Saturday, May 3, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
That's A New One
I was at work yesterday when the phone rang.
"Good evening, Tim Horton's, Haley speaking."
"Um, hi? I was wondering if you could check if there's a woman with long brown hair there?" The speaker is a young man.
I look and report back that there are only two women with gray hair and an elderly man in the store at the moment.
"Oh. Um. Okay. Well she should be in soon. When she does could you tell her that Harry asked if he could marry her? I'd really appreciate it."
Then he hung up. Didn't wait for a reply. How odd!
Firstly, "woman with long brown hair" is not much of a description. I'm not about to ask every woman with brown hair if she'll marry Harry, and secondly, even if I did, how is Harry supposed to know her reply? Assuming that the proposal was genuine (and I'm fully aware that it was likely a crank call on me), that's something that you'd think Harry would want to see in person.
It did rather amuse me for the rest of the night though!
"Good evening, Tim Horton's, Haley speaking."
"Um, hi? I was wondering if you could check if there's a woman with long brown hair there?" The speaker is a young man.
I look and report back that there are only two women with gray hair and an elderly man in the store at the moment.
"Oh. Um. Okay. Well she should be in soon. When she does could you tell her that Harry asked if he could marry her? I'd really appreciate it."
Then he hung up. Didn't wait for a reply. How odd!
Firstly, "woman with long brown hair" is not much of a description. I'm not about to ask every woman with brown hair if she'll marry Harry, and secondly, even if I did, how is Harry supposed to know her reply? Assuming that the proposal was genuine (and I'm fully aware that it was likely a crank call on me), that's something that you'd think Harry would want to see in person.
It did rather amuse me for the rest of the night though!
Saturday, April 19, 2008
A New Addition!
Once again there is something worth blogging about! Greg and I are adopting a kitten. There were many factors involved in the decision. Rumble has been lonely (and therefore annoying is his demand for attention), Greg and I both enjoy how two cats play together, and Greg had never had a kitten before - and of course I love kittens!
We decided to do a private adoption through an agency, rather than going to the humane society. This meant a lower cost: $145 for kitten +2 rounds of shots +spaying +flea/earmite/worm removal. It also meant a friendlier environment. There is nothing I hate more than visiting the humane society and having to leave behind all the meowing for attention kitties and wondering if they will ever find a home. Instead I got to go to a woman's home and sit in a room with the two kittens they had, and play with them in a low-key environment.
So that brings us to the kitten herself (yes, she's a 'she'). I don't have any pictures yet, as we don't get to take her home with us until the 29/30, after she's healed from the spaying, but I will describe her. She's 11 weeks old, and white, except for her head and her back, which is brown tabby. I keep saying that it's as if she was meant to be a white cat and someone just accidentally dropped tabby on her. She's very affectionate, much more so than her brother who was more interested in my shoelaces than me. And so, in just over a week, Rumble will have a little friend.
And her name? So far we think either Pandora or Nietzsche ("neet-cha"). Anyone have a preference?
We decided to do a private adoption through an agency, rather than going to the humane society. This meant a lower cost: $145 for kitten +2 rounds of shots +spaying +flea/earmite/worm removal. It also meant a friendlier environment. There is nothing I hate more than visiting the humane society and having to leave behind all the meowing for attention kitties and wondering if they will ever find a home. Instead I got to go to a woman's home and sit in a room with the two kittens they had, and play with them in a low-key environment.
So that brings us to the kitten herself (yes, she's a 'she'). I don't have any pictures yet, as we don't get to take her home with us until the 29/30, after she's healed from the spaying, but I will describe her. She's 11 weeks old, and white, except for her head and her back, which is brown tabby. I keep saying that it's as if she was meant to be a white cat and someone just accidentally dropped tabby on her. She's very affectionate, much more so than her brother who was more interested in my shoelaces than me. And so, in just over a week, Rumble will have a little friend.
And her name? So far we think either Pandora or Nietzsche ("neet-cha"). Anyone have a preference?
Monday, March 24, 2008
A Nice Turn of Events
Good things are a-brewing. I convinced my manager to give me two 8-hour shifts on the weekend, thereby limiting the nights I have to work with crazy-racist-shift-leader to one a week. One is far better than three. One I can manage. One does not rob me of my soul.
I also found a new carpool arrangement. No more being so chronically late that I get letters for bad attendance. No more being called at 7:25 am to say the ride isn't coming (when college starts at 8:15, and is a 2 hour bus ride). No more being left at college because the other class got out early.
I now have one girl from my own term drive me in the morning, since doesn't it turn out that she drops her husband off at work 2 blocks from my house every morning. In the afternoons I get a ride home from a group of term one students that carpool together every day.
So Much Better!
And there may even be a visit from my former roomie in the works for later this week. Come, Jackie! Do come!
