, he was out of luck. Pretty much, he got a big, “Sorry, sucks to be you!”
I was furious! I was ready to get on the phone with that stupid manager and give her a piece of my mind… and then I was going to call the district manager and let him know what had happened! Then, in a flashback, remembered what it was like to work at Alltel.
“Did you remain calm and stay nice?” I asked.
“Well… I started out nice.”
“That’s not what I asked,” I said. “Did you remain calm and nice throughout the conversation?”
“Well… no… but they weren’t willing to help me!”
“Did you yell?” I asked.
“A little.”
“Did you personally attack the person helping you?” I asked.
“Well… she was being a bitch!”
Now, I know that this friend can be a little demanding as a customer. He is the sort of person who will hold up a line at Walmart for 15 minutes arguing about a 25 cent perceived difference in the advertised price and the price that rings up at the register… even when he is wrong.
“Yeah, maybe I was wrong about that XBM policy thing,” I concluded. I was not wrong.
When I worked at Alltel, I never screwed a customer just because they treated me like crap, and employees who did abuse their “power” really pissed me off. However, I can think back to what it was like to be treated like complete garbage by an abusive customer. It wasn’t fun… and I tend to blame most of my current stress-issues on the two years I spent at Alltel. Every time I deal with just about any stranger in just about any potentially confrontational situation, I am braced for the worst… which is stressful. I couldn’t handle it, so I quit (and remain scarred from the experience). For those who can stick it out… if they need to screw-over the occasional asshole just to keep their sanity (and keep working there), more power to ’em.
By being the guy who always did everything in his power to take care of the customer, I developed a reputation as being the guy to go to if you had a problem. People would wait an extra half-hour in line just to see me with their problems, which was fine. The problem I had, with the Alltel gig being commission-based, was that those same people weren’t nearly as willing to wait for me when it came to making an actual commission-earning purchase… they went to the first available rep… and those were the straws that finally shattered the spine of the hump-backed mammal… because the money wasn’t there. The district manager told me, when I informed him that I was quitting, that if I just stuck around for four or five more years, I would start to see that loyalty from the problem-solving start to turn into sales. I told him that I would be dead of a heart attack before I would ever reap those benefits.
And you know what’s strange? I really think that if the money had been significantly better, I wouldn’t have minded dealing with the crap quite as much. It’s harder to get stressed about a situation when they actually are paying you enough to deal with it.
I’m a happily married dude. I am about to embark on, most-likely, a once in a lifetime adventure with my family: a cruise to the Bahamas. However, when I discovered that almost a third of the guests on Royal Caribbean’s Majesty of the Sea were attendees of some sort of fraternity leadership conference that Royal Caribbean was happily ($$$) hosting, the wind in my sails diminished just a little. Even though I’m happily married, I am not dead. I had some preconceived notions of what the view around the pool on that cruise ship was going to look like.
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This is not what frat boys look like.
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My “notions” were quickly replaced by reality.
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This... I'm afraid... is what frat boys look like.
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Yeah. Disappointing, to say the least. Anywho, now I can try to focus on actually enjoying the family time, right?
The ship is amazing. It’s like 14-stories tall, and it travels across the ocean; this in and of itself is utterly amazing to me. There are two formal dining halls, a buffet, a pizza place, a deli, and a burger joint. Everything except the burger joint is included in the cost of the cruise (you have to pay an entrance fee of like $5 to get into Johnny Rockets). There was a full-fledged casino, two or three lounges, an awesome weight room with a spectacular view of the ocean (which I promised myself I would use… but never did), a teen hang-out area, a little kid hang-out area, two small swimming pools (constantly full of frat boys), two hot tubs (constantly full of frat boys), a basketball court, a climbing wall, a ping-pong table, and the Chorus Line theater which had nightly live entertainment. The center of the ship was kind of like a mall, with various stores selling various expensive items: a Caribou Coffee, a jewelry store, a liquor store, a gift shop and the like. Each day, in the area between the stores, they were selling different garbage that looked expensive and was ridiculously inexpensive. The wife and youngest son each got a watch for like $10 each, and they looked like they were worth much more. We’ll see how long they actually last 🙂 Needless to say, the ship itself was pretty cool. Our room, on the other hand, not so much.
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Standard rooms on a cruise ship are extremely small. I cannot stress enough how small these stinking rooms are. It’s a good thing you pretty much just sleep in the rooms, because, in a family of four, someone would end up dead if you had to spend too much time together in those stinking rooms.
So, we check in on the ship and go through a “muster drill”.
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A muster drill is where they make everyone get outside by the lifeboats and tell you what to do to avoid dying if the ship starts to sink. Great! Now that we are all now terrified, let the fun begin.
We spent the first night at sea and just enjoyed the boat and tried to avoid the drunk, potty-mouthed frat boys. Man, when the frats were sober, they were bearable, but once they got liquored-up, we pretty much had to walk with our hands over our sons’ ears to block the f-bombs. Thanks, Royal Caribbean! Thanks for not warning us our cruise was going to be a floating college party full of frat boys with no chicas for them to concentrate their alcohol-fueled, testosterone-driven horn-doggedness on. I actually overheard a frat boy talking to a girl who appeared to be about 16-years-old, and he was trying to talk her into going to one of the lounges with him. She kept shaking her head, looking around for someone to rescue her, and I heard him say, “I keep forgetting you’re under age.” Man, that girl’s parents (as well as almost every parent with a daughter on that cruise) had to be loving Royal Caribbean for that week.
