I Know We Are Right, It's Not Always Clear, Because I've Never Felt The Fear, Can It Stay So Good, Forever In Time?

--"No More Rhyme", Debbie Gibson

I've owned one car in my life, even though I've driven four. The only car I've ever owned was a 2000 Kia Sephia that I probably got ripped off on. I tried to do it on my own without any help from my family or friends because I was attempting very hard to be seen as an adult in the eyes of everyone concerned. Compound this with the fact it was a total impulse buy. I walked into the dealership planning to only take a look around and came out driving a brand new car. As aforementioned, I have the skulking suspicion I ended up overpaying by a lot and could have driven a harder bargain had I known better.

I'm recalling the experience because, as of last week, I am again without transportation. Once again I'm in the process of securing a new vehicle with which to go about my daily business. Part of me is excited because it's going to be the first car that I really did a lot of research on--well, at least for me. Some people might spend months and months reading up and asking for advice on what the best car for them is, but I'm really proud of myself for even spending the last six or seven days doing a few hours of research for this purchase. That's more time than I usually take to decide to buy anything. I suppose it befits the importance of my decision. I suppose it befits the amount of time I'll actually be spending with this car. But honestly I think it has more to do with the fact that I've always felt like I failed at my first opportunity to buy a brand new car.

I just don't want to fuck this up, basically.

Part of the reason why I wasn't really in my right mind with that first purchase was that money really wasn't all that of a concern to me. I wasn't rich--that's not what I meant. I just meant that at the time I had a credit card that had over twenty thousand dollars on it. I was probably spending close to a thousand on frivolous items at the time--mostly on DeAnn, but some of it on me. Buying a car, putting another twenty thousand on credit--however you want to phrase it--didn't feel like I was losing anything. It's like I was feeling at the time that there was no way I would be ever to pay back the twenty thousand I had on my credit card. How much more trouble could putting another twenty-thousand be? It's like it was all pretend money to me, when it really wasn't. I just never had the sense that I'd ever really be paying it all back anyway.

This time, though, I'm kind of worried if I don't get a good deal. This time I'm actually worried about how it's going to affect my finances. This time I'm actually worried about how long it's going to take to pay back. This time I'm actually worried about making the right choices and settling on a good price.

In a way this is really my first time buying a car, or buying anything of any import for the matter, the "right" way. I don't know--I guess because I feel like the first time didn't count but also because I learned a lot about what not to do, I want do it right. I want to make sure that at the end of this week or whenever I'm completely satisfied that I did everything to the best of my knowledge. I want to make sure that I'm not going to look back upon the next few days and regret fucking up again.

That's all I want--more than the car, I want the satisfaction of making somewhat an adult decision for once.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

There's No Use In Telling Me All Your Plans, I Wouldn't Understand, Another Frame Of Reference

--"Something to Keep", Sambassadeur

I don't remember anything about my high school graduation.

I remember graduating, sure. But I don't remember what I was thinking, I don't remember who all was sitting next to me, I don't remember any of the details one would think one would remember on an occasion as singular as one's high school graduation. I don't remember if and where we stopped by afterwards. I don't remember how I felt going to sleep that night. It's all a huge blur of trying to place myself in the context of the event and only coming up with bullet points. Worst of all, I don't remember the people I graduated with. I remember their names and I remember hanging out with them in the four years leading up to graduation, but I don't remember seeing anyone on that day or seeing anyone afterwards. It's almost like on that day every one of my friends from school faded away for that day... even though I continued to see some of them for months or years afterwards.

I don't know--maybe it's like Cyndi said, "we have no past." Maybe I have something intrinsic in me that shuts off holding onto people the minute I know I won't be seeing them any more. I know that's part of the reason why I don't say good-bye to people if given a choice in the matter. That's why I say farewell or, more precisely and Avonleaish, "fare thee well." I knew something was up when I graduated from junior high and I refused to even hang out with any and all of my classmates from my class over that following summer. Part of my brain must have picked up the idea that I wouldn't be seeing any of them the following Fall so what would be the point in prolonging the inevitable? I guess that idea just stuck with me all the way through high school and beyond.

It's just weird how much of my brain has blocked out about that day. I can remember specific days going to class from Freshman year, but I can't recall what is usually the biggest day of high school.

