Back to the things that piss me off.
Do you remember what it felt like when you had a date with someone, and you go to the spot where you're supposed to meet them, and you wait, and wait, and wait some more? You sit there for what feels like an eternity, waiting for someone who never comes. Do you recall how painful that is? How embarrassing? How frustrating?
Ok, now imagine that you took time off of work for your date, and now not only did you not get a date, but you lost money. That's what happens when people make appointments and don't show for them.
Sometimes it's unavoidable, and I understand that. But sometimes, OFTEN, people just decide not to come and then decide I don't rate a freakin' phone call. I will call these people, and leave messages. I will hear from them the next day, and they will say "Yeah, I know. We decided to do [fun activity] and we need to schedule a make up." These people get very indignant if you tell them that no, they can't schedule a make up because it's an unexcused absence. You wasted my time, and I'm going to charge you for it. This almost never sticks, because they threaten and badger and I'm not allowed to say things like "Ok, then DON'T bring your business back!" to customers because that's "bad customer service." Likewise, saying "I'm a reflection of what I must deal with: they're bad customers" wouldn't go over well, either. BB is very much stuck in the 'the customer is always right' mindset. I could tell you stories about how very wrong the customer has been, but let's just use a simple analogy:
Your child is rushed to the hospital after a heavy thing falls on it. The child has broken two ribs and a leg, and has a concussion. Would you look at the doctor and say "go ahead and give him the pain medicine and stitch him up, but he don't need a cast or anything," and expect the doctor to listen to you? I would hope the answer is a resounding NO because you're not the damn expert. The doctor is. The doctor understands this stuff because she went to school and did her internship and all that. She has experience and expertise.
SO DO I, DAMMIT! Don't tell me what your child doesn't need when you have no clue. You didn't even know that precious was still counting on her fingers in math! And precious is in 6th grade! I know what's going on with your kid because I was educated, and I do know what I'm talking about, and if you don't believe me, then fine. But don't tell me that you think that despite the testings that you CLAIM to agree with, you don't want to do X because it "sounds silly." So does a CAT scan if you don't know that CAT is an acronym.
There, it's more fun when I'm cranky, isn't it?
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Breathe In, Breathe Out
This weekend we had some wonderful rain. Big fat drops of rain coming in at a slight angle, not quite pounding rain, but not drizzling either. It was perfect. And as I am wont to do, I went and sat in the rain.
I am not a particularly "spiritual" person. I don't do warm fuzzy religiosity at all. Don't think I'm knocking people who do, I'm just not one of those people. Until it rains.
The rain is the only thing that can calm me down; it's the only sound, the only feeling, that I can describe as serenity. When it rains the way it did this weekend, I go out to meditate and pray in the rain. I put on a sleeveless shirt and a long skirt, and I go sit in the grass and I breathe the way they tell you to for meditation. I can never meditate any other time. I just can't and I don't know why.
I can feel the rain wash away the frustrations, the irritations, the pain and the discord.
I feel my shoulders drop, my hands fall to my knees, open and soft and relaxed.
I feel my thoughts slip away.
I breathe in.
The raindrops fall.
I breathe out.
The rain runs down my face.
I breathe in.
I lift my face, eyes closed to the sky.
I breathe out.
I slips away.
Breathe in.
Hands raise up.
Breathe out.
Rain falls.
Breathe in.
Body relaxes.
Breathe out.
Mind is empty.
Breathe in.
Birth.
Breathe out.
Death.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
I don't know how I come back to myself. I don't know when I slip away, and I don't know when I return. I don't know how long it's been, but I don't really care either. The clock says ten minutes. My body says a moment, and my spirit says eternity. I go onto the screened in back porch, and Teddy gives me a towel to dry off with. I go back to living my life. But the peace of letting go stays for a while, and I can remember it now, and feel the rain fall on my face, smell the clean world.