I also found a new carpool arrangement. No more being so chronically late that I get letters for bad attendance. No more being called at 7:25 am to say the ride isn't coming (when college starts at 8:15, and is a 2 hour bus ride). No more being left at college because the other class got out early.
I now have one girl from my own term drive me in the morning, since doesn't it turn out that she drops her husband off at work 2 blocks from my house every morning. In the afternoons I get a ride home from a group of term one students that carpool together every day.
So Much Better!
And there may even be a visit from my former roomie in the works for later this week. Come, Jackie! Do come!
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Developments
Midterms are done! I can now have a life again. I began my having a life again by reinstalling windows on my drugged-out computer, with much phone help from my little brother the computer genius. It's good to have him to fall back on when my computer tells me that
a) windows is corrupt and needs to be reinstalled
b) it can't reinstall windows because there is already an operating system installed (ie: windows)
I would have just been sitting on the floor crying without my brilliant brother calmly talking me through how to fix it. That he was able to do this while serving people beavertails at his job, dealing with customer questions, and doing some sort of inventory/ordering thing tells you just how brilliant he is.
That crisis over, I cleaned all the wood in the apartment with Murphy's Oil. Got to love that stuff. Now the beat up wood sliding doors on the (5) closets and the (4) room doors and the (12) cupboards and the dining room floor all look beat up AND shiny. An improvement over just beat up, I'll say. The whole apartment shines and stinks. The stink will fade, and hopefully the shine will stay.
The Tims I work at is finally out of the trailer. No being trapped in a 5'x5' square with a loudly racist supervisor. Now I can at least by 15' away from the racist supervisor at all times. It's an improvement, folks. Plus there are more things to do so I'm not bored out of my mind, and the heating works! Of course there is an incredibly loud water hammer thing that happens whenever we run the industrial dishwasher that makes it sound as though the store is coming down, but management says the plummer will be in later this week.
And now I have an evening with nothing to study, and no work. What a luxury. Mound of laundry, here I come!
a) windows is corrupt and needs to be reinstalled
b) it can't reinstall windows because there is already an operating system installed (ie: windows)
I would have just been sitting on the floor crying without my brilliant brother calmly talking me through how to fix it. That he was able to do this while serving people beavertails at his job, dealing with customer questions, and doing some sort of inventory/ordering thing tells you just how brilliant he is.
That crisis over, I cleaned all the wood in the apartment with Murphy's Oil. Got to love that stuff. Now the beat up wood sliding doors on the (5) closets and the (4) room doors and the (12) cupboards and the dining room floor all look beat up AND shiny. An improvement over just beat up, I'll say. The whole apartment shines and stinks. The stink will fade, and hopefully the shine will stay.
The Tims I work at is finally out of the trailer. No being trapped in a 5'x5' square with a loudly racist supervisor. Now I can at least by 15' away from the racist supervisor at all times. It's an improvement, folks. Plus there are more things to do so I'm not bored out of my mind, and the heating works! Of course there is an incredibly loud water hammer thing that happens whenever we run the industrial dishwasher that makes it sound as though the store is coming down, but management says the plummer will be in later this week.
And now I have an evening with nothing to study, and no work. What a luxury. Mound of laundry, here I come!
Sunday, February 17, 2008
One Step Closer!
The date is set! October 21st, 2008, I take the trip to Toronto to take the practical examination (aka OSCE) set by the College of Massage Therapists of Ontario. The other exam is written, and I can't register for it until 2 weeks before my graduation. That one isn't such a rush though because you can write it at many different locations across the country. For the OSCE there are only 7 spots available for each time, and everyone has to go to Toronto to do it. It fills up fast.
So that's it. October 21st, I'll be doing the big exam. I'm already exited.
So that's it. October 21st, I'll be doing the big exam. I'm already exited.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Neurology Does Not Spell "Good Time"
Tomorrow I have a neurology exam. As of now I can draw the major neurological pathways (aka: plexus...es? plexi?) of the body and name the innervation of almost every single muscle in the body. Even the tiny ones that nobody really cares about. We don't have to learn the ones for the face. I'm not sure really why that distinction is made. I know the innervations for the itty bitty neck muscles, and for the various parts of private anatomy, but the face? Don't need to know it.
Of course, one could argue that I don't need to know any of these at all! I mean really, what are the odds that someone is going to show up in my massage clinic complaining that they can't contract their deltoid to lift the arm? Surely if someone has noticed that they can't lift their arm or contract the muscle at all then they would be talking to their doctor about it, not their massage therapist. And if someone does come to me with that problem, or I happen to notice it during a routine shoulder massage, say, then do I really have to be able to tell them that the problem likely stems from the axillary nerve of the brachial plexus originating from the lower cervical vertebrae?