----

That's probably why I'm puzzled over my desire to go to Louisville for the second time in twelve months to go see my friend Toby graduate from high school. I mean--I don't hold all these warm gooey feelings about my own graduation. Logically, I don't see the connection between what high school means to me and what my heart wants. I don't look back on my days in high school and consider them the high point of my life. Don't get me wrong, I don't consider them the low point of my life either. I've had enough troubles to know that my real low point came years later. But when I look back on high school it's always with the idea that there is no going back and that there shouldn't be any wish to do so. I survived it once and even thrived there for my last years, but it's not an experience I wouldn't want to relive in any simulation.

And it isn't like I have this predilection to attend my friends' graduations. When Tara graduated from high school, I didn't go. I was invited (I think), but it was always fixed in my mind that I would feel sore out of place much like I was debating going to her prom with her since, as some of you may know, I was twenty and seventeen at the time. I didn't want to show up as her boyfriend as just the process of hanging out with her friends normally was really eye-opening. At least with Breanne I didn't have the added pressure of hanging out with her friends while we were dating. At least with her I got to know a few of her friends as just her friend and nothing more. Speaking of which, I never had an overwhelming desire to see her graduation either. I was happy for her, naturally. And I remember congratulating her, but never once was it brought up that I would be attending the ceremony. It was just assumed on both our parts that I would feel out of place--not to mention the expense.

So what is it then? Why do I all of a sudden have this strange compulsion to attend someone else's graduation when never before has the strange compulsion reared its head with anyone else I've known? Except for my brother and DeAnn's sister Denae's (wholly against my will, I must say), I've never gone to another person's graduation, high school or college. I've never had the need and I've never even inquired as to how to go about it.

Am I just having some kind of mid-life crisis and looking for any road to recapturing my youth? I don't think so. I still don't get jealous of when Marion speaks about her latest triumphs at DuPont Manual. I've had my triumphs. I'm not looking for excuses to bring them up again. Am I just using it as an excuse to go out to visit one of my favorite people in the world and her family? No, because my ears didn't really perk up about visiting her again until she mentioned inviting me to the graduation. I could wait a few more months. Indeed, it might be better to plan my trip for later in the Summer, when possibly everyone I want to see will have more time to attend me. Or is it just that I've had a change of heart about my feelings towards pomp and ceremony?

I think it has more to do with this last reason more than anything else. I think I'm just starting to realize that all the weddings, the anniversaries, the baptisms, the bachelor parties, and the other big celebrations that one usually attends over the course of one's life is starting to slowly dwindle for me. I've never had a lot of close friends by me--not close enough, at least, to be regularly invited to such events. I haven't been to a wedding since Denae's, which was way back in 2000, I think. I've never been to an engagement party or even a guy's getaway. My opportunities to be there for my friends when they hit their milestones is starting to slowly dwindle. I'm really beginning to feel like I'm missing out on the huge events that mark a person's life as being one worth remembering. And even though I've had my fair share of pretty memorable milestones, they were always celebrated with close-knit circles or even one or two people in attendance. I've never been one to host or even attend those huge get-togethers that pepper a person's social life. And I think it has more to do with my looking down upon such gatherings as being superficial than any real lack of chances to go.

I always thought the days that mattered, the memories that were worth having, were the ones where you had that one perfect person with you. I always thought the character and quality of a person's time was measured by what truths you could learn about one another and making those intimate connections that most people seem to fail to make. I always looked down on celebrating with people you hardly knew because you started off the night not knowing anyone and pretty much left the same way. I always thought the real joy was in getting to know someone you had met at these places afterwards, afterwards in a more personal setting. I always thought the days worth remembering where those quiet moments of finding the treasure in a person's soul rather than happening upon the person for the first time.

Now I'm starting to realize that, while quiet moments of bonding are well and good, sometimes it's important to just live amongst the world. Sometimes it's not a matter of finding connections with one or two people; sometimes it's just good to be a part of something bigger than yourself even if that something totally drowns you in its wake. There's always time to assert your place as a unique voice, but for me I'm finding less chances to assert my place as a part of a community, as belonging to a village outside of my house.

I think that's what Toby's graduation is for me, a time to be part of something great that has nothing to do with making myself a better, smarter, or more experienced person and has everything to do with making myself into someone more well-rounded. Knowing me, there's always going to be time for those late-night conversations, those "quick" trips to the coffee shops and 24-hour diners that turn into four hour confessions. What I won't always have are huge events I'm invited to where I can just say I was there, I came and played and had fun all in the name of being happy for someone else. What I won't always have is a chance to truly let myself be part of a huge assemblage of people all smiling because one of them truly did something important. What I won't always have is a chance to be part of a group of people all lifting someone else up.

