Category Archives: work

goodness, humor, work

Free food!

A meeting I organize every other month went well yesterday, and as usual, we had a ton of food left over from the catering.  We did what we usually do: we took it back to the office to feed the starving students.  Sometimes people don’t understand that food left on the counter in the small kitchen area we have in the office is free-for-all, so I was sure to make a sign everyone would understand, and, more than that, would flood the onlooker with warmth and a sense that this food really was meant for general human consumption, devoid of any financial commitment.

mission accomplished

When I was a student, I used to get a calzone and salad with a drink almost every day I had class for at least a year.  The line was obscenely long around the lunch hour, so one day, since I was in a hurry, I just walked out.  I was in a hurry, and almost broke anyway, so I figured what the hell?  If anyone stopped me, I would say I was just saying hi to a friend, and jump back in line.

I ended up getting away with it, only to discover that stolen food tastes better than food I’ve exchanged for currency.  This is not a fluke; every item of food I’ve ever stolen has always tasted better than when I pay for it.  How fucked up is that?  But I didn’t make the rules.  These are FACTS.  I’m just acutely aware of them.

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badness, work

Haiku distraction: Crap noir edition

I made a more accurate poster for the play. you’re welcome.

I went to another student production from the theater department at the university where I work at Office Job.  Last year’s production was a total shit show.  This year was better, but not by much.

Today’s musical matinee show was the story of an author writing a screenplay, spliced in with the actual screenplay itself.  The screenplay takes place in Los Angeles cerca 1947, which means everyone chain-smokes and “needs a drink” all the time.  Needless to say, paying rapt attention was out of the question since I value my sanity more than my ability to give a coherent synopsis of some crap musical play.

But just like last year, it was a great source of angry haikus!

Oh my fucking god.
He’s gonna spend the whole play
looking at her “gams.”

The main character detective also annoyingly narrated the whole damn play in a poor imitation of Humphrey Bogart, and could not stop talking about some woman’s physical attributes.  Meanwhile, the audience consisted of mostly women and gay men, so who the hell is this guy appealing to?

Nothing like a missed
musical cue to kill a
shitty production.

The orchestra missed a cue!  They jumped into the middle of a scene and just started playing the next number.  Yikes.

Jesus Christ he can’t
stop talking about “figures”
or smoking to death. 

Apparently living in the 1940’s consisted of leering at women, doing anything for a dollar, and smoking like a chimney.

Here’s an idea:
Do something other than stand
still while you’re singing.

Each character gets their own chance to be more or less alone on stage and sing a little song to tell us their story.  One woman just sat and sang.  Then she stood and sang.  Then she moseyed on over to the edge of the stage and sang some more.  Fade to black.  She had the whole stage to herself, and couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger in the middle of a musical number.  I felt… disappointed, and… confused.

At some point I started keeping track of the number of times the main character demanded that someone “level” with him.  Final count: 6, but I may have missed the first few.

My favorite quote: “They’re closer than Denmark, and a whole lot more rotten.”

Toot toot!  It’s the failtrain!  All aboooooooooooooard!

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badness, life, work

No warrior, no war

It’s about a half-mile walk from my office at Office Job to my car at a parking structure a couple of blocks away.  Typically when I walk through any parking lot, I make it a point to keep my eyes up, and stop fussing with my phone, or stick my head in my purse, or otherwise distract myself from… whatever.

paranoid parrot knows what I'm talking about

I’ve come to realize that “whatever” really means imminent attack by some asshole who wants to steal my car/accost me, etc.  I’ve never been attacked by a sober person, so this would be a new experience for me.  Still, I can feel myself tense up a little when I step off the elevator to the third floor of the parking structure.  I’ve finally given in to reading The Hunger Games on my Kindle, but as the doors open, my eyes slip up from the screen, and I step forward, full of caution and confidence, ready for some hidden enemy to pounce.

There have been men working to replace all the lights in the structure every day this week, and yesterday was no exception.  As I walked away from them toward my car, I thought about how I could probably read my book right now instead of keeping an eye out since there are people around.