Ah, no. In fact, I'm not qualified to give them any kind of diagnosis so even if that did happen and even if I did know what nerve was affected I would still be forced to say "I'm thinking that their might be something neurologically wrong here and I'm going to recommend that you see your GP about this". So what is the freaking point?
The answer: to pass the provincial board exams.
So off I go to stuff my brain with more muscle-nerve associations so that I can pass the board exams, become an RMT, and forget all about the brachial plexus.
Of course, one could argue that I don't need to know any of these at all! I mean really, what are the odds that someone is going to show up in my massage clinic complaining that they can't contract their deltoid to lift the arm? Surely if someone has noticed that they can't lift their arm or contract the muscle at all then they would be talking to their doctor about it, not their massage therapist. And if someone does come to me with that problem, or I happen to notice it during a routine shoulder massage, say, then do I really have to be able to tell them that the problem likely stems from the axillary nerve of the brachial plexus originating from the lower cervical vertebrae?
Ah, no. In fact, I'm not qualified to give them any kind of diagnosis so even if that did happen and even if I did know what nerve was affected I would still be forced to say "I'm thinking that their might be something neurologically wrong here and I'm going to recommend that you see your GP about this". So what is the freaking point?The answer: to pass the provincial board exams.
So off I go to stuff my brain with more muscle-nerve associations so that I can pass the board exams, become an RMT, and forget all about the brachial plexus.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Sigh
At my college each term is responsible for fund-raising enough money to have an after grad party. The college pays for the ceremony and the location, but if we want a dinner and dance, we have to cough up our own dough. Fair enough. Every term fund-raises throughout their time at the college in order to do this. Bear that in mind.
Scene: my term's fund-raising pancake breakfast. I am flipping pancakes at a bar line of griddles. Students are walking through, filling up plates and either staying or exiting to eat.
Enter Large Bossy Blonde who proceeds to make announcement of another term's fund-raising valentines. Exit Large Bossy Blonde.
30 minutes pass. Pancakes continue to be sold.
Re-enter LBB. Further loud announcements of the other fundraiser. From the location of the griddle I speak loudly:
"Have you bought any pancakes?"
"No. I'm on a diet. That's why."
I resume flipping. LBB leaves. The breakfast wraps up. We clean up. We go to our next class. I get hauled out of class by Super Student Services Lady. She feels she needs to have a talk with me about professionalism in the school. She heard a report that I was snappish and rude with one of the other students. She stresses that if I'm going to make a humorous remark that I need to ensure that it is more obviously humorous so as to not offend people. She restates the policy that more than one term can fund raise at the same time as long as it is not the same activity. She expresses how shocked she was that this report came against me since I'm so sweet. (The college only has 100 students, max - this woman knows me personally.)
Her sweetness is false, put-on, and stickily uncomfortable.
I want to squirm away.
It may be true that the college I attend has a fantastic reputation for graduates passing the provincial board exams, but I am becoming increasingly unimpressed with the amount of bureaucratic pickle-up-the-ass red tape. I mean, come on people. That was in no way aggressive or nasty. I said it with a smile on my face and in a friendly tone. If she's going to come into our fundraiser to try to get money for her term, then surely I have a right to ask her to contribute to ours! Yet student services comes and reprimands me without even pausing to consider my perspective? And is this going on my record?
Sigh.
Scene: my term's fund-raising pancake breakfast. I am flipping pancakes at a bar line of griddles. Students are walking through, filling up plates and either staying or exiting to eat.
Enter Large Bossy Blonde who proceeds to make announcement of another term's fund-raising valentines. Exit Large Bossy Blonde.
30 minutes pass. Pancakes continue to be sold.
Re-enter LBB. Further loud announcements of the other fundraiser. From the location of the griddle I speak loudly:
"Have you bought any pancakes?"
"No. I'm on a diet. That's why."
I resume flipping. LBB leaves. The breakfast wraps up. We clean up. We go to our next class. I get hauled out of class by Super Student Services Lady. She feels she needs to have a talk with me about professionalism in the school. She heard a report that I was snappish and rude with one of the other students. She stresses that if I'm going to make a humorous remark that I need to ensure that it is more obviously humorous so as to not offend people. She restates the policy that more than one term can fund raise at the same time as long as it is not the same activity. She expresses how shocked she was that this report came against me since I'm so sweet. (The college only has 100 students, max - this woman knows me personally.)
Her sweetness is false, put-on, and stickily uncomfortable.
I want to squirm away.
It may be true that the college I attend has a fantastic reputation for graduates passing the provincial board exams, but I am becoming increasingly unimpressed with the amount of bureaucratic pickle-up-the-ass red tape. I mean, come on people. That was in no way aggressive or nasty. I said it with a smile on my face and in a friendly tone. If she's going to come into our fundraiser to try to get money for her term, then surely I have a right to ask her to contribute to ours! Yet student services comes and reprimands me without even pausing to consider my perspective? And is this going on my record?