In Japanese, there is a word "wa." This word means many things, but when I first learned it, the definition I was given is "harmony." I looked it up in a Japanese-English dictionary and found that it also means "sum" and "ring." A ring is a harmonious thing. It doesn't change no matter how you turn it. It's perfect and smooth and soft. That one's easy. But the sum part of it, that's what I find interesting, especially as a math teacher.
If you think about it, a math equation has no wa. When you find the answer, the sum, you have harmony. A sum is taking all these bits and pieces and fitting them together into one thing. Life often has no harmony. It is complicated, confusing and frustrating. Wa is taking all of those things and figuring out how they fit together into one whole, cohesive unit. My wa has been disturbed of late, and I have not felt that I could write about what's going on, because it's personal. But my wa and I have not been close these last few weeks. My wa, to be perfectly frank, is generally not close to me.
Until it rains.
I am not a particularly "spiritual" person. I don't do warm fuzzy religiosity at all. Don't think I'm knocking people who do, I'm just not one of those people. Until it rains.
The rain is the only thing that can calm me down; it's the only sound, the only feeling, that I can describe as serenity. When it rains the way it did this weekend, I go out to meditate and pray in the rain. I put on a sleeveless shirt and a long skirt, and I go sit in the grass and I breathe the way they tell you to for meditation. I can never meditate any other time. I just can't and I don't know why.
I can feel the rain wash away the frustrations, the irritations, the pain and the discord.
I feel my shoulders drop, my hands fall to my knees, open and soft and relaxed.
I feel my thoughts slip away.
I breathe in.
The raindrops fall.
I breathe out.
The rain runs down my face.
I breathe in.
I lift my face, eyes closed to the sky.
I breathe out.
I slips away.
Breathe in.
Hands raise up.
Breathe out.
Rain falls.
Breathe in.
Body relaxes.
Breathe out.
Mind is empty.
Breathe in.
Birth.
Breathe out.
Death.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
I don't know how I come back to myself. I don't know when I slip away, and I don't know when I return. I don't know how long it's been, but I don't really care either. The clock says ten minutes. My body says a moment, and my spirit says eternity. I go onto the screened in back porch, and Teddy gives me a towel to dry off with. I go back to living my life. But the peace of letting go stays for a while, and I can remember it now, and feel the rain fall on my face, smell the clean world.
In Japanese, there is a word "wa." This word means many things, but when I first learned it, the definition I was given is "harmony." I looked it up in a Japanese-English dictionary and found that it also means "sum" and "ring." A ring is a harmonious thing. It doesn't change no matter how you turn it. It's perfect and smooth and soft. That one's easy. But the sum part of it, that's what I find interesting, especially as a math teacher.
If you think about it, a math equation has no wa. When you find the answer, the sum, you have harmony. A sum is taking all these bits and pieces and fitting them together into one thing. Life often has no harmony. It is complicated, confusing and frustrating. Wa is taking all of those things and figuring out how they fit together into one whole, cohesive unit. My wa has been disturbed of late, and I have not felt that I could write about what's going on, because it's personal. But my wa and I have not been close these last few weeks. My wa, to be perfectly frank, is generally not close to me.
Until it rains.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Ever Get A Song STUCK In Your Head?
Way back when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, I went to college. I went to a college out on the West Virginia/Ohio border, and in a little town called Parkersburg there was a tiny little punk 'club' called Caffeine Kelli's. One night when my friends and I went there, we saw a band that did a song that's been stuck in my head for ages. I can't remember the name of the band, or any of their other songs, but the song Gasoline is stuck in my head. No, it's not the Seether one. It's different. I remember a good bit of the lyrics, too. The song was about a young man remembering the death of a girlfriend, and I think it was his fault. It was not a happy song, but it was well-done and it gave me goosebumps. But I cannot remember the whole song, and I can't remember the band's name. What I do remember is below.
He rests his head upon the wheel
Tells himself that it's ok but he
Doesn't know just how to feel
....
Lonely nights he cried
Bottle by his side
The same drink that took her life
And you-ou-ou are tearing out my eye-eye-eyes
....