My mind goes to work.  I calculate how many times I would have to scream for them to realize what they’re hearing, and how long it would take them to arrive to help me.  At least one of them is overweight; he would never arrive in time, and probably wouldn’t be able to do anything useful, so I subtract him from the equation.  Then I calculate how likely these men would be to help a woman being attacked by a man a) with bare fists b) with a knife c) with a gun.  Anything worse than a pocket knife would probably scare them off.  On the other side of the equal sign I’m left with one not-overweight maintenance worker who wouldn’t jump in front of a knife to help me, which means I shouldn’t depend on him at all.  I decide I can probably trust them to ward off any attacker with merely their presence.  “I’m probably safe,” I think as I slip my Kindle in my bag and pull out my keys without breaking stride or dropping my gaze.   My eyes pan across the floor between cars for shadows and feet, then back across the windshields to see if anyone is lying in wait.  I’ve given myself permission to relax,  but I can’t stop preparing for… whatever.

Whenever I teach a women’s self-defense class, I try to calm them down: I say something like, “I just want to point out, and I don’t mean to sound callous or hurt anyone’s feelings, but you are not a special snowflake.  You will probably never get attacked.  I hate to break it to you, but you’re just not that special.  Relax.  You’re here to learn something potentially useful, not to safeguard against the inevitable.”

Where did this hyper-cautious impulse come from?  Did my training make me crave an attack so I can test my skills?  I could’ve sworn I had grown out of that phase.  Or do I worry about an attack because I know all the ways a person can cause injury to another with their bare hands?  Did the two fights I’ve been in make me like this?  They turned out well, what am I worrying about?  I’m no warrior, and there is no war going on.  Why am I like this?  What am I doing?  It feels like such a huge waste of time to be this tense every day… then again, if the alternative is getting blindsided by some asshole in a ski mask, I’d rather miss twenty seconds of whatever novel I’m reading to make it to the car sans violent encounter.

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humor, martial arts, work

Bad birdie

lol noobs

I teach a range of kids from 2.5-18 years old.  Starting at 3.5, the kids take class without their parents, and it becomes my job to enforce the rules (don’t pick your nose, don’t hit each other, I already said don’t pick your nose, fingers out of your mouth, what did I just say?, that’s right, don’t pick your nose, etc.).  I can’t be everywhere at once, though, and the kids will occasionally run smack into each other, fall down hard, or intentionally misbehave while they think I’m not looking.  This is equal parts doom and hilarity; the invincibility they feel while my back is turned is instantly crushed into a fine dust when they discover that the mirror that extends across the entire room is nothing but a shiny taddle-tale.  Then they get busted and I laugh (on the inside) as the bravery drains out of their faces, and a murmured, “Yes, ma’am” is all that remains of their conquest.  Better luck next time, kid.

At the end of class, the kids line up and we all clap for them.  I talk about what they learned, what they’re working on, and so forth while the parents smile and nod and gaze lovingly at their kids (or pantomime standing up straight for their kid who has lost interest in my monologue).  About 90% of the kids I teach are great, so most of the time, it’s pretty dull.  But every now and then, when the kids think I’m not looking…

I have a hapa student (let’s call him Sam) who has a tough time standing still for more than a few seconds, and takes corrections pretty hard (he pouts whenever I don’t praise him).  But overall he’s a happy kid who has a good time in class.  A few weeks ago the kids were all lined up in front of the parents at the end of a normal class.  Just as my hand came to rest on the door handle, I glanced at the kids to make sure they were lined up straight, and what do I see but Sam, way at the end of the line, flipping off every parent in the lobby with both hands and a huge smile on his face.

Flipping the bird to a bunch of adults in front of your classmates is a pretty ballsy thing to do at any age, but it’s not something I expect a four-year-old to know how to do.  I froze, with my hand on the door, and said, “Sam,” in a sharp, level voice.  His hands dove behind his back, and his smile disappeared, replaced by a mask of fear as I walked away from the door and asked him to step out of line for a chat.  Once we were far enough away from the other kids, I crouched down and asked, “What were you doing over there, Sam?”

Sam: [eyes to the ground]
me:  Sam, eyes up here.  What were you doing?
Sam: [lip trembling] I don’t know…

And then he collapsed onto my shoulder and started crying.  I rubbed  his back a little, then pulled him away and asked him if he knew that what he had done was bad.  He nodded (of course he knew), so I asked, “Can you say sorry please?” to which he immediately responded, “Sowwy pwease!”  Fuuuuuck, so cute.

I put him back in line, said my piece to the parents, dismissed the kids, and watched Sam collapse onto his mom.  She hadn’t seen him do anything, but knew better than to accuse me of mistreating her son in some way.  She had no idea where he picked up this behavior, and was just the right amount of bemused and displeased.  She is a good mom, and a nice lady with a good sense of humor (thank god).