I've spent enough time in solitude. It's time to open the doors again.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Look At The Stars, Look How They Shine For You, And Everything You Do, Yeah, They Were All Yellow

--"Yellow", Coldplay

I've always been a numbers guy. Of any aspect of life, the universe, and everything I've ever been superstitious about numbers have always been at the forefront. While not bordering on obsession, given a choice, I would prefer to do everything in numbers that equal to eight. I would prefer to divide anything which could be divided into eighths. Hell, I would even prefer to remain an age that equals an eight (and don't you even think for one second I'm not as giddy as a schoolgirl that I shall be thirty-five next year).

However, right up there is my little predilection for being affected by an object's color. I tend to gravitate to colors almost as finely as numbers. Yet there is one huge difference between my affiliation with each. Whereas my enamoration with the number eight has been unflagging over the years, I have at different stages in my life been more likely to christen a particular color as my "favorite" over the rest of the hues of the palette. I don't know why this is. I don't know why I've never just sat right down and picked one particular as just being "my" color, but has yet to happen. Brandy's theory is that while numbers remain fixed as representing a particular quality, representing their logical associations, colors will always be more subjectively tied to specific feelings. As my innate personality shifts over the years, so does my affinity for any one color. The number eight only remains constant because it, indeed, is indicative of the constant personality traits that I hold to be eternal; it's the bedrock upon which everything else about who I am rests. Or, again, as Brandy puts it, I tend to think of my number as the trunk of my tree and my colors as the branches which twist and turn every which way as I grow older.

In the beginning I liked orange. I liked the way it looked and I liked the fact that not a lot of people had orange as their favorite color. That became an ongoing motif for me; I still tend to make decisions if not solely, then partly on the fact that it isn't the popular choice. Orange for the first few years of my life was the single most apparent expression of this sentiment.

Then somewhere in high school I switched to red and blue as my favorite colors. This would prove to be another ongoing theme, having two favorite colors. At the time I thought this pairing had everything to do with my discovery of Avonlea, a program where literally every character was wearing either red or blue for the majority of the episodes. Now I'm beginning to wonder if my changing horses midstream had more to do with a desire to please all the people I was meeting at the time, especially the girls I was beginning to strike up various permutations of friendships with. Suddenly, while I still maintained my need to be different, I started to adopt a sensibility of being able to see why other people liked particular colors. Rather than remain tunnel-visioned, I could better appreciate that there were a lot better reasons to choose a favorite color than just wanting to be different. Indeed, I think someone or someones just presented a better argument why blue and red were more worthy of my respect.

Lastly, I have become settled on the colors of grey and green as my most cherished two colors. You know, Breanne may have her ghastly obsession with orange (ah, my former love) and Toby may be chained to one of the two colors of her nickname's namesake, but I think I've just mellowed out when it comes to choice of colors. Green and grey are the two most neutral colors there are and I'm really keen into the idea that I should be an individual who wants to remain apart from the fray. I don't want to call attention to myself as being set apart, even though I secretly think I am. I want to be different without raising people's awareness of me. I guess that's who I've turned out to be, someone who has all these quirks that I have no plans of ditching, yet doesn't want people to judge him because of them. That's why I'm more prone to choose possessions with a color scheme of green and grey, even more specifically green on grey, because I want people to see me without actually seeing me.

I don't know--I don't possess a full explanation of why I liked certain colors and not others, but those are my snap interpretations of which colors have had an effect on me and why. Like I said, I think about these things way too much and that just so happens to be the thoughts on that subject which crossed my mind today.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

But I'll Be Close Behind, I'll Follow You Into The Dark, No Blinding Light Or Tunnels To Gates Of White, Just Our Hands Clasped So Tight

--"I'll Follow You Into The Dark (Cover)", Amy Millan

for those of you out there that might have suffered disappointments of the heart ever...

We had just said goodnight. I remember hating that part because it was already my third night there and I was fulling expecting another all-night conversation laying next to one another. I guess after two nights of that, though, we were both exhausted to continue the motif. It was probably for the best because I sure as hell wouldn't have turned another night down, but, as most people know, I have no self-control. I hated that part because I knew, despite being more than a little tired, there was no way I'd be getting to sleep any time soon. I figured I would just by laying there unable to compel my mind to rest.

