I’m White Hot… in the Insurance Industry

My biggest fan! But seriously, Flo, stop sending my resume to HR - I'm not interested.

My biggest fan! But seriously, Flo, stop sending my resume to HR – I’m not interested.

Maybe they’ve heard through the grapevine that I really like Progressive commercials, maybe they know that I deeply appreciate and am grateful for medical insurance, or maybe they just want a drone to carry out their paperwork – whatever the reason, insurance companies are pursuing me incessantly. Seriously, it’s like some sort of Renaissance-era courting ritual. I’m surprised they haven’t just gone straight to my father for my hand in insurance-marriage. Or written me a ballad. Or gifted me with expensive jewelry while making grand platitudes about my beauty and wit.

"Girl, you iz fine!"

“Girl, you iz fine!”

No, instead of the *proper* method of going about courting me, they’re e-mailing me. Sometimes, multiple times. They keep telling me I’d be great for their “team”. I’m prettttttttyyyyy sure they’ve misunderstood my resume and have no clue what they’d be in for if they hired me. Hypothetically, I’d be a great asset in terms of my ability to communicate like a human – I’m literate and can sometimes participate in small talk without gagging. Retail has also afforded me some vague knowledge of “customer service”.

The recruiters for these companies probably have a good laugh over my statements on my profile that describe my desired job as “writer” and send me a recruitment e-mail half out of pity and half out of genuine interest in hiring me. They know I will be poor and living among the plebes and probably feel like some sort of hero offering me an insurance position.

I know I shouldn’t be complaining because, as we all know from the news, the job market is dismal and we’re all going to die horrible deaths. It’s not that I’m too good to work for an insurance company though, it’s that I actually think that maybe there’s a chance I could write for a living and do what I like instead of shilling life coverage plans? I don’t know, maybe I’m taking crazy pills…

Who knew The Matrix would be so relevant to my life?? I choose the Red Pill! I want to know how far the rabbit hole goes. LET’S ALICE IN WONDERLAND IT UP, GUYS. 

– M

Driving in LA

This past weekend, I helped a friend move into her apartment in LA. I was mentally unprepared for the concentration and sheer determination it took to complete this task. When we loaded up my (Dad’s) truck, I played a dangerous game of furniture Tetris but managed to stuff four chairs, a desk, and two mattresses in the bed of the pick-up. Then I did some magical knots with bungee cords and secured everything down to a reasonable level of stability.

After the road trips to and from Philly, I felt pretty confident in my packing and bungee-ing ability. And, as far as I know, I didn’t kill anybody with errant, flying furniture so mission accomplished on that front.

However, there were various problems with this driving situation despite the successes.

My two other pals each filled her car with what wouldn’t fit in the truck. We planned a route with the lowest amount of ominous red chunks of traffic and since I could not really see to either side of me or out the back window, we decided on a caravan formation where I would be in the middle.

I don’t know if you’ve tried to keep three cars together on the 405, but it is nigh impossible. And futile. And frustrating. And anxiety-inducing.


Seriously though, even going at disgustingly slow speed, it was hard to annoy other drivers enough to leave our little line of cars. I’m pretty sure most drivers didn’t want to drive behind me anyway because I probably looked like a traffic accident waiting to happen but people loved to cut me off in the front. Which is their right as an American citizen. As an American, it is your right – nay – your duty to annoy and harass other drivers as you feel fit.

I think the most terrifying aspect of the entire ordeal was merging because I was relying on other people’s instincts to move out of the way and sheer luck. I basically kept a pleading look on my face the entire time I was on the road and hoped people understood that I couldn’t see anything. I also put my blinker on and looked to the sides for a full thirty seconds before I took the dive into another lane.

But, let’s be real, nobody cares or cared. They were just trying to go on their merry way and far away from what probably looked to them like a roving furniture store.

 

Alas, I did make it to the apartment in one piece. But not before panicking multiple times and having to give myself a pep talk. You can do this. You’re amazing. You’re in a truck, people respect you. Look how high you are compared to everyone else. You are elevated to the status of Queen and nobody – NOBODY – will take your throne. You will guide your people with a gentle hand but a harsh word. You are the Supreme Ruler of All the Land. 

Unrelated: all of LA hates me.

– Daughter

You Stay Classy, Customers

Usually, customers are so-so in the personality department. Most go about their business without much pomp and circumstance, are tight-lipped at checkout despite your efforts of fake cheerfulness, and leave with a terse, “Thank you.” I don’t mind these people even though it honestly hurts my feelings a tiny but when people don’t respond to my award-winning smile and personality (my parents can vouch for this). Then, there are customers who want to start a fight or believe that you personally chose to make their life hard.

Customer: “Excuse me, this is really expensive. Is this the real price?”

Me, in my head: “No, we put fake prices out just to mess with customers’ heads. It keeps them on their toes, you know?”

Me, in real life: “Yes.”

