Damn Swede

Actually, I hate timesheets.

Every minute of my hectic day I must assign to a particular job number and function code. If I am writing a proposal, it is one function code; if I am review minor changes to a layout, it is another. Needless to say, it’s kind of a pain in the ass.

Except for today. Today I did not mind the hours I have spent over the last six months trying to piece together fifteen minute increments into a full eight hour day. For today, dear friends, we were rewarded for our efforts.

The CFO walked around the office with snowflake-covered envelopes, personally thanking us for our timesheet efforts over the past year. Inside? Four hundred dollars in cash. Yep, that’s right. Four hundred dollars.

Too bad I already spent it last weekend.

And by you people, I mean the rude ones.

My brother and I checked the forecast yesterday afternoon, both kind of in disbelief at the six to eight inches expected in Chicago and the eight to twelve in Chesterton. It was snowing at the time, but there is never ends up being as much snow as they say there will be. Except for this time.

I made it down the alley to find that my garage was not only blocked by snow, but someone had shoveled a path from their house and used the space in front of my garage to dump their extra snow. I understand in a way because there’s a lack of space for a voluminous snow in the alley. In order to make it to church on time, I needed to do a quick shovel of the five foot by three foot section in front of the garage and get out of there. Except I don’t own a shovel.

I went home and changed out of my heels and into my boots and went downstairs to see if our condo association owned a shovel I could borrow. No luck. I went around the corner to the Dollar Store and asked if they sold shovels, which they did. For $8.69. I had six dollars and they don’t accept cards for transactions less than $15. I dug around my purse and found my emergency quarter stash and managed to piece together the total.

The snow was light and easy to shovel. I didn’t have any place to put the snow except in front of the garage next to me. Oops. But I don’t think that anyone uses that garage. Seriously, I don’t.

And needless to say, I was late for church.

After coffee hour, I was dreading my unavoidable trip to Target. I knew it was going to be a nightmare when each row of the parking lot was backed up with cars looking for a space. I opted for the lesser-used parking garage, easily finding a space there. Just as I suspected, the aisles were jammed with people. I don’t understand why people leave their carts perpendicular to the aisle. Especially in the city. Shopping at Target in the suburbs is luxurious. The width of the aisle accommodates two, even three carts across, allowing housewives to abandon their carts willy-nilly. In the city the aisles barely accommodate two carts, the plastic on the handle end of the carts brushing against each other. People meander through the store, stopping without warning, distracted by dropping prices. “Excuse me!” I say, trying to collect my items as quickly as possible.

How hard it is to step to the side when making a purchase decision? To move your cart out of the center of the aisle? I really don’t think it is that hard, but maybe I am wrong.

I’m hungry.

I finally watched “Little Miss Sunshine” this afternoon. I loved it. As you can tell by my many posts about “Extreme Home Makeover,” I am a sucker for stories about people working together for the good of others. Or, instances where people show selflessness. Like in the dancing scene at the end of the movie. If you’ve scene it, then you know what I mean.

Well, I am in the process of making my brother a special tape. Since he reads this blog, I can’t really tell you what it is, but let’s just say it rhymes with . . . come on, did you really think I was going to do that? I hope I have appropriately figured out the technology, because I think he’s really going to like it. (Troy, now you know how to act when I give it to you - excited, as if I am the best youngest sister you have ever had.)

I was on my way home from brunch and shopping, dropping off my friend Monica. I should pause and explain who Monica is, so I will do that now.

Monica is my coworker, friend and neighbor, which makes weekend brunch-slash-shopping excursions very convenient. She purchased a record player and a pair of moon boots, which both happened to arrive at work on the same day. Unable to carry them home on the train, she offered to trade a best friendship for a ride home. I agreed and shortly after I dropped her off for the first time at her house, we began discussing the terms of our best friendship. I think we would agree that it has worked out well so far. Except for the amount of money I have spent on shoes since I met her. That part’s not so great. But the shoes are pretty awesome.

Back to the story. I dropped her off and drove down the snowy street. (I woke up this morning to find it snowing, and it only got heavier as the day went on.) The street Monica lives hadn’t been plowed and a mail carrier pushing a cart stepped out in front of my car. I hit the breaks, knowing that was not smart to do but not having any other options. The Silver Bullet slid and swerved and I steered him away from the mailman, frantically waving at the gentleman to signal my inability to stop. He nodded and stopped as my car slid past him, fishtailing out of control. When I stopped at the stop sign, my heart was racing and my hands trembling.

Phew.

Post Script: I spoke briefly on the phone this afternoon to my six-year-old niece Priscilla.  We were sharing what we had done today; her day was filled with spinning and spinning and spinning in circles.  “I bought purple shoes today,” I offered.  “Whadjusay?” she responded.  I repeated it and this time she said, “Purple shoes!  Niiiiice.”  I have to figure out an outfit to wear them with over Christmas so I can secure my role as the cool aunt.  I know my other six-year-old niece Lydia will flip for them too.  She has been complimenting me on my shoes choices since she was three.

I first noticed in college that I may have acquired the special power of being invisible.