It was nearing Christmas because I could still hear the faint sound of the holiday songs your mother had been playing since my arrival. Somewhere downstairs there was a radio that just would not die. It'd been a good holiday so far so I didn't even mind that there was yet another distraction to my getting to sleep. Normally I don't buy into all the festivities, but my spirits were definitely brighter than they had been in the weeks leading up to my trip. I just remember lying there, wrapped up in blankets probably older than me, with a smile in my heart and on my face. I just kept thinking this trip could not get any better than it already had been. There was no possible way we were ever going to top the first few days I was there. I kept thinking that and how much I wished I could just sneak across the bathroom that connected our rooms without the floorboards creaking or making a ruckus with the doors.

It's the worst thing in the world to be both an insomniac and someone who tends to get obsessive rather quickly. It makes for a lot of sleepless nights.

I must have been contemplating in bed for close to an hour like that. I wasn't really thinking about anything specific. I was just letting my mind wander about various things--what we were going to do the next day, what you really thought about me, what your folks really thought about me, and how freaking cold it was in that room. I also thought about how much warmer it would have been had you again been in it. Around and around in circles like that I let my thoughts go. I didn't want to give up the ghost that there was still a chance that you might sneak back through that bathroom door. You'd told me you might if you couldn't sleep either. I didn't want you to find me there fast asleep. I wanted to be awake just in case you changed your mind.

When I finally did hear the bathroom door open I could barely see you. I think I saw you move the wooden chair that you'd been sitting in earlier in the evening out of the way before I saw all of you. If I hadn't been expecting you, I might have thought that it'd been some kind of specter moving the chair. As it was, your face didn't come into focus until you lowered it nearly atop mine. Even in the gossamer light of the moon your oceanic blue-green eyes came across clearly. A few chesnut strands of your hair brushed lightly against my face and I could see the hint of one of your patented wicked grins spread slowly from dimple to dimple. Nobody in his right mind would have kept silent at such a sight, but somehow I did. What could I have said that would have made the moment any more memorable? I don't know--I think I was just nervous at what I thought was finally happening. I half-expected you to come crawling beneath the covers with me like you had the night before, but such was not your goal that night.

"Getting in."

"Not tonight, sugar. I've got other plans for us."

That's when you grabbed my hand firmly and began to pull me up. All I had on was a pair of old running shorts and my red and blue La Salle gym shirt. As soon as my bare arms became fully exposed to the night air I felt exposed. I might not like freezing to death, but I hated wearing any type of constricting clothing to bed whatsoever. I was paying for my comfort as soon as I got to my feet. And you? You had on a pale blue wife-beater and a long pair of yellow pajama bottoms so you weren't faring that much better either. In fact, I could see your so-called "goose pimples" rising as we stood in the dark together. Whatever you had planned I secretly began hoping involved finding some bit of warmth and soon. You intertwined your icy fingers in mine, pulling me to the door. I held your hand tentatively as I had not been expecting the two of us to leave the room at all.

"Follow me. And make sure to stay shushed through this next part."

"Anything you say. Are you sure you want to do this, though?" I asked you while you peeked her delicate head out the door.

"You don't even know what I want to do so don't even pretend you're chickening out now," you whispered back.

"It's precisely because I don't know that I don't have to like it," I replied.

"Shush now, complain later."

I firmly expected us to move down the hall like we were sneaking around, like we were. You, however, grabbed my wrist and moved like you had a purpose. Your compact frame pulled us along like a locomotive, quickly clearing the hall in record time. I'm sure our footsteps made more noise than I would have liked, but we were across and down the stairs so quickly that I doubted if your folks had had enough time to even register what they might have heard in their slumber.

Once we were to the stairs your grip loosened and we took the last few feet at a far slower pace, a pace more befitting the skulking snipes that we were. As we passed your impressive Christmas tree, lit up like a green birthday cake for an eighty-year-old, you remarked how nice it smelled down here. You also remarked that it was a dear shame I couldn't smell what it was like in your sitting room. You pulled us towards the fireplace on the other side of the room. I saw that it was on its last legs, the final log still burning but resembling more a loose alliance of embers and flames rather than a coherent piece of wood. You sat down first by the fire. I followed right behind you.

"What are we doing down here, Breannie?" I asked, running my hand through the front of your hair. I could feel the warmth of the fire behind you and the sudden memory of your hair-burning incident flashed in my brain.

"You'll see. Have a little patience."