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badness, humor, work

Haiku distraction: Theater = masturbation

If I wasn’t able to write Bitter Haikus during boring meetings, I would go a little crazy.  Unleashing my intolerance for time-wasting, self-congratulating, fat-cat council meetings is all that keeps me from misbehaving just to see what would happen.

I had a 12-hour day at Office Job starting at 830am this week, and ending at a meeting where the dean of the school of theater spoke.  She brought an undergraduate student from her school with her.  They were just so pleased with their school and its purpose.

ah, theater. I have so much to learn from you.

The dean seems to say,
“Without theater, we would
all just die.” Huh. ‘Kay.

She started off her lecture by showing a video about what the school does, and how it’s just the best.  Naturally, every dean believes their school is the best, and that all students should take at least one of their school’s classes.  This got under my skin because theater is… how you say?… ridiculous.  I’ve seen one of their productions, and I was not impressed.  She and her student kept emphasizing how, in the theater school, students could “discover themselves,” as if the school of philosophy wouldn’t offer similar self-realization with the added benefit of a degree with some academic merit.  Poppycock!  Poppycock, I say!

“Being an actor
makes you a smarter person.”
Or… just go to class.

That is a direct quote from the theater student.  He said that researching how to play different roles gave him a wide range of knowledge about all kinds of people, as if he couldn’t get that exact education with greater accuracy and depth by taking any non-theater class.  He used playing a doctor as an example.  I scoffed aloud as I clamped down on the urge to throw my hand up and ask if he thought taking pre-med classes would have made him even “smarter” than his preparation for the role.  What a load.

Holy shit, he just
almost cried.  Be a bigger
stereotype, kid.

Yep, he got choked up talking about how great the theater program is.  Then he made fun of himself for it, and called himself a stereotype.  And he was right.

Don’t let the timer
meant for members go off while
the dean speaks, genius.

The presidents of the council for which the meeting was held have decided to bribe the committees to keep their presentations short by timing them (somehow the presidents themselves escaped this indignity).  While the dean spoke, the timer went off, and continued beeping obnoxiously in the co-presidents bag right in front of the podium for a solid minute before they figured out what it was.

Don’t ask the actor
if he wants to talk.  He does.
He will.  Always.  Talk.

The dean finished answering questions, and she asked her student if had anything to add.  Sheesh.  What kind of question is that to ask an actor?  Of course he wants to add something!  “What’s that?  A microphone and a captive audience?  Why yes!  I do have something to add!”

The dean also said something that ruffled my feathers: “What we know about ancient civilizations, we know through their theater.”  Now, I double majored in Art History and Philosophy, so imagine how rewarding it feels to listen to someone at the university where I got my degrees tell me that I owe every piece of knowledge I learned at a non-theater school to the theater school.  What an ego.  And it’s weird because I like this woman.  She’s very grounded and smart, but apparently when she’s selling her school, she goes balls-to-the-wall crazy.

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goodness, humor, martial arts, work

Radioactive isotopes aside, this might be fun

My Friday classes are pretty cool at Karate Job.  The kids are all pretty excited that the week is over, and they behave like a class full of happy, dopey kids, which is always fun to teach.

it looks something like this

A couple weeks ago, they noticed I had my toenails painted.  This is a new thing for me.  I got a pedicure for the first time in mid-December, so I painted my nails again when it started to wear off.  The kids could not stop staring at my toes while we were in our meditation circle, but they’re a really focused group, so I have the luxury to let them get a little distracted, then refocus them on the class without too much trouble.

I said they had done an excellent job in class so far, and if they kept it up, I would paint my toes any color they wanted.

One kid immediately shouted, “Green!”  A chorus of, “Yeah, green!” started up, and I had no choice.  Green it is.
“Ok,” I said, “light green or dark green?”
The response was instantaneous and unanimous, “Light green!”

I found some cheap metallic green polish at Target.  I plan on putting it on Thursday night so I can put off making my toes look like they’re rotting away due to radioactive exposure for as long as possible.  Who knows, I might love it.  I’ll upload a photo of the damage when it’s done.

