Archive: November 2007

I really like being efficient. I like knowing that I am getting the maximum amount of work done and minimizing time spent and effort exerted. It’s part of the challenge behind running errands, doing housework, and doing actual work work. Cooking a casserole while the dryer spins and then folding laundry while the dishwasher runs is sweet harmony. Doubling back during a trip to the grocery store is aggravation.

I have come to find, however, that when I encounter someone who does not share this viewpoint, it is like we are speaking two different languages. I can’t understand why that person doesn’t want to do something faster or better, and it’s a mystery as to why I am always in a rush. For example, let’s examine conversations with my supervisor today about an organization-wide list:

Me: I just sent you the finished list to send out for corrections.

She: Great. I’ll send it out with a note to send in revisions by Tuesday.

Me: Will they go to you?

She: I think that’s the easiest, since we won’t get more than a handful.

Me: Sounds good.

(An hour elapses. I receive the mass mailing with the list attached. I send my supervisor an addition to the list that someone has sent independently. She re-sends the e-mail back to me immediately, along with several other revisions, asking me to input them.)

Me: Am I making the changes to the list? I thought we had agreed that you were receiving them.

She: Yes, people will send them to me, but you can just input the ones from today.

Me: Are we going to have trouble with different versions?

She: No, I’ll just keep any additions I get in a separate file. You’re just going to add the new ones because I haven’t physically set up a folder yet.

Me: Oh. … Do you want me to send you the list after I make those changes today?

She: No, just hang on to it for now.

I go back to my desk. I enter the changes and re-save the file with Monday’s date. I am so confused. Why doesn’t she keep a master list and track the changes? Or why don’t I manage the whole thing? What does it mean that she hasn’t physically set up a folder? She hasn’t taken a folder out of the supply closet? Or she hasn’t right-clicked and chosen “New Folder”? How will we know who has done what? If I receive revisions from people, should I input them or send them to her to file?

I think there’s something going on here about the way things have always been, how I don’t have a full understanding of that history, and a mystifying dependence on hard copies, but I am unclear about why we would add steps and points of contact into a process. It’s not that things need to be done my way, but I don’t understand the advantage of this way, not that my supervisor needs to justify herself. I just don’t get it.

I’m kind of relieved that today is Friday, and when I get home, I can chop vegetables and make dip as efficiently as I darn well please.

It’s quiet in Ted Town. He’s gradually settling into a dog who plays with his own toys, sort of comes when we call him, and understands that a harsh shush means to stop what you’re doing, whatever it is. Ted will sit with us on the couch as we read magazines or browse blogs, happily chewing his hoof toy (what are those things?), but becoming altogether concerned if one of us dares to rise to microwave popcorn or refill a water glass. He knows that when we come in from a walk, he should sit quietly on the landing until we unhook his leash, and then he’s free to dash downstairs to his water bowl. Amazingly, Ted does all of that with very little fuss, which is a stark contrast to maddening rounds of “cattle herder” of the past. I hope that I’m not jinxing myself here, but he is turning out to be a very nice doggie, indeed.

I’m cautiously enjoying this calmer Ted. He’s actually behaving how I had hoped a dog might, which is somewhat unnerving. I’ve grown out of my snap-happy phase to simply enjoying Ted, not just shooting pictures ad infinitum. The change leaves me slightly short-handed when it comes to Dogarazzi, but the Ted time is worth it. I’m sure the Christmas season will lend itself to my fair share of holiday-based pictures, but in the meantime, does a wet puppy nose fill the void?

Come and get your (almost) daily dog dose with Rufus, Ben, Gus, and Zapp!

We were driving home from the climbing gym last night. The moon was a little less than full. The road was dark and curving, but empty.

“When we get home, you owe Ted a hug,” JG said.

“Maybe he owes me a hug,” I retorted.

“I love you, kiddo,” he said suddenly.

I paused. “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know. It’s the little things. I don’t want to call them mundane, but…”

“Things like Ted?”

“Ted, yeah, but things like going to the gym, having a snack afterward and watching House. Just having someone sitting next to me for the drive. All of that.”

Oh. Well, that’s rather sweet.

“I love you, too,” I said. Mundane, maybe, but true nonetheless.

After a brief-yet-comforting stint at Mimi’s house for Thanksgiving, I trundled off to work on Friday with a rather self-pitying mood. When I left around 3pm, the sky was clear, the traffic was light, and I had the whole weekend in front of me. Not too shabby, I thought.

Until I saw a radar-gun-wielding state trooper walk out into the road. And point at my car. And point to the shoulder. And look very stern.

I am getting pulled over. I am in a speed trap. And I was speeding. I am about to get my first speeding ticket.

I pulled Walter to the side of the road as the trooper approached my passenger side. I thanked my lucky stars for power windows.

“How are you doing, ma’am? We clocked you going 62 and this is a 45 mile per hour zone. Just have your license, registration, and insurance information ready and this other officer will be right with you.”

I fumbled to pull out my documents and another trooper, indistinguishable from the first, walked over.

“How are you doing, ma’am?”

“I’m okay, thank you.”

“How fast do you think you were going?”

“Around 60*.”

“And you’re aware that the speed limit is 45?”

“Yes.”

“You understand why you’re being stopped?”

“Yes.”

“Were you in a hurry to get somewhere?”

“No, I just felt a lot of pressure from the traffic behind me.” My one plea for mercy.

“That can be hard, ma’am, but you just got to maintain your speed and let ’em tail you. Okay, I’m going to write all this up and be right with you.”

I made a quick call to JG to let him know about the situation (“I am sitting on the side of the road because I am getting a ticket!”), and he was reassuringly light about it, much to my relief. When it was all said and done, the officer cited me at 54 mph, and the fine was for about $60. All of the other items on the citation** seemed to be okay — I was wearing my seatbelt, I was not distracted, and there were no other vehicles involved. It could have been much worse. I took a deep breath and pulled back out onto the road.

I ran a couple of errands afterward, carefully heeding speed limits all the while, and I passed two accidents within two blocks of each other that involved ambulances, road blockage, and police officers shoveling car wreckage off the road. I said a little prayer of thanks that I only had a $60 fine. I didn’t need to be scraped off of the pavement and rushed to a hospital. It was all very timely.

If you’re driving through the Delaware/Pennsylvania area and get stuck behind an antique gold Civic that is going exactly the speed limit, please don’t be mean; just wave – it’s me!

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* JG believes that I should not have said that I knew how fast I was going because it’s an admission of guilt. I maintain that I knew how fast I was going and that it’s worse to be oblivious to the speed I am traveling and the marked speed limit. I know that it’s one of those police officer trick questions, but I feel like it’s always better to play it straight. Hello, I watch Law and Order.

** One humorous part to all of this is that on my citation, the officer listed my race as “white” and my ethnic origin as “non-Hispanic.” Well, at least the second one was right.