You gave me your disease
Pushed me again
And you fit me so tight
Just like a second skin
And I know somewhere in between
You know the smell of
Gasoline-line-line
Yeah yeah yeah yeah
Gasoline-line-line
SO, if anyone reads this blog and happens to know about this band, which I know is a real long shot, I would really, really appreciate it if you could tell me the name of the band, or link me to their website, or something, anything. This is going to impact my productivity today. I just know it.
He rests his head upon the wheel
Tells himself that it's ok but he
Doesn't know just how to feel
....
Lonely nights he cried
Bottle by his side
The same drink that took her life
And you-ou-ou are tearing out my eye-eye-eyes
....
You gave me your disease
Pushed me again
And you fit me so tight
Just like a second skin
And I know somewhere in between
You know the smell of
Gasoline-line-line
Yeah yeah yeah yeah
Gasoline-line-line
SO, if anyone reads this blog and happens to know about this band, which I know is a real long shot, I would really, really appreciate it if you could tell me the name of the band, or link me to their website, or something, anything. This is going to impact my productivity today. I just know it.
Monday, May 4, 2009
An Old Anecdote That Has NOTHING To Do With Tutoring
I had a nice lunch with my family yesterday, specifically Teddy and I met up with my grandmother and aunt (who had flown in for a week of visiting and sightseeing in the area), my brother and his wife, and my mother at a very large (intimidatingly large, in fact) buffet restaurant. We wound up telling the most ridiculous stories, and when I told mine, I was told I had the best story of the day. I hadn't thought about this particular event in just YEARS, but it seems like the sort of story that belongs on a blog.
I went to go see Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers at midnight the day it opened. Yes, yes I am a dork. I went with my two good friends, who for the purposes of this story shall be called Imelda and Marcos. There is an extended battle sequence in the movie, the battle for Helmsdeep, I believe, and during this battle, the fire alarm went off. When the fire alarm goes off in a theater, the movie stops apparently. However, the soundtrack doesn't necessarily stop as well. Now, because we've all been to school and were trained in the fine arts of not actually leaving when the alarm goes off without being told to by an authority figure, everyone just sort of sat there. When no authority figure was forthcoming to shoo us out, it was decided by the rabid geekboys that the alarm was false, and that the movie should be rewound to the appropriate point and continued. Imelda, Marcos, and I were less concerned with the movie than dying a painful, fiery death in a polyester and plastic-"wood"-panel fueled fire.
Marcos, being the take-charge kind of young man, said "follow me, ladies" in his best John Wayne voice. We followed, since we weren't entirely sure what to do either. We'd been publicly edumacated, too, you know. Marcos leads us out into the lobby, where the late night management all-star team is having a conversation about what to do. Marcos marches up and asks what the situation is. The apparent leader of this little group of mental midgets responds, "there's like...fire alarms? And they're like going off in the ducts? Above the theater?" You know this voice. I won't type it anymore. Marcos asks if they plan to evacuate the theater. Superstar manager asks if he thinks they should. Marcos, suppressing the understandable urge to slap her silly, gum-smacking face, says "if I were in charge, I would evacuate." The manager looks at him, doe-eyed and trusting, "so we should?" "Yes, yes you should." We are impressed with Marcos's inner fortitude, because he managed to do this without eye rolls or biting sarcasm.
Because it was a weekend evening, there were several theaters still showing movies, and so the management team splits up to send everyone out. We follow the girl assigned to our theater, mostly because we have purses in there. The girl is about 5 feet tall, and has the body type of a gymnast. She is a petite, quiet little thing. And they sent her in to deal with the angry geeks. I got the feeling management didn't like her much.
If you've ever seen the movie Police Academy and are familiar with the adorable young black woman with the perfectly round afro who spoke in near-whispers, you will have a good idea of what this girl sounded like. I could barely hear her, and I was standing next to her. She stood at the back of the theater whisper-shouting "Excuse me? Excuse me?"