Sigh.
Monday, February 4, 2008
And She's Job Hunting Again
I have incredible respect for people that work in the customer service industry. You know the ones. The people who put up with cranky customers who proclaim their rights to discounts and know all. The people who deal with an unstable work schedule, never sure if they will get 20 hours or 40 or 10. The people who handle supervisors and managers who angry and bitter and small. I have respect for these people. I am these people. I am also tired of being these people.
And that is why I started job hunting today. Today when my supervisor called to have me come in 4 hours early (with 20 minutes notice) - not to ASK me to come in, mind, but to TELL me to come in. When she was totally shocked that I had "dinner plans and couldn't do it" (never mind that my dinner plans were to make a salad, and watch Ellen). When she moaned and complained that her employees are unreliable. When I know that at 7pm tonight I will be standing there working beside her for 4 hours of her bitching and making passive aggressive comments (and I'm the employee she likes!)...
That's when I rewrote my resume. That's when I came up with a cover letter. That's when I sent in an online application to a local gym. That's when I made plans to go around to the other local gyms and hand in resumes there as well. Heck, I'm leaning all this anatomy and remedial exercise, I might as well be working in a place that is relevant! Just please, get me out of this food and beverage industry!
And that is why I started job hunting today. Today when my supervisor called to have me come in 4 hours early (with 20 minutes notice) - not to ASK me to come in, mind, but to TELL me to come in. When she was totally shocked that I had "dinner plans and couldn't do it" (never mind that my dinner plans were to make a salad, and watch Ellen). When she moaned and complained that her employees are unreliable. When I know that at 7pm tonight I will be standing there working beside her for 4 hours of her bitching and making passive aggressive comments (and I'm the employee she likes!)...
That's when I rewrote my resume. That's when I came up with a cover letter. That's when I sent in an online application to a local gym. That's when I made plans to go around to the other local gyms and hand in resumes there as well. Heck, I'm leaning all this anatomy and remedial exercise, I might as well be working in a place that is relevant! Just please, get me out of this food and beverage industry!
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
A New Social Low
I hate to sound like I'm getting old and jaded...but what is with kids these days?
At 22 years old, I honestly thought I was past being high school bullied. For those who don't know, I hated nearly every minute of high school. My experience of it was filled with pushy, bossy, cruel peers intent on tearing down every shred of self-confidence by both overt and sneaky, passive aggressive means. It was a world where everyone is equally as scared and insecure, and yet simultaneously believe that they are completely alone in their intimidation, and where many took to bringing down those around them in order to feel better about themselves (something I would later learn about as a "leveling mechanism" in anthropology and be fascinated by, hmm).
Having said all that, I thought I was done with it. Today I was proven wrong. Today as I walked from the bus stop to my house I passed the local high school which was just letting out for the day. City buses were sitting in front of it waiting for the hordes of students to organize themselves and get on, and there were probably about a hundred students milling about and doing student type things. I ignored them and kept walking up the sidewalk. Was that my mistake? Out of absolutely nowhere a guy standing with a group of other guys puts out his hand and deliberately shoves me sideways, causing me to side step to catch my balance, and land both feet sinking in to a giant muddy puddle. They laughed uproariously at my expense.
I was dumbstruck. I shot them a dirty look, and walked on, being too shocked by the experience and too poor at thinking on my feet to come up with a more appropriate response.
What would have been an appropriate response? How do you deal with someone who will arbitrarily assault a complete stranger?
At 22 years old, I honestly thought I was past being high school bullied. For those who don't know, I hated nearly every minute of high school. My experience of it was filled with pushy, bossy, cruel peers intent on tearing down every shred of self-confidence by both overt and sneaky, passive aggressive means. It was a world where everyone is equally as scared and insecure, and yet simultaneously believe that they are completely alone in their intimidation, and where many took to bringing down those around them in order to feel better about themselves (something I would later learn about as a "leveling mechanism" in anthropology and be fascinated by, hmm).
Having said all that, I thought I was done with it. Today I was proven wrong. Today as I walked from the bus stop to my house I passed the local high school which was just letting out for the day. City buses were sitting in front of it waiting for the hordes of students to organize themselves and get on, and there were probably about a hundred students milling about and doing student type things. I ignored them and kept walking up the sidewalk. Was that my mistake? Out of absolutely nowhere a guy standing with a group of other guys puts out his hand and deliberately shoves me sideways, causing me to side step to catch my balance, and land both feet sinking in to a giant muddy puddle. They laughed uproariously at my expense.
I was dumbstruck. I shot them a dirty look, and walked on, being too shocked by the experience and too poor at thinking on my feet to come up with a more appropriate response.
What would have been an appropriate response? How do you deal with someone who will arbitrarily assault a complete stranger?
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