UPDATE
The deed is done.

equal parts horrifying and fun

 

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badness, work

Too many bossy bosses

My boss at Office Job, who we’ll call Little Mole Boss for her previously explained propensity to close her eyes for long periods of time while talking, is, by and large, a good boss.  Most of the time she is considerate of others, generous with her time, and a hard worker.  She takes time every morning when she comes in to say hello to everyone, ask us how our weekends were, etc.  If someone calls in sick, she seems genuinely concerned, and never complains about their absence.  Overall, an excellent boss who makes my experience at work pretty stress-free, especially compared to other bosses I’ve had.

I’ve noticed, however, that she feels free to interrupt us, her subordinates, while we speak, even if one of us is answering a question she asked.  One of my bosses at Karate Job (we’ll call him Frantic Boss) has a similar problem: He’s so high-energy that when the person he’s talking to finds a spot during his frantic monologue to put her two cents in, he won’t look her in the face while she talks, and once she’s finished talking, he’ll say something like, “That’s an excellent point.  So what I was saying was…”  It’s like he’s just waiting for his turn to talk instead of listening.  He interrupts people mid-sentence with phrases like, “I totally understand where you’re coming from,” as if his commiseration is enough reason to stop talking.  I’ve seen him do this to several people including his boss, the owner of the karate school.

I really dislike when people interrupt each other.  Interrupting someone is a socially semi-acceptable way to say, “Stop talking.  Whatever you’re about to say, it’s not as interesting/important/pertinent as when I’m about to say, so just save yourself the trouble and shut up.”
Or, somewhat more absurdly, “I feel clairvoyant around you.  Your predictability so bores me that I can’t help but attempt to force you to shush by verbally bulldozing you.”

It’s so rude!  People who do this drive me nuts.  Since I’ve noticed this in my bosses, I’ve been keeping an eye on myself, and I realize I do this sometimes at home while chatting with the roomies.  If we’re talking about something funny or whatever, the conversation goes more quickly and talking over each other is only slightly more acceptable.  Still, I’m going to be more vigilant about this.  I like hearing them talk, they’re fun and smart.

So now I get to hop up on my high horse and point out how I think my bosses could improve:

1. Be willing to conduct an uncomfortable/negative discussion in a professional manner.
Karate bosses are actually really good at this, which is great.  Little Mole Boss cannot do this at all.  She got so uncomfortable once when we were talking about some nasty emails flying around within an organization we assist in running, that she put her head down on the table we were sitting at, and left it there for a solid minute or so while my two coworkers attempted to sound comforting while hiding the amusement in their voices.  She just wanted to disappear, which made me want to disappear.  Not a good leadership technique.

2. Listen to your subordinates.
Naturally, there is an implied “without interrupting” at the end of that sentence, but I’ve already gone over that.  Really, the point is that my karate bosses do not take criticism or suggestions from their subordinates well at all.  In fact, our opinions get out-right ignored, even though our bosses spend almost no time talking to our clients and students.  They sit in their ivory tower and make sweeping changes to the curriculum and policies on a monthly basis, regardless of what their subordinates say.  It’s a shame because we would be an excellent resource for them, and because it demoralizes us.

3. Acknowledge your short-comings.  Learn to depend upon your subordinates for their strengths.
This must be a tough one.  As a boss, I would imagine I would feel like I was the best at most things.  How else would I have gotten where I was?  Little Mole Boss is technologically somewhat inept, considering that she’s in her 70’s, and her generation lacks the constant exposure to computers, etc.  So when the prospect of online interaction with our clientele came up, she was against it.  When I suggested an iPhone app for a huge event we host with several thousand people, she shot it down.  When it was time to send out holiday cards, she asked me to find something affordable and religiously neutral.  When I sent her a dozen cards with price points, she responded with one card twice as expensive, and ignored my suggestions to use something more cost-effective, thereby rendering my efforts pointless.

Being a boss can’t be easy, I understand that.  I’m not sure what kind of boss I’d be.  It sounds lonely.

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goodness, humor, martial arts, work

Actually, you’re a grown-up

I often plug my iPhone into the sound system at Karate Job to play music for the kids while they play karate games.  I just can’t handle what they have on the CDs in there (which haven’t been changed in years).  One set of speakers is more sensitive than the others, and buzzes constantly when I plug into them, which is completely distracting and ruins the music.  Today I had a class of just one four year old who disliked the buzzing, so we agreed I should just unplug the phone.