I watched you yawn, cat-like, before turning around to face the fire. It was probably two in the morning but neither of us were all that adamant about looking for a clock just then. All that might have done was convince us that it was too late to be sneaking around and how the next day we'd be paying for our shenanigans with more inappropriate yawns at the dinner table or elsewhere around the house. We couldn't look at a clock because we might lose all our resolve. Whatever you had planned, I could already tell, was going to take a lot of resolve. We warmed by the fire soon enough and I was slowly beginning to think that that was the extent of your plan. As far as plans go it wasn't bad. I probably could have stayed up the rest of the night with you just like that, me sitting beside you, my hand mindless stroking the back of your head. It would've been peaceful. We would have both been content for a long stretch of time. Yet if there's one thing I've noticed about you, it's that your not really one for the quiet moments. You always have an ace in the hole when it comes to planning something more demonstrative. Sure, you have your quiet moments, but I'm much more used to the Lucy that has something more spectacular planned than the Lucy that just lets the situation be. After all, you don't think; you just go.

Just as I had moved a bang out of your face, you started to stretch like you were going to get up again. Part of me felt disappointed that the night was again coming to a close, but I was grateful for the additional lucky few minutes I got to spend with you that night. If it had to end, I would have much rather have it end with us having sat by the fire and not just with a generic bedside good-bye.

Again, you had other plans.

"Warmed up enough?"

"Sure."

"Are you ready to go then, sugar?"

"Go?"

"Outside."

"Outside?"

The incredulity in my voice probably came off harsher than I intended it to. It was merely that, while I was aware you had some crazy plans in the past, seeing it firsthand for the first time in person was another matter entirely. Walking outside in the dead of night with nary a decent stitch on it was tantamount to suicide I thought. It was far too cold, far too dark, and far too dangerous to have even considered it. I wanted even to tell you as much, but from your countenance you were so adamant about doing it that I didn't think words would be enough. I don't know what I thought. I don't know if I thought that you'd come to your senses in time, but I did want to flat out tell you no just then so I went with you as far as the door. I stood in front of the door without opening it for a long time. I think I was just working up the nerve to tell you what so many others are afraid to tell you, no. No, I didn't want to go outside just then. No, I didn't want to go walking around in the dark with my gym clothes on. And, no, I didn't want to leave the relatively safety of the house for who knows what was waiting for us outside. I was just about to give you more than one piece of my mind when you made your move.

You came up behind me as we approached the front door and gathered me up in your arms. You were, what, six inches shorter than me at the time, but it felt like you were eight feet tall and that your arms could wrap around me twice. And, I admit it, I acquiesced far too quickly. You didn't even have to ask. I would have followed you out that door into hell itself. I opened the door and we stepped out. Together.

I didn't know what your plan was. I didn't even know how far we were going. All I knew was that you wanted to go outside just then and that I wanted to be wherever you were. That meant I had to go outside too. I didn't care. I started to shiver right along with you as we took those first few steps down the block, but it mattered little to me. I started to glance around nervously for would-be predators, but it mattered less than I thought it would. Even the idea of tromping around in my night attire was a small concern. You started to take the lead from me and what became important to me was that I follow right in your footsteps. I needed to keep you company. I needed to keep you safe. I needed to be with you just then. Everything else just kind of fell away. I stepped up behind you and took your hand. You walked fast, but I wanted to make sure you knew that I was right beside you.


you and me have seen everything to see

We ended up only walking around the block. It gave me a small idea of what it must have been like for you all those times you ran from home. I couldn't even imagine you spending more than a few hours of the evening out in conditions such as that. At least I had you as company. I think my courage would have been infinitely smaller had I had to traverse the blocks of your city on my own. And to realize you not only walked these selfsame streets but had to sleep out upon them was doubly worse for me. I don't know if it was just the thought of you so small, so young, having to fend for yourself when the night was so black and the air so cold but I started to get more than a little upset. I guess you noticed and asked me what was wrong.

"I was just thinking how scared you must have been all those times."

"When I was supposed to be home and wasn't?" you joked.

"Yeah, those."

"It wasn't so bad."

But I knew it had been. I had heard firsthand how dire everything had seemed, the fragile depths that your mind had reached during those times you had acted out. While you hadn't been exactly walking the streets at all hours, sleeping beneath a friend's house or walking to the next nearest relative's place three miles away wasn't a cake walk, especially for someone so young walking by themselves.