I rolled my eyes at Imelda and Marcos, who looked at me, and gestured in an "after you" sort of way. Because I do not have a quiet voice. I have a deep alto voice that resonates across football fields when necessary. I threw up my hands in a gesture of frustration, and marched down the aisle to the front of the theater. And then, in a moment of inspiration, filled my lungs and shouted at the top of my considerable voice:
"YO, GEEKS!"
The theater was suddenly quiet. Amazing, isn't it?
"Ladies and gentlemen," I said, in a not-quite ear-shattering tone, "the fire alarm we all hear is going off in the ducts above the theaters," and I gesture, open-handed, upwards. There is muttered distress. "Do not panic. We are going to vacate this theater through the clearly marked exits," and gesture to them. "Now, first row, get UP," lifting hands, "and move OUT!" sweeping them towards the exit behind my left shoulder. After letting the first row get about halfway out, I shouted, "Second row, up and OUT!" gesturing to the exit behind my right. It took a couple of rows for them to get the pattern, but after about four rows total, the group was now moving in a nice, orderly fashion. I sent Imelda and Marcos to fetch our belongings, including my Milk Duds, thankyouverymuch, and we left.
When we got outside, the madness had continued. This theaters exits both led into the same alleyway, which was flanked on three sides by the building. And people were just milling about. You could almost hear cud-chewing and the low "moooo" of the pasture. Imelda, Marcos and I all exchanged another significant glance. I again get to move to the front of the group and give them directions.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if there is an actual fire, where do you think it will go? Move into the parking lot, please," and then I start walking. They follow me. Gooooood little herd. The stupid, it hurts us, precious.
Marcos decided it would be a good time to get his hands on some freebie tickets because, well, we should get a refund, dammit! (I learned later that the moment at which the movie cut off was right before Legolas surfs down the stairs on a shield. I felt so robbed.) Marcos gets into the area of the mall to which this theater is attached, and it is an utter madhouse. He manages to grab someone (I wasn't there, so I don't know how he did it) and gets them to come out and hand out their vouchers to the people milling about in the parking lot.
The vouchers are taken care of. We get ours, and decide to just wait for a few minutes until the madness has stopped. And then we realize that there is a HUGE group of people crowded around us, all pretending like they're NOT following us. Little family groups, huddled together, casting occasional glances our direction. Imelda, this time, decides it's her turn to be Ms. In-Charge. Go for it, my dear. Go for it.
"Did you get your vouchers?"
"Yeah."
"Then why are you still here?"
"Huh?"
"You have your vouchers. Go home. Go. Away." They look hurt. "Get in your car," Imelda says, pointing helpfully at one of the metal and fiberglass rocks near which a small group of the herd has gathered, "and go home. You're not going to get to see the movie tonight."
So help me, they turn to look at me. I shake my head in amazement. "You heard the woman. Gooooo hoooooooome."
My goodness. I fear for the future.
I went to go see Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers at midnight the day it opened. Yes, yes I am a dork. I went with my two good friends, who for the purposes of this story shall be called Imelda and Marcos. There is an extended battle sequence in the movie, the battle for Helmsdeep, I believe, and during this battle, the fire alarm went off. When the fire alarm goes off in a theater, the movie stops apparently. However, the soundtrack doesn't necessarily stop as well. Now, because we've all been to school and were trained in the fine arts of not actually leaving when the alarm goes off without being told to by an authority figure, everyone just sort of sat there. When no authority figure was forthcoming to shoo us out, it was decided by the rabid geekboys that the alarm was false, and that the movie should be rewound to the appropriate point and continued. Imelda, Marcos, and I were less concerned with the movie than dying a painful, fiery death in a polyester and plastic-"wood"-panel fueled fire.