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The next day, we ported in the Nassau. Pretty cool, if you could look past the poverty that was prevalent everywhere. We got off the ship and were immediately accosted by numerous people trying to get us to take a taxi or go on a tour or buy stupid toy turtles. One old guy even asked me if I needed something to smoke, and when I told him I didn’t, he got pissed and stormed off. We walked around the streets of Nassau. Me loving people the way I do quickly grew tired of the people constantly in our faces, and we returned to the ship after a short time.
Later that afternoon, we went on a snorkeling tour. We got on a boat and left the port area to an area where we could check out the corral. We boated past a lot of really nice houses and the tour guide dropped a few names while cruising past these mansions. Oprah Winfrey and Michael Jordan had houses there, along with a bunch of other people whose names I don’t remember. Can’t imagine owning a mansion of such incredible grandeur surrounded by such intense poverty. Nothing like rubbing it in the face of the locals, huh?
The snorkeling was kind of lame. On the way, they warned us that people had seen lion fish in the area we were going to, and lion fish are apparently quite poisonous. Coolest thing about snorkeling was that I actually found a lion fish.
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This isn't the actual fish we saw, but it looked almost exactly like this.
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I got both of my boys and the wife to see it before one of the tour divers discovered it and scared it away. Bastard!
That was pretty much the day in Nassau. The next day, we relaxed on the beaches of Royal Caribbean’s private island, Coco Cay. This was, by far, the most relaxing day of our adventure.
Swimming in the ocean…
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… playing with the conch…
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These ugly suckers are surprisingly good eating
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…tearing it up at the water park
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… avoiding the killer seagulls…
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These suckers will attack a hot dog like their lives depend on it
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… or hanging out in the hammocks…
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…oops, I forgot… stinking frat boys…
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Overall, a very good day. Then, back to the boat for a relaxing evening and lots of eating.
The next day, we ported in Key West, FL. Can you say “tourist trap?” Of course you can. I really felt for all of the foreign (non-US) guests on the Majesty of the Sea when we ported in Key West. Every single one of them had to take part of their day to go through US Immigration, whether they were getting off the boat in Key West or not. The immigration officers apparently set-up shop in the theater and the lines were horrendous of families waiting for immigration’s approval. I imagine those vacationers wasted hours of the last day of the cruise waiting for US Immigration to check them out. Honest to God, it’s no wonder why so much of the rest of the world hates the United States. Sometimes, our laws are just retarded. I really thought it was cool how there were different people from all over the world on this cruise and, except for the frat boys, we all got along just splendidly… up until “Homeland Security” kicked in and the US made sure there wasn’t someone vacationing from Japan or France setting off a dirty bomb in Key West (or someone who has just spent thousands of dollars on a vacation trying to sneak into the country… if they can make that kind of money, they have brains and a good work ethic… let ’em in!) by making every man, woman and child go through an immigration checkpoint. I didn’t feel safe, I felt embarrassed for our country. Why not allow these people to enjoy the last day of their vacation and check them out after the cruise in Miami? I didn’t have to go through immigration in the Bahamas… and I could of been planning to buy some crack from that dude who wanted to know if I needed a “smoke”… or something!!!
Anyway, back to the non-crappy part of the Key West visit. We did a little sight seeing
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Nothing says "art" like naked chicks... and NO, that's not me lying on my back looking up. He's part of the "art"... and my wife wouldn't let me lie beside him...
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… did a little shopping…
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… ate some conch fritters…
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… enjoyed frozen chocolate-covered Key Lime pie on a stick…
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and overall had a touristerrific, sunshiny day!
Then, back on the ship for the last time. We had a wonderful evening of eating lots of food and swimming with the frat boys… and then eating some more. I crap you not, I gained 10# on that stinking cruise!
When we woke up the next morning, we were in Miami. Up and at ’em and off the ship. We spent an entire day at Miami International Airport (’cause we had to watch our luggage… we could have “checked” it at this storage place, but they want to rape you and kill your first born as payment for that, so we said “screw it, airports are fun”). We discovered that Miami isn’t too exciting when experienced from the airport, so airports aren’t really that fun. Didn’t even get to see Tubbs, let alone Crockett 🙁
Finally, a turbulent flight back to Denver, a late-night hotel stop on the way home, and finally back to the Craphandle. And then, back to work with another year until the next real vacation.
Crap man… I just realized how much I miss my ΣAE buddies…
Have you ever dreamed of the perfect vacation? Have you thought about it for years and years, and then made the decision that you were going to make it happen? Well, the wife and I did just that: we planned for, saved for, and made happen our dream vacation. We went on a cruise to the Bahamas.
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Yippee-ki-yeah!
