Author: the outside lane

I keep writing and rewriting this entry, but I think the best thing to do is just to link you to the story I keep trying to write about.  In short, the Texas Women’s Health Program is over.  It is yet another finger thrown at women by politicians and special interest groups lobbying against women’s health care (unless the care is exactly what that special interest group thinks is in the best interest of the woman), and a sucker punch to under-insured, uninsured, impoverished women and families.

You know what?  If my tax dollars fund wars and build highways, what is the difference if my tax dollars fund someone’s health?  I would gladly, gladly (and do through charitable giving) share in the burden of healthcare costs.  I would much rather fund someone’s flu shot, than someone’s ammo clip to be emptied into innocent citizens in a warzone.  I don’t care if some people are too lazy to work for their own money–I care about the people who try hard and still can’t help themselves.

Bite me, Mitt Romney.  Bite me, Rick Santorum.  Bite me, Newt Gingrich.  I would vote for Hillary Clinton over any of you in a heartbeat.  Without question.  Without regret.  Without looking back.  I would rather socialize the entire medical system than see this.  I cannot believe I ever carried a Republican Party registration card.

Big Church, you can bite me too.  Jesus healed the sick, you morons, without ever asking which god they believed in.  He didn’t take away their access to healthcare because of how they came to need it.  I would rather dance naked in the woods and honor nature than share a pew with you.  You are disgusting.  And I understand more and more why Jesus spent his time with loan sharks and hooligans–because your sparkling clean collars are filthier than a $2 whore’s underpants.

Writer, Andrea Grimes, posted on her Hay Ladies blog today:

By the end of April, the Texas Women’s Health Program will either be a thing of the past or a shadow of its former self, as I report today for RHRealityCheck.org.

If a Republican tells you the loss of the Women’s Health Program in Texas is the Obama administration’s fault, ask them to answer one question:

1. If Republicans in Texas care so deeply about (1) saving money and (2) women’s health care, why did they slash the family planning budget, thereby increasing unwanted pregnancies, increasing abortions and increasing overall cost to taxpayers who will now be funding Medicaid births?

Guess the [frick] what: Planned Parenthood isn’t going anywhere. (And shouldn’t.) But access to reproductive and preventative care for low-income and uninsured is. As of tomorrow.

I am home earlier than usual and was flipping through channels when I came across a show that I thought was about plastic surgery.  I had watched for a few seconds before I realized it was not.  It was Big, Rich Texas.  It was horrifying.  This must be how the people of New Jersey feel about Jersey Shore.  Horrifying.

I don’t even know where to begin.  I’m still aghast at the one “character” who looked like a version of The Joker accidentally injured in an accident in a Mary Kay plant, rather than falling into industrial waste.  Whoever did the airbrushing on the photos at this cast page deserves a prize or a prison sentence for false advertising because those photos in no way represent the swirling vortex of whatinthewhore that was tottering around on too-high heels in today’s episode.  Unholy use of eyeliner, Batman!  Dang.

Please, children, do not try to emulate a group that looks like it crawled out from under a Wet ‘n Wild factory after a rough night at a half off sale in Charlotte Russe.  How is this entertainment?  It isn’t even well acted!  How could it be?  None of the faces move.

Good night.  That was just terrible.  Terrible.

I keep starting posts, then getting interrupted and forgetting they were ever begun.  Since I’m sitting up with some nasty symptoms, I may as well write a little.

I have been reading the Great Brain books to Thor at night.  We’re nearly finished with the first one and he is loving it.  I am loving that we grew ourselves a reader, who can usually be found in the wee hours cuddled up to a book, with one paw curled around a flashlight.  The boy loves to read.  If I could have hijacked myself a fairy to give him a birthright gift, I think a love of reading would have been in the top five, after health, happiness, optimism, and winning lottery numbers.

He is off at his grandparents’ house tonight, spending a few days of Spring Break with them.  I miss him like crazy when he’s gone, but we all know it’s good for kids to get a break from parents now and then.  And vice versa.

Not much else is new.  

I’ve been doing yoga a couple of times a week.  Ouch.

I need to get back into the pool, but I just don’t want to be wet.  I have too much hair now.  I know that sounds like a really lame excuse, but it’s true.  When my hair is short, or at least shorter than this, it’s easy to dry and fix.  But this long and it takes forever.  And at this length, I have to be careful of the ends, and lap swimming does nothing to their health.

Bryan keeps sending me photos of places that have shark aquariums.  I had a nightmare the other night, that I was swimming in a pool and realized it was glass-bottomed over an aquarium full of sharks.  As I was scrambling to the side of the pool and out of it, I was yelling, “What kind of crazy F invented this?!”  Because my subconscious mind is a smart-ass, it piped up into my dream that since I was the one dreaming it, I was the crazy F who had invented it.  I left the dream premises.  Didn’t even want to sit on the side of that pool.  Geez!