Marcos, being the take-charge kind of young man, said "follow me, ladies" in his best John Wayne voice. We followed, since we weren't entirely sure what to do either. We'd been publicly edumacated, too, you know. Marcos leads us out into the lobby, where the late night management all-star team is having a conversation about what to do. Marcos marches up and asks what the situation is. The apparent leader of this little group of mental midgets responds, "there's like...fire alarms? And they're like going off in the ducts? Above the theater?" You know this voice. I won't type it anymore. Marcos asks if they plan to evacuate the theater. Superstar manager asks if he thinks they should. Marcos, suppressing the understandable urge to slap her silly, gum-smacking face, says "if I were in charge, I would evacuate." The manager looks at him, doe-eyed and trusting, "so we should?" "Yes, yes you should." We are impressed with Marcos's inner fortitude, because he managed to do this without eye rolls or biting sarcasm.
Because it was a weekend evening, there were several theaters still showing movies, and so the management team splits up to send everyone out. We follow the girl assigned to our theater, mostly because we have purses in there. The girl is about 5 feet tall, and has the body type of a gymnast. She is a petite, quiet little thing. And they sent her in to deal with the angry geeks. I got the feeling management didn't like her much.
If you've ever seen the movie Police Academy and are familiar with the adorable young black woman with the perfectly round afro who spoke in near-whispers, you will have a good idea of what this girl sounded like. I could barely hear her, and I was standing next to her. She stood at the back of the theater whisper-shouting "Excuse me? Excuse me?"
I rolled my eyes at Imelda and Marcos, who looked at me, and gestured in an "after you" sort of way. Because I do not have a quiet voice. I have a deep alto voice that resonates across football fields when necessary. I threw up my hands in a gesture of frustration, and marched down the aisle to the front of the theater. And then, in a moment of inspiration, filled my lungs and shouted at the top of my considerable voice:
"YO, GEEKS!"
The theater was suddenly quiet. Amazing, isn't it?
"Ladies and gentlemen," I said, in a not-quite ear-shattering tone, "the fire alarm we all hear is going off in the ducts above the theaters," and I gesture, open-handed, upwards. There is muttered distress. "Do not panic. We are going to vacate this theater through the clearly marked exits," and gesture to them. "Now, first row, get UP," lifting hands, "and move OUT!" sweeping them towards the exit behind my left shoulder. After letting the first row get about halfway out, I shouted, "Second row, up and OUT!" gesturing to the exit behind my right. It took a couple of rows for them to get the pattern, but after about four rows total, the group was now moving in a nice, orderly fashion. I sent Imelda and Marcos to fetch our belongings, including my Milk Duds, thankyouverymuch, and we left.
When we got outside, the madness had continued. This theaters exits both led into the same alleyway, which was flanked on three sides by the building. And people were just milling about. You could almost hear cud-chewing and the low "moooo" of the pasture. Imelda, Marcos and I all exchanged another significant glance. I again get to move to the front of the group and give them directions.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if there is an actual fire, where do you think it will go? Move into the parking lot, please," and then I start walking. They follow me. Gooooood little herd. The stupid, it hurts us, precious.
Marcos decided it would be a good time to get his hands on some freebie tickets because, well, we should get a refund, dammit! (I learned later that the moment at which the movie cut off was right before Legolas surfs down the stairs on a shield. I felt so robbed.) Marcos gets into the area of the mall to which this theater is attached, and it is an utter madhouse. He manages to grab someone (I wasn't there, so I don't know how he did it) and gets them to come out and hand out their vouchers to the people milling about in the parking lot.
The vouchers are taken care of. We get ours, and decide to just wait for a few minutes until the madness has stopped. And then we realize that there is a HUGE group of people crowded around us, all pretending like they're NOT following us. Little family groups, huddled together, casting occasional glances our direction. Imelda, this time, decides it's her turn to be Ms. In-Charge. Go for it, my dear. Go for it.
"Did you get your vouchers?"
"Yeah."
"Then why are you still here?"
"Huh?"
"You have your vouchers. Go home. Go. Away." They look hurt. "Get in your car," Imelda says, pointing helpfully at one of the metal and fiberglass rocks near which a small group of the herd has gathered, "and go home. You're not going to get to see the movie tonight."
So help me, they turn to look at me. I shake my head in amazement. "You heard the woman. Gooooo hoooooooome."
My goodness. I fear for the future.
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