First off, I have to give a big shout-out to the wife. She is the one who squirreled away money (tax refunds, Christmas bonuses, a little extra cash-flow every month, etc) to make our dream become a reality. I want it to be known that the time I had with my wife and two sons was much more enjoyable than I am about to make it appear. In fact, given the opportunity, I would remain with my wife and sons on that stinking cruise ship with the stupid frat boys until the day I die (if given the choice), and I would be one of the happiest dudes alive… until I died on the cruise ship, and then I would be one of the happiest dudes… uh… dead, I guess.
The wife and I planned on going on a cruise for our 15th anniversary. It was going to be a really special treat, and we had been looking forward to it for years. The problems that led to us not being able to make that happen were like the perfect storm of CRAP that transpired in the few years leading up to the 15th year of our ultimate declaration of love. We had started a little business together, built it up to a level of creating a decent profit, and had recently sold that business to a clueless chick who ended up declaring bankruptcy and screwing us out of a lot of money. At that point, we should have declared bankruptcy ourselves, but decided to take the higher road and repay all of the debt we owed. Some “sage” at some point in time made me believe that repaying your debts will benefit you in the long run. Yeah… I’m still waiting to reap the benefits of that stupid little piece of advice. Shortly after being screwed in the candy business, the economy took a major tank; and shortly after that, reductions in pay (as opposed to raises) were the trend of the day. Some of the employers had the balls to call it what it was (a reduction in pay), while others called it a “pay restructuring” or a “new compensation plan” and made you read Who Moved My Cheese.
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Needless to say, the 15th anniversary cruise was suddenly a pipe-dream.
Shortly before the 15th anniversary, we had started to save for the dream. When we realized that it wasn’t going to happen at the 15-year mark, we decided to prolong it a couple of years and make it a full-family-free-for-all. In other words, we were going to take our sons. Much less romantic, absolutely NO hanky-panky, more full of farts and body odor, and multitudes of inappropriate comments at the absolutely most inappropriate times.
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Mommy, is that big lady in the bathing suit pregnant, or is she just fat?
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Sounded like a relatively fair trade to me. Don’t get me wrong… I likes me that there hanky-panky… but I likes me thems there farts too…
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… theys makes me giggle… and giggling is good for the soul 🙂
So, we have it all planned to go on a cruise to the Bahamas. We decide on Royal Caribbean, and we were ready to set sail on the Majesty of the Sea.
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Sounds pretty cool, right? Sure does. Of course, we have to get on the ship in Miami, and we live hundreds and hundreds of miles from Miami. So, we have to fly.
I hate flying!
I hate the fear of having no control of anything while soaring at 30,000 feet above the earth (or, as I like to think of it, about a 40 second nightmarish fall to a certain, messy, instant death). My palms get clammy and my stomach doesn’t feel too swell just thinking about it. I also hate getting to the point of being able to get on the stinking plane, You know, the whole TSA nightmare.
“But they are just keeping us safe!” says the nincompoop who likes the TSA.
“Flying is a privilege, not a right,” says the government advocate.
I’m gonna call BS on both of those statements. They are not keeping us safe by patting down small children and old ladies. They are not keeping us safe by subjecting us to radiation. They are not keeping us safe by making me put all of the liquids I need in 3 oz bottles and limiting them to a 1 quart bag. This is all retarded. This is all “shock and awe” in an attempt to make us think that they are really keeping us safe… and, in the meantime, they are stepping all over our civil liberties. But it’s all in the name of “stopping terrorism,” so the vast majority of us just let it slide. And when there are armed National Guard in front of Walmart making sure we aren’t trying to bomb super centers, that will be all right too. And when they start reading our mail and listening in on our phone conversations in the name of national security, we’ll be fine with that as well. And when the civil unrest finally starts, those involved in the unrest will be hauled off to “camps” to protect the rest of the population from the “extremists.”
Rant much? Why yes, thank you, I do. Anywho, I hate the TSA. They are just people doing a job, right? Yeah, so are the buttmunchs who send you unsolicited spam, and the jerkwads who call you at 7:30 on a Saturday morning trying to get you to buy their auto insurance. Personally, I’d rather flip burgers at McDonald’s than help implement the military state and invade citizens’ civil liberties… but hey, that’s just me.
So, we get to the airport in Denver, check our bags, take off half of our clothes, get radiated, and make it through security. We get on the plane, and we fly to Miami. Well, we fly to over Miami, and then we circle over Miami for like an hour because of some storms. Then we fly to Ft. Lauderdale because we’re low on fuel. Then we sit in the plane on the tarmac for like an hour getting refueled and waiting for the okay to fly back to Miami. Then we fly back to Miami and land. My least favorite parts of flying, other than the turbulence and the extreme heights and the small seats in “business class” and the fat-assed flight attendants who bump my shoulder every time they walk down the narrow aisle (I thought flight attendants had to be petite… now they’re all fat or dudes and most definitely like banging into passengers) and the narrow aisles and the small restrooms and the long lines to the small restrooms and trying to pee in turbulence… the parts I hate the most are taking off and landing. Taking off and landing are where most accidents occur. Well, on the trip to Miami, what was supposed to be a 4-hour non-stop flight from DIA to MIA turned into an almost 7-hour ordeal with two take-offs and two landings. We really got some bang for our buck on that stupid flight. So, instead of having an afternoon to check out Miami, we went straight to the hotel, grabbed some supper, and got ready for bed.