With that said, it’s time to try to go back to bed.  Here’s hoping I dream of something nice and happy.

Some years ago, I was working in HR for a veddy proper gentleman, along with about 40 other people.  We would get amazing gift baskets from clients at Christmastime, and we would break them open and everyone would share.  In one of these baskets were two, tiny packets of smoked salmon.  After the packets had been out for a few days, I asked around to determine interest in them, then I took one and ate it.

A few days later, Veddy Proper came stalking around looking for the salmon packets.  I could hear him coming, and as he drew nearer, I could make out him asking if anyone had seen the salmon. Where was the salmon?  My cubemate, who had eaten the other packet, yelped, “Lane ate one!”  She added quietly (too quietly for him to hear as he had already rounded on me) that she’d had the other.

“Really?” He asked, and I nodded.  He huffed.  “I don’t know what you are used to where you come from, but here, we do not just take what we want.  We do not smash and grab.  We do not take all for ourselves without thinking of others.  We share, we–”  It went on until he had drawn a little crowd and I was worried that the heat from how hot I had blushed was going to burn my skin from the inside out.

I apologized and went back to my work when he walked away, surprised and mortified.  Somehow, the scolding always sounds worse when it happens in a British accent.  That night, I went to the store and bought the biggest packet of smoked salmon I could find, and a card.

I wrote him a little note, apologizing for having taken the 1oz salmon packet, and hoped that this would make up for it. 

It ended well, with his apology, and we probably both learned something.  Him, not to talk to people like that–especially in front of their peers.  Me, never to touch anything ever again.  Ha!

I think the funniest part of the story is that he was “secret Santa” gifted with a couple of other large smoked salmons for the next few years.  I’m pretty sure I know who the culprits were, and I adore them for it.

Last night, confused in the excitement of an open house and program that included well over a hundred kids, Thor gave a piece of his costume (a red bandana) to another little girl to give to his teacher.  This was not protocol, and in front of a hallway full of parents and children, Thor was scolded and told he would not be allowed into his classroom to participate in the rest of Open House since he didn’t have his bandana in his hands.  I said I would IOU a bandana.

Today, I ordered a dozen to be shipped to the person who wiped the smile of excitement off his little face, and made him hang his head in shame.

There just isn’t room for that in my life, and I won’t make room for it in his.  I just wish I had the luxury of shipping a hundred.

Worst Customer Service Experiences of my Life

1. In retail sales, it has to be a toss up between having to regularly clean up poopy diapers in the dressing rooms at Sears, or the time I found a used tampon in the dressing room at Express.  Close behind (pun!) would be having to clean the bathrooms at the Christian bookstore.  I cleaned those things sometimes 3 times a day after nasty people defiled them.
2. As a waitress, I could complain about the people who tipped poorly, or ran out on their checks, but the worst was always one particular church group that would come and destroy the 12-top I worked on Sundays at Denny’s.  I hated to see them come, but I hated worse seeing them go because it meant a tabletop orgy of syrup and crumbs, and chicken skin, and jelly, and butter, and egg bits, and all manner of spilled drinks. Under the table was just as bad, and don’t get me started on trying to clean out the spaces between chair seats and their backs.  It took longer to clean up after these people than it did to serve them, and with all their special orders–y’all, I still have nightmares about them once in a while.  Second to them would be the men who tried to pat my backside.  How bad are they if physical contact comes second?!
3. In banking, the worst was a famous baseball player who came through the motorbank to cash his $10k+ check.  He had no identification with him and shared a name with about 300 other clients I saw on a daily basis.  When I refused to cash his check a) because it was over our motorbank limit, and b) because he didn’t have ID, he freaked out all over the place.  In restrospect, it was probably ‘roid rage.  He was howling, insisting that I should know who he was, and I should do what he wanted because he was [Famous Name Player] of [Then Really Rotten Team, which is now Pretty Darned Good Even if They Did Choke in the Series Last Year].  Angry, angry man.  Ugly, ugly words.
4. Internally, the worst customer service experiences I’ve had were working for That Religious Organization.  The absolute worst, when the wife of a manager called and left 3 back-to-back messages on my voice mail, telling me what a slovenly disappointment I was, and how ungodly, and unfit for Christian service I was because HER HUSBAND had forgotten to give her the information she had requested me to give to him to take home.  While her tell-off took over 8 minutes, her apology took less than 2–I never really got over that tell-off while I worked there.  Second to that was the family member of the head honcho, who chewed me out for not knowing her voice when she called–on my first week working there, and the first time I had ever spoken to her.  Actually, the worst experiences I’ve had have generally been with Christians.

 Hands down, the funniest thing that has EVER happened, was a man who did not speak English, passing me a note asking for coin wrappers that was spelled phonetically.  It read:

“pleez to give me wrapers for my penis”

And once I quit laughing, I happily gave him wrappers for his pennies.