My freshman year I made instant friends with a fun, outgoing and friendly gal named Karin. She is the kind of person people are drawn to, so friendly and caring. I, on the other hand, was quiet and shy, and unsure of who I was. We met in our Freshman Week class, and went everywhere together. As we ran into familiar faces on campus, it soon became apparent that all these people we had met at the same time remembered Karin, but had no idea who I was. In fact, more often than not my presence was not even acknowledged. I was standing right there! Less than one foot away! It is seemingly impossible that someone could be that rude, so the only reasonable conclusion is that I might be invisible. Clearly.

I was reminded of this today, when I took off work early to go shopping with a friend. She ran to one store while I went ahead to the next, looking for one of the few remaining Christmas presents I still needed to purchase. I walked through the aisles selecting various potential options when I heard my cell phone ring. I went to an out-of-the-way aisle, propping up my purse, coat, scarf, gift options and a shopping bag of Sinthia’s I didn’t fully notice she slipped me to carry all on the rack. As I answered the phone and instructed Sinthia as to my location in the store, I felt a rustle next to me. In a store full of racks and racks of clothing options, this woman decided to look at the options offered beneath my purse. What’s more is that she was acting like she didn’t even seen me and she was on the verge of upsetting the delicate balancing act I was performing with all my belongings. Again, invisible.

Actually, there is a lot about shopping on Michigan Avenue, especially during the holidays, that makes you feel invisible. People bump into you on the street, in aisles, cut in lines . . . all in the name of Christmas cheer.

The one place I did not feel invisible today is at the Gucci store. I have never technically been in the Gucci store before. In fact, the closest I have been to Gucci were the fake watches we bought in Mexico on a family vacation in junior high. But Sinthia had a gift certificate so in the store we went. It was S-shaped and we made our way to the back of the store where the purses and wallets were displayed. Or maybe it was the front of the store and we entered in the back of the store. Doesn’t matter. A women approached us and Sinthia pointed out the wallets she was interested in. One particular design caught my eye, and I asked to see it. “It’s on sale,” the associate said, “It was marked down twice - you won’t ever find it this cheap.” I ran my fingers over the soft leather, noticing the price tag. $375 marked down to $129. That really is a bargain.

I gave the wallet back as the woman disappeared in the back to retrieve the wallet Sinthia chose. “You should get it, it really is a bargain, you had a hard week, when was the last time you bought yourself something?” Sinthia pressured. The woman reappeared and I said, “I’d like the small one in black, you know, while you are back there.” She smiled, “Of course.”

A few minutes later I was filling out a card granting permission for Gucci to contact me with special offers via mail or email. Also on that card was written my total, a classier alternative to simply stating a total. I provided her with my bank card and she disappeared in the back, as if it was undignified to complete the transaction out in the open. Perhaps it is, once I realized the woman next to me was in the process of purchasing a leather coat that cost nearly $1,000. Again she returned, with our purchases and copies of our credit card receipts for us to sign. Once we signed and handed over our slips, she thanked us for our purchases and handed over the Gucci shopping bags with the signature red and green striped handles. “I feel so sophisticated,” Sinthia said as we left the store. She was especially happy because after her gift cards were deducted her wallet cost only $12.15. I felt sophisticated because of the pomp and circumstance surrounding the way my wallet was packaged. It was in a bag that was in a box, which was inside a gold envelope and sealed with tape, which was then inside a bag.  It was like opening a present.  For me!

After that I met my friend Monica for a movie.  We saw “Juno,” which was a beautiful story of a teenage girl who ends up unexpectedly pregnant.  And it was funny as hell.  With a killer soundtrack.  We laughed our way to the end of the movie, and then we cried.  I say we but it could have possibly just been me.  I cried and cried and cried and then the movie was over and I cried some more.  We were halfway to the car before I felt like I was in control of my emotions.  It was loving in a sometimes funny and sometimes bittersweet way.  If you have the chance, I highly recommend it.

As the one person I work with who reads my blog can attest, I have been hella sick. Since Thanksgiving. I missed work one day, but mostly I have been coughing and sneezing all day long. “Shut the hell up,” one of my coworkers teased as I was coughing up a lung. Because of the big meeting in Stamford, I bought out the cold medicine section at Dominick’s on Sunday. Cough medicine, nose spray, cold pill tablets, a vapor inhaler - I was determined to kick this cold once and for all!

It kinda worked. I am feeling better, coughing and sneezing less, though still need Kleenex nearby. I actually wanted a glass of wine with my dinner tonight. I haven’t wanted wine since, well, Thanksgiving. Do you know which goes better with pizza rolls - Cabernet or Shiraz? Just what I thought, doesn’t matter.

So Stamford. It reminded me of Pennsylvania the way the houses were all built on a hill. We seemed to be in a run down part of town. Quite literally the wrong side of the tracks. The houses were broke and whole blocks were leveled. We looked for somewhere to eat around there but could only find deli/groceries/liquor stores. We ended up in what we think was the downtown area, which was really cute.  I think there may be something to explore there.  The exciting thing is that the airport option is LaGuardia, so that could mean weekends in New York if we get the business.

Um, yeah. I think there is something else I was going to tell you. I don’t really remember now. Maybe some other time.