The next morning, after feasting on the hotel’s all you can eat breakfast buffet (just the beginning of us gorging ourselves), we take a cab out to the port. Going through the boarding process is quite a bit less intimidating than the airport security, but still kind of sucks. Finally, we get on the boat and are ready to really start enjoying our vacation… when I notice them.
Dudes… young dudes… rich-looking young dudes… everywhere. Preppy guys looking like their ready to get their drink on. What the…?!? And they all have Greek letters on their shirts. Frat boys… seriously… everywhere! Most of them appear to be ΣAE (Sigma Alpha Epsilon), although there are some something-with-a-Deltas there, and a something-Kappa-something or two as well. EVERYWHERE!!! It’s nothing personal against young gentlemen in fraternities, God love ’em. I just have a very strong aversion to guys who are almost guaranteed success because they have rich daddies and like looking down on those not in their group. I had to deal with frat boys when I went to college, and I didn’t much care for them then… and now, almost 20 years later, my dream vacation is in jeopardy of being tainted by an extremely large ship FULL of them…
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… and not a sorority girl in sight 🙁 It was shaping up to be a long week.
In addition to doing tech-support stuff for the Internet provider I work for, I also, from time to time, handle some marketing responsibilities. As annoying as advertising sales people can be, they are usually more fun to deal with than people whose Internet isn’t working. The following conversation did occur, it’s just that the words that came out of my mouth were completely different than what I have written below. I don’t like cold-calling any more than the next guy (in fact, I probably hate it way more than the next guy), but a little bit of pre-qualification can go a long way…
at work, telephone ringing, it is from another extension in the office:
Me: This is Rich.
Coworker: Yeah, I have Ernie from St. Larry’s of the Divine Catholic Church on the phone, and he is asking for you specifically.
Me: Okay, send him through.
really lame hold music, then a click as someone comes on the line
Me: This is Rich, how can I help you?
Ernie: Hi, Rich! This is Ernie from St. Larry’s of the Divine Catholic Church.
Me: Hi, Ernie.
Ernie: We are in the process of redesigning our church bulletins, and are securing space for our advertisers.
Me: ……
Ernie: I notice that, in the past, you have advertised in our bulletin.
Me: ……
Ernie: And I was wondering if you would be interested in advertising with us again.
Me: Well, Ernie, we tried advertising in several local Catholic church bulletins a couple of years ago and were disappointed with the results. We really didn’t receive any inquiries for our service that we could tie directly to the bulletin advertising.
Ernie: Oh, I’m sorry to hear that! Do you mind me asking exactly what kind of business you have there?
Me: ……?!?
Ernie: You know, what kind of stuff do you guys do?
Me: Well, Ernie, we host fetish websites.
Ernie: …… Excuse me?
Me: You know, bondage, foot fetish, golden showers, domination and the like. We specialize mostly in bestiality sites, though.
Ernie: Pornography?
Me: Yeah, sounds kind of nasty the way you say it, but we really try to keep it clean, you know. No sex with dead animals or anything sick like that.
Ernie: ……
Me: We have our morals and whatnot, you know?
Ernie: Well, I think that maybe this isn’t a good fit.
Me: Yeah, I kind of might have to agree with you, Ernie. But you know what’s really not a good fit? We host this one site called “Elephant Amour” and they have this video of this little tiny Ethiopian gal and a bull African elephant, and they take that elephant’s…
Ernie: Well, now… uh… I have some other calls to make. Sorry to have wasted your time.
click
Me: Yeah, I’m sorry you wasted my time too, Ernie.
I haven’t been to a dentist since I was 18-years-old. I’m now 41-years-old. For those of you bad at math, I haven’t been to a dentist in 23 years. The last time I went was at the urging of my parents before I went off to college. I was still on my parents insurance and they paid for the whole shebang. I remember it being painful, full of screeching drills and the smell of smoking teeth. I remember shots (notice the plural) in my mouth that didn’t seem to numb everything the way they were supposed to. I remember thinking to myself that the dentist was a skinny little preppy dude, and my 18-year-old body, fresh out of four years of high school football, could kick this jerk’s ass. I’m pretty sure that dentist was about one drill insertion away from having a little dental work done himself… at no charge. That was then.
This is now. I no longer fear the pain. The thought of having some dude sticking his hairy fingers in my mouth is unsettling, but it doesn’t prevent me from having my oral orifice examined. I don’t go to the dentist for the same reason that I don’t see a psychiatrist (of which I am plenty in need of seeing), I don’t go to a chiropractor, I forgo the use of an attorney, and I seldom set foot in a doctor’s office; I hate senators and school superintendents and city managers and CEOs and Hollywood actors and rock stars and successful entrepreneurs.
I have a severe case of class envy.