Customer: “WHAT A RIPOFF! THIS IS HORRIBLE. WHAT??!!! I AM NEVER COMING HERE TO BUY DECORATIVE GOURDS AGAIN!”

Me, in my head: “Can I get that in writing?”

Me, in real life: “I am sorry.”

This week, however, customers have been on the extreme ends of the personality spectrum: mean and heinous creatures from the gaping maw of hell or sweet angels God/Allah/the Universe/Buddha himself blessed me with for my retail happiness and fulfillment.

A few nights ago, we were closing up shop when I found a wine bottle that was 1/3 empty. I looked around and chuckled. Surely, this is a hallucination. Maybe this is a return. There is no way that a customer legitimately got wasted in the store. 

I took the bottle to my supervisor and said, “Lookie what I found!”

She told me she was actually looking for the bottle because she found a glass of wine sitting on one of the tables the day before.

So, let me lay this out for you in case you are not sure why this is so amazing and impressive.

A customer made the conscious decision to open a bottle of wine with no plans of paying for it and then, in the midst of this decision, also decided it was too uncouth to drink straight from the bottle. Naturally, this customer decided it would be classier and better in general if he/she could procure a wine glass from which he/she would casually sip their stolen wine.

And this actually happened. Completely unnoticed by store employees. Yeah, we’re basically a bar now I guess.

The thing is, I wasn’t – and am not – mad. I’m more impressed than anything else. I guess we were shorthanded or reeeeally unobservant that day.

You go, Drunk Customer!

– Daughter

That Moment When Your Academic Advisor Tells You Your Writing Sucks and You Want to Curl Up and Die

Oh, how the great have fallen.

I am currently in the process of writing a thesis. It will end up being around 30-40 pages of writing about a subject in art history. I was not concerned about it really until today, when my advisor told me that she couldn’t follow the logic of my paper. I mean, I did turn in a horribly rough draft of my thesis but I had good ideas. Just because of most of it is in Spanish and Mandarin doesn’t mean it isn’t good. And just because I let a four-year-old come up with most of the ideas in the paper doesn’t mean it’s illogical.

The problem is, I am one of those “creative” people who works in a haphazard, irrational and slightly schizophrenic way. I feel and hear and smell (?) all of these  ideas in my head and get wrapped up in trying to do justice to all of them.

This is how the paper-writing process goes: I write a bit, dance to Beyonce, and then sit down. And write more. And then make coffee. And then sit down on the floor. And then make a poster with a flow chart of key terms in my paper. And then I get up to dance more. And then I eat a brownie. And then I lay on the hardwood floor and slide my body around it pretending to be a human mop. Of course, all of this activity only happens intermittently. Inevitably, there’s a few weeks after the initial buzz of ideas where I stare blankly at a very empty Microsoft Word document. I’m at that point.

I haven’t cried yet over my thesis but I am getting there.

My advisor said she was “concerned” and said in no uncertain terms that I needed a writing tutor. It’s not like I’m too good for a writing tutor – okay, I totally am too good for a writing tutor. OH, THE INJUSTICE.

Perhaps my thesis is taking up so much time and energy because it revolves around Lindsay Lohan. It’s soul-draining work. But somebody has to do it.

Well, not really. Nobody has to do it. Except for me because it’s a major requirement.

– Daughter

Last Story from the Retail Vault

Today was my last day in retail… for a while. Many wonderful stories were borne from this place of wonders. As well as tales of horror. What I’ve come to realize is that the only explanation for this institution is the ceaseless machine of capitalist culture driving people to embrace materialism as a way of life  resulting in empty and meaningless days and nights; a life that can measured in transactions and not memories  and – LOLZ JK.  It is only fitting that my (temporary) end to retail should be marked by a last post from the retail vault.

It is best to start with a quote: “50% off you give me!”

No, this is not a quote from Yoda, this is a statement made by a foreign woman who attempted to barter with me over jewelry at the register. There was a huge language barrier but I still did my best to explain that this was not a local village market where you haggle over prices, this is a retail store with set policies and set prices. I used interpretative dance moves to convey this message but to no avail.

I stood there in disbelief as this woman argued with me but did my best to negotiate the ACTUAL PRICE of the product she was trying to buy by saying, “No, this is actually the price,” and,  “No, but really,”  and, “No, I don’t want your goat in exchange for this.”

She was very confused about how sales work as well. You know, that thing where things go on sale temporarily and then resume their regular price at a set time. She was very upset that a sale had ended (one that had ended probably six weeks prior) and she and her accent let me have it.

It is with such sweet sorrow that I leave a place capable of bringing out the worst, best, and bizarre parts of humanity. Alas, I shall return in three and a half months so all is not lost.

Also, for the next five days or so, stay tuned for THE ROAD TRIP DIARIES: A FATHER-DAUGHTER EPIC. Driving from SoCal to Philly with Pops! I’m excited and terrified. Mostly terrified. Here’s to staying sane! *clinks glass with reflection in mirror because I have no friends*

– Daughter

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