He said, “I think you should fix that.”
I said, “I would like to, but I’m not sure how.”
He then looked at me like I had lost my mind, and kindly informed me that, “You’re a grown-up.  That means you know how.”
I smiled and said, “You’re right, I bet I could figure it out.”

So that was humbling.  Kids are so straight forward (especially mentally handicapped kids, which this one was).  No filter to speak of, just pure, often hilarious truth.  It’s refreshing and fun, and I highly recommend it.

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badness, martial arts, work

Be strong, Sensei

I teach a kid who just could not give less of a shit about what he’s learning.  He’s been taking class at the dojo for a couple years at least, and he has a horrible attitude.  He doesn’t want to try, doesn’t care if his form is terrible, and laughs at the other kids when they make mistakes (which I nail him for every time, and he still does it, that little shit).  He’s a bad student because he doesn’t want to be there no matter what we do.  It doesn’t help that his mother doesn’t demand respect from him, obviously has plastic surgery, and has a new color highlight in her hair every time she comes in.  Whatever they’re doing with him at home, they’re doing it wrong.

FML

Did I mention he looks just like David Dastmalchian?  Yeah.  He does.  And it’s fucking creepy.  Y’know those people who have weird faces that make you wonder, “What did that person look like as a child?  Were they cute?”  Answer: absolutely not.  This kid (let’s call him Mini-David) is, in fact, creepier than the guy who was chosen to play a role in a major movie because his facial structure tells us he’s crazy enough to be one of the Joker’s henchmen before he says a word.  Given my experience with Mini-David and his complete lack of respect for authority, I feel I can honestly say that he belongs in the army, or Arkham Asylum.  I’m just waiting for the day when his mom approaches me and tells me about how he drowned his pet cat over the weekend, and, “Could you talk to him about that?”  Or something equally horrifying.  Mark my words: he’s learning bad behavior from someone (I’m gonna say his dad and/or older siblings), and he will be a violent person.  GOOD THING HE’S LEARNING KARATE, AMIRITE?

Creepy kids are the worst because they impossibly carry within themselves the darkness of a lifetime, the look of someone who has served in several wars, the kind of eyes that look at you and say, “I’ve done some terrible things in my day.”  But they’re six.  Yikes.

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badness, goodness, work

Regret in the purplish-red spectrum

I don’t have many regrets about my life so far.  I probably should have gone straight to graduate school from college instead of trying my hand in the working world (retail, bleh), but then I wouldn’t have had the chance to teach martial arts to kids, which has been predictably hilarious, and surprisingly rewarding.  I used to fantasize about teaching martial arts for a living, and now I do it.  I would not have been able to apply to the MAT program at Office Job without paying tuition.  I love teaching my foreign friends better English, and to think that I might also be able to do that for a living in the future is really exciting.  And so on.  So my biggest regret has also provided me with great opportunities.

as I recall, mine looked... significantly better

Having said that, there is one thing I regret that I cannot rectify in the near future: I should have dyed my hair more.  I have dark brown hair, so it’s easy to dye it subtly.  I look at students who dye their hair and I think, “Why didn’t I do more of that?  That looks awesome!”  It’s such a harmless, fun change to make on yourself, like crazy makeup.  In college I dyed the inside curtain of my hair jet black, and I dyed the outer curtain’s tips a light pink.  It looked bizarre and fantastic.  I loved it.  I wish I had done more of that.  Every time I see purple or red dye on a shelf, I think, “One day, one day…”  Of course, I can’t do it now with Office Job, and after that it’s job interviews for teaching jobs.  But after that I’ll be in my 30s, and dying my hair purple will seem… forced.  But if I still have the urge,  you’d better believe my dark brown hair will have a subtle red streak running through it at some point.  I already have a natural solid gray streak in the works (which I love).

red dye requires looking wistfully away from the camera (i hope! lol)

I think the core of the issue is that I miss having the freedom to change my appearance to something outside the norm.  Everyone looks the same here at Office Job.  We all wear clothes we don’t really like to conform to an image of “office attire,” uncomfortable shoes, boring, drab colors, recycled looks and compliments.  It’s such a shame!  I’m not saying we don’t look nice, or that I hate my Office Job clothes (some of the clothes I bought for this job have encouraged me to dress more stylishly which is fun and new for me).  I’m saying I don’t want to have to put on the worker bee mask every day I work here.  Dull, dull, dull.  Give me something to look forward to!

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