I hate people who are successful and make a lot of money. I don’t hate them for what they have… I hate them for making me realize what I do not have. I don’t hate them for their outgoing personalities and successful traits… I hate them for making me realize how low my self-esteem is and how my traits all suck. I don’t hate their money… I just do everything I can to not add to their wealth by sacrificing any of my lower-middle-class income to them. That’s one of the main reasons I hate paying taxes… because I know part of what I pay goes into those $150,000 salaries of those morons in Washington who can’t pull their heads out of their asses for long enough to do what’s right for the country.
I remember when I first moved to Scottsbluff, NE. I was in my early 20s and pretty fresh out of college. I was an assistant manager at Sherwin-Williams… you know… the paint store. That’s right… first job out of college was in retail management. Explains a lot about why I think life sucks, huh? I remember my college professors all warning about jobs in retail. “Once you go into retail, it’s very hard to get out… or to do any better.” I was hesitant to go into retail, but after sending out hundreds of resumes with only a handful of resulting interviews and only one actual job offer, I didn’t feel I had much choice. I took what was offered. So, I end up in Scottsbluff, NE making a salary of like $17,000/year working 45 to 55 hours per week. I knew this wasn’t a lot of money, but I could afford a crappy, mildew covered, bug infested little basement apartment, and I could pay my bills and put food on the table. Not good food, mind you, but food. I was also able to keep up on the repayment of the thousands of dollars in student loans I had accumulated. College… funny huh? You spend thousands of dollars on an education that never really seems to pay for itself. Where’s the ROI on a stupid business degree? I guess if you’re a doctor or lawyer, you must finally realize some return on that investment, huh? Anyways, even though I was making pretty crappy money for a college graduate, I was still pretty naive and felt that life might still work out and that hard work would provide it’s benefits in the future. In other words, I was still stupid
I can remember when my attitude started to change… when I experienced my “awakening”. I was driving in downtown Scottsbluff (it’s about five blocks long, so it was a short drive), when I was passed by a car. This was not just any car, this was a fancy little BMW sportster. You know, a silver little two-seater convertible jobbie. And it had vanity plates.
Vanity plates.
And guess what vanity was expressed on those stinking license plates?
“DRTOOTH”
I crap you not. Some dentist was driving around town in a $40,000-plus sports car and was letting everyone know that he bought that car through the cavities of the little children. That is the exact moment that I decided that I was never going to go to a dentist again. I was never going to help some arrogant SOB buy his next Mercedes or Beemer or country club membership or vacation condo in Las Vegas or Miami. Thanks for the invitation, but I’m afraid that doesn’t sound like the kind of party I’m interested in attending. Gather your wealth through the teeth of some other miserable assistant manager at some other crappy retail establishment, I’m gonna peace-out on this one.
And I have been peaced-out ever since. My teeth, of course, are falling apart. They are stained and cracked and filled with cavities. I don’t think there is much enamel left, because sometimes too hot or too cold makes them hurt. One of my back teeth that was filled decades ago when I last visited a dentist has had a huge crack down the side of it for almost 15 years. Finally, a couple of nights ago while eating spaghetti (spaghetti, for crying out loud), that back half of the cracked tooth just disappeared. I must have swallowed it. Better I use it as roughage then let some dentist charge me hundreds of dollars to fix. I have a wisdom tooth that has been trying to come in for the past 20 years, and it’s growing out of the side of my jaw. It gets a little sore and leaks a little pus from time to time (I originally wrote that “my tooth gets a little pusy from time to time”, but I originally thought “pus” had two s’s… and that sentence made me laugh for longer than was appropriate, so I changed it… and then I pointed it out again here, because… damn it, it’s just funny).
The strange thing is, my mouth never really hurts. Aside from the occasional sensitivity issues, and the wisdom tooth acting up on occasion, I feel little pain. I know there have to be tons of cavities in that sucker. I know all of the crack and chips should probably cause some discomfort, but they don’t. Even when that stupid wisdom tooth starts acting up, I just gargle with some peroxide, and it feels better. I brush at least twice a day, and I floss… I floss on occasion (special occassions, like Christmas and Martin Luther King’s birthday).
I know that I should probably go to see a dentist. Modern dentistry is what sets us apart from neanderthals… like the British. I know I could probably extend my miserable existence (oh yeah) by taking better care of my teeth. I can just picture the look on the dentist’s face the first time he gets a gander inside my mouth. You know how in cartoons the eyes roll like slots into dollar signs? Well, my dentists eye’s are gonna roll into Beemers. I just know it.
Most of the people I work with on a daily basis have at least some innate artistic talent. A couple of them can sing pretty amazingly, at least three of them have at least some skills on a guitar,
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"Who says you can't poop your pants and play guitar at the same time? I'll show 'em!"
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and one has mad-drum skills (or so he says).
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"They need to put more warnings on that stupid Viagra!"
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There is some songwriting ability amongst the group, and one guy runs and DJs his own Internet radio station (as did a past coworker.)
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"E=MC²? I don't think so. E=Contemporary Christian Rock, my friend."
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Some of them are even pretty good at designing Photoshop-type crap. Working in an environment like that, for someone who has the creative skills of a lump of coal, can be disheartening. Hell… it can be down-right depressing.
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I got no mad art skills. I can’t sing or play guitar or draw or dance or act or design or much of anything else that could be considered creative. I watch some mean TV, but I don’t think that counts for much. I can eat like there’s no tomorrow, and that kind of creatively expands my circumference… but I may be grasping at straws. Although there is reward, there is no award for couch-potatoship.
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"Wash my socks? I didn't even know they came off!"
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The really sad thing is… you can’t “learn” creativity. You can develop talent, but it’s pretty hard to take someone with no inherent ability and teach them a skill that involves creativity when the talent and creativity are completely foreign to that individual. Anyone with two hands can learn to play the guitar. If the person lacks actual talent and creativity, they will never really master the skill (or even get close). I think there needs to be a little passion thrown in with the talent-creativity-mix as well. I’m passionate about music… I love listening and I wish I could create, but I have neither skills nor creativity when it comes to music. I love listening to a song that makes me think of a particular time, or a voice that calms me, or see a live performance that gives me goosebumps… and I’d love to be able to evoke those thoughts and emotions in complete strangers…
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… but I can’t.
I think that people who have creative outlets, even if they aren’t making a living with their “art”, lead a more satisfying life. I have nothing to back this thought up with, but it seems like it makes sense. I know I’ve read stuff that says this is true… but I don’t feel like turning this into a research paper 🙂
Given the fact that I want to increase the satisfaction of my life, I figure I need to find some hidden talent for the creative that must be lurking somewhere deep within me. Some of the motivational guru-types tell us that we should practice our “art” in whatever career related task we are doing. By this, they are implying that every job can be looked at as somewhere one can apply creative talent, and you will do a better job if you hone your “artistic skills” when performing your job. The problem with looking at a random job as a place to meet those creative aspirations is the “passion” I mentioned earlier. We aren’t all going to be able to learn to be passionate about our jobs, and some of us have been through too many jobs to still believe we are ever going to find a job that fulfills us on a creative level. To convince yourself that you can find a creative outlet in something you aren’t passionate about seems to me to be a little like settling.
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"Remember: close your mouth... close your mouth... close your mouth..."
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“Things aren’t ever going to get any better, so I need to do what I can with what I’ve got.”
Deciding to settle (giving up) may make life less stressful (for those with no creative outlet), or it might make make you want to pull your hair out…
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Looks like someone realized she really doesn't have any talent?
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… or lose your mind.
On one hand, realizing that you may never have a creative outlet and accepting that fact must be kind of liberating. You don’t have to worry about what that stupid life-satisfaction must be like any more. On the other hand, it may not be liberating at all.
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All I have for a creative outlet is this stinking blog, and if you’ve read it, you know it’s not that creative at all. Me bitching about stuff and posting pictures I’ve found on other web sites; I guess it’s a start. What I need to do now is find my true calling… my true creative ability… the one skill that I can be passionate about using that will move or entertain others. I need to figure out how bring my couch potato act to the stage…
So about three weeks ago, I post my previous entry to this blog. It’s all about how stress sucks and how I don’t handle stress very well. This was on a Saturday. It was my 100th post, and I planned on following it up with a 100th postaversary celebration, but you’re getting this instead.
Monday rolls around, and I get a phone call from my dad (one of my three regular readers) who says that his Norton is telling him he can get a virus if he goes to my site. I’m at work, so I don’t really have time to look at whatever the issue is (and I’m thinking in the back of my head that it’s probably just something screwy with Norton… or my dad). Throughout the day, I hear from the other two people who read this blog and they both tell me that my blog is apparently an “Attack Site”.
Sure enough, every time I tried going to my site on any browser (Microsoft Internet Explorer, Google Chrome and Mozilla Firefox), I’m getting a message that my computer can get a virus my visiting my blog!?! CRAP!
Alright, so I start griping to anyone who will listen about hackers and their ilk who have fun making other peoples’ lives living hells for no apparent reason. I am of the conviction that all practitioners of cyber-terror (spammers, hackers, identity thieves, etc.) should be publicly executed… with stones. You know, Shirley Jackson’s The Lottery-style. I may actually toss a stone or two myself. I bet you have some world-wide televised public stonings and the rate of cyber terror will drop drastically. Just saying.
So anyway, my boss overhears me bitching about some jackwad hiding a link to a malicious site in my code, and he takes it upon himself to remove the link. See, I don’t know anything about coding or PHP or HTML or any of that crap. I use WordPress because I’m not supposed to know about how to do that coding crap with WordPress. Thank goodness I have a cool boss 🙂
I’m all good now, right? The code is gone and my blog is once again safe. I figure I’m all in the clear. Except, I’m not. Because now I have to request that Google re-review my site to confirm that the bad stuff is gone. See, many of the reporting sites that different browsers and whatnot rely on to determine if a site is safe to go to rely on Google for their information. Googlebot is a web crawler, or “spider”, which scours the Internet looking for new web sites… and searching existing web sites for dangers to Google’s users. So, unless you can prove to Google that your site is clean and safe after it has been ruled compromised, a lot of potential visitors are going to get a warning page when they try to visit your site.
This is all well and good. I want to be protected when I visit sites, so I really didn’t have any issues with any of this. Where my issue comes into play is with proving to Google that I own my web site. This was not an easy task.
Google gives you like four different methods to prove you own your site. One requires inserting some “meta” doohickie into a certain position in your sites code. Well… that was out, because, like I wrote earlier, I don’t know nothing ’bout no stinking code.
Another method involved copying some HTML thingamagiggee into some section of your site on the server… blah blah blah. Again… HTML… not happening.
A third option for proving that I owned my site was by adding a DNS record to my domain’s configuration by signing into the domain register and… you’ve got to be freaking kidding me. Isn’t there an app for my Droid that I can just download… or maybe a button on Facebook I can click?
The final option is linking your web site to a Google Analytics account. HOORAY! I have a Google Analytics account, and I use it to monitor my web site. I figure this is going to be easy, right? Yeah, wrong. I try using that method and I come to the realization that I must not have the required asynchronous snippet in my tracking code. What exactly is an asynchronous snippet? Well, I looked it up, and I still have no idea. If I could figure out what a freaking asynchronous snippet was, I’d probably know how to add a DNS record to my domain’s configuration. FOR CRYING OUT LOVE OF PETE!
Alright, so I figure I’ll just contact Google and see if they can help me. HAHAHA! Did you read that? “Contact Google.” Exactly how stupid am I? Apparently, very stupid. One does not “contact” Google. Period. Seriously, go to Google’s web site and click on “contact us” on the bottom of the page. There is no way to actually “contact” anyone. There is no phone number, no email addresses, no mailing address… just recommendations to go to different forums and blogs and crap. When I first went to “contact” Google, they recommended that the fastest way to resolve my issue was to search their forums. Have you ever searched a forum? There is absolutely nothing fast about searching a forum for ANYTHING!
Okay, so I’m way past the point of literally pulling the hair out of my head. There are still hairs lodged in between the keys on my laptop’s keyboard. I figure “screw this, I’m done!”
“Oh, but it’s not fair to ask that Google have live people to help nincompoops like you,” says the tech geek who thinks I’m an idiot. “They are much too large of a company with way too many interests. Do you know how many calls they’d get and email they would have to respond to?”
Seriously?!? Google is a multi-billion dollar corporation. Their stock sells for like $600/ share. $600 PER SHARE! Yes, I just yelled it at you. You mean to tell me they can’t afford a customer service center… or 20?
Anywho, I gave up on the whole blogging thing. Figured it was supposed to be a way to relieve stress, not create stress. I was done with the whole thing. And every day I would try to visit the site and see that stupid warning page, and I’d get more and more pissed off. And I’d try to research a way to get the whole -prove-ownership-to-Google-thing accomplished. And I’d learn a little and get really frustrated and pissed-off, and I’d give up again. Lather, rinse, repeat… for almost 10 days.
Funny thing is, if I used Microsoft Internet Explorer, I could get to the site just fine… no warnings. Apparently Microsoft (and Norton, and McAfee, and all other leading anti-viruses) knew the bad code had been removed from my site and was a safe place to visit. Google (and Firefox… who relies on Googlebot) apparently has no problem listing my site as dangerous, but don’t apparently have the advanced kind of technology that allows them to periodically revisit sites it has condemned to see if anything has changed.
“But that’s you’re responsibility as the site owner,” says the Google advocate. I’m gonna have to call BS on that. Google, on the warning page, stated that they had contacted the site owner to let them know the site had been found malignant. I received no notification from anyone other than my dad and his Norton. They didn’t contact anyone… they just made a decision to make my site appear dangerous to much of the online community (which I understand)… even after it was fixed (which is inexcusable). Google has a crap-ton of power over the Internet. You could almost call it the “Googlenet.”
As we learned from Spider-Man:
With great power comes great responsibility.
It would take very little for Google to make the entire “review” process for corrupted web sites much easier (maybe even automate it)… and that would be showing “great responsibility.” Hell… if some random stranger wants to have my little stinking blog reviewed… I say, “Have at it!” Why does one have to prove ownership to have a web site reviewed?
Anyway, after 10 days of short bouts of learning… intermixed with long periods of full-on rage… I finally figured out how to FTP some HTML to the server I use to prove my ownership… and I got a clean review from Google. What exactly did I just write? You’ve got me. I did it once, and if I ever have to do it again, I may end-up bald!
Stress: the silent killer, right? Hahaha! Well, if you’re like me, your stress isn’t really that silent. My stress is displayed in violent outbursts that can be heard up to 1 and a quarter miles away, and usually something gets broken (which I often regret). I can see how stress kills, though, and I’d love to cut down on the impact it has on my life. I’d actually like to eliminate stress completely, but that is impossible… and thinking of how I will never be able to remove stress from my life just stresses me out.
As far back as I can remember, I have been easily stressed-out. However, I used to be able to bottle that stuff up, and no one was the wiser. I’d hold all of the stress inside and let it build until, once every so often, I’d have a meltdown. These meltdowns were powerful and often catastrophic. Things and people were often hurt, myself included.
Over the course of the last few years, my ability to bottle the stress has diminished. It’s like the storage unit I used to be able to shove the stress into has reached its capacity, and any new stress (which occurs daily) automatically spills out into my temper. Now, instead of occasional meltdowns, I experience daily (but much smaller) bouts of rage.
What is the best way to deal with stress? Good gravy… if I had the answer to that, I probably wouldn’t need to be on blood pressure medication. The “experts” offer numerous stress-relieving methods, most of which are free. When I write “experts”, what I really mean is “people for whom stress isn’t really a problem”… ’cause most of the recommendations are laughable.
Helpguide.org offers the following advice: relax. Wow, there’s some good advice. That’s golden. So, how exactly do we relax when stress has taken over? Deep breathing, visualization, progressive muscle relaxation, meditation, and yoga are Helpguide’s recommendations. Well, when I’m stressed, I’m usually already breathing pretty heavily. I’m also using visualization (usually visualizing my fist contacting someone’s face). In fact, the “visualization” usually evolves into “meditation” as I meditate on destroying every breakable thing in sight. Progressive muscle relaxation is some sort of “two-step process” that involves getting semi-naked and flexing the muscles in your feet while you stare at them…
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Looking at these bad boys is not going to lessen the stress load
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… not exactly something that sounds like I’m going to get into the full swing of while I’m stressed out. Finally yoga… seriously? I’m ready to put my fist through a wall, so why don’t I sit all cross-leggy and clear my mind.
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What the crap is the touching the finger tips together all about? It seems stupid, and people doing stupid stuff stresses me out!
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If I could clear my stinking mind, I wouldn’t be stressed. I mean, come on, the reason stress is so harsh is because it becomes (to some of us) all-consuming while we are under its grip. Like I wrote earlier, I don’t think that the people who come up with these solutions to controlling stress have ever reallybeen stressed-out.
There are tons of other websites with similar suggestions to helpguide.org, and none of them offer the quick fix that I’m looking for. For a real help with stress, you have to turn to a shrink
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or medication
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or both. Neither a head doctor nor the suitable pills to make stress go away are cheap, so you will be forking over major cash wads to alleviate stress, and since financial stress is very common, you will be creating stress to get rid of your stress.
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Catch-22, anyone?
So how does one go about dealing with stress on a limited budget? Well, my personal favorite is sleep. When I get stressed, I just want to shut everything down. Sleep is a great way to escape from the daily rigors of stress. If you get stressed at work and you have a desk…
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Sometimes a bigger desk would be nice, huh?
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… just crawl under the desk and fall into the stress-busting arms of deep sleep. If you don’t have a desk, there is always somewhere else…
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It is, after all…
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Guys can have terrible aim... don't know if I'd have my head that close to the "head"...
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…the “rest” room.
Maybe sleep doesn’t do it for you. Maybe you need something cheap to calm your nerves. Maybe you got a little sumin’ sumpin’ calling your name.
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Mad Dog... the choice of college students and alcoholics worldwide
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And maybe you won’t need your liver in your senior years.
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William Shatner? Man, you've really let yourself go...
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Okay, so maybe the drug/alcohol method may not be the best choice for stress relief. It’s a choice, just not a very smart one.
So we have sleep and the use of drugs. What else can we do to relieve stress? A final method… and, next to sleep, my favorite… is breaking stuff. Oh, sure, I could rephrase this “exercise” (’cause exercise helps work off the stress), but who is able to drop everything and go for a 1/2 mile jog every time he or she gets stressed? Athletes, that’s who, and most of us aren’t athletes. I go to the YMCA almost nightly in an effort to work off the day’s stress, but that doesn’t do me any good when I’m trying to book a service call while dealing with our field tech on my cell phone (who I can hardly hear because his stupid bluetooth picks-up the slightest breeze and makes it sound like he’s in the middle of a stinking tornado) and the office phone is ringing off the stinking hook and one of the subcontractors is standing in the door of my office telling me how he needs to charge more money, in extremely broken-English (he speaks English just fine unless he is telling me how he is gonna charge more than agreed upon due to some stupid circumstance that sounds half made-up… then he gets really hard to understand)… and I just want to SCREAM AND START BREAKING STUFF. A brisk walk around the neighborhood is, at this point, not an option. Something needs to give, and it most likely will be my patience. I keep a tomahawk within reach for just such occasion. I grab the tomahawk and look at the subcontractor… who immediately leaves. I don’t know if it is the sight of the tomahawk that makes him leave, or if it’s the look in my eyes whilst holding the tomahawk that makes him decide another time to discuss his pricing may be in order. I then sink the tomahawk into the next closest point of frustration.
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And guess what? I feel all better… even if I still have to use the stupid thing to listen to people bitch about their Internet
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So there you have it. If you don’t have the kind of money that can buy the good kinds of relief for stress, just take a nap, get loaded on cheap booze or drugs, or break stuff. Then, get a good night’s sleep… ’cause tomorrow, you get to do it all over again 🙂