I suppose that's why you still had it in your system that night. It'd been, what, only two short years since you'd stopped running away? In some silly way there was a part of you that missed it. It might not have been all cakes and cookies out there, but you had run from home because all that was waiting for you there was your mother's expectations. There was a kind of freedom you had in being out on your own at such an age when most would were still content to be tied to their mother's apron strings. You had a small taste of deciding what happened to you. I rather think you got hooked on the feeling. And I daresay you might have been missing it that night. That's why you called me out. That's why you took me for that walk in the dead of the night. You wanted to show me what it'd been like for you. You weren't scared. You'd done that same walk probably two dozen times. In a way, I think you were comforted by its familiarity.

However, on that walk you also were never more than an arm's length from me. You never sped too far ahead of me or let me get too far from you. Maybe it was just common courtesy, but I think something deeper was at work. All those times you had walked the streets you'd been on your own. There must have been a part of you that wondered how different the experience might have been if you had a sister or brother to tag along with you. Would you have felt less anxious? Would you have been easier to convince to turn around? Or perhaps would the presence of someone who would have been so willing to take your side, as I very well might have been, been enough to dissuade you from running away in the first place? I don't know. I know that on that particular walk you made it a point to be in contact with me as much as possible.

What I like to believe, though, is that it was more than that. When we rounded back around the block and started headed back to your folks' home, it was a different experience to be walking home with someone who had gotten a taste of an experience that had so finely defined you. None of your other friends, none of your other family members, had actually went "running away" with you. I don't know if you had asked anyone else--you must have, though--but I very well could have been the first and only person who saw a sliver of your world, of your experience, of your life. It wasn't just an expedition to give you an excuse to spend time with me; it was an opportunity to share a good deal of yourself without being all uptight about me.

I don't know--when we made it back to your front door I felt like I'd learned a great deal about you and what you makes you tick even though we never spoke more than fifteen words in the fifteen minutes it took us to walk around. Fifteen minutes, though, gave me a great deal of insight into your life up until that point.

I left thinking that it was such a crazy idea that you had had. I left thinking that it was insane to follow you out into the dark just because you wanted to.

I came back feeling even closer to you than I ever thought I could. I came back realizing that wherever you might go there was no question that I would back you up, I would keep you company, I would keep you safe, and I would want to be with you.

I left thinking it was a mistake to let you lead me outside.

I ended up following your lead for the next fourteen years and counting.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

The Fact That A Man's Needs, A Man's Needs, Are Full Of Greed, Full Of Greed, A Man's Needs, A Man's Needs, Are Lost On Me

--"Men's Needs (cover)", Kate Nash

When I was younger I never dreamt of winning the big fight or winning the big game. I've never just been one for competition. I'd rather engage in activities that don't place a premium on winning or losing. Even when I'm playing a board game, it's always been more about beating my own personal score than actively engaging in trying to beat someone specifically out. I don't know--I guess I lack that competitive that so many others are blessed with.

If anywhere, my competitiveness comes mostly out when I'm rooting for somebody else I happen to support to do well. I get most fired up when it involves somebody like the Red Sox or the Trojans beating another team. Or I get the most vocal when it's somebody I know who's trying to do well. But when it comes to me having to assert myself in a win or lose situation, that's when I adopt the attitude that it really doesn't bother me either way. That's when I do my darndest to keep the spotlight off of me because Providence knows I gain nothing by doing poorly and doing well only raises expectations. I'd rather do things my own way at my own pace in a fashion that makes me happiest, even if costs me doing well according to somebody else's definition.

----

Recently I've come under attack at work for not sticking up for myself. For the most part, I guess one could say the accusations are true. I do not like office politics. I do not like being somebody who gets his jollies by positioning myself above someone else in some imaginary order. I'd much rather be someone who does his work independently of how it affects other people. I'd rather be just another cog in the wheel, moving along quietly, than constantly grinding against somebody whose only focus seems to be to cause friction. I may be an agitator and prone to ranting on here, but I can assure you when it comes to the workplace the last thing I want is any sort of hassle. Actually, more succinctly, I just don't want to be annoyed out of my skull at work. When people try to bait me into getting all defensive, that annoys me. When people poke at me and poke at me until I respond violently, that annoys me. At almost every job I've ever had I've had I've had the good fortune to be surrounded by people who are quite content to work with another instead of against another.

Then again, I guess I've never really worked in a real office before. It's a much different beast than working smaller offices and retail outlets.

Or to paraphrase my supervisor, there are certain people at my current job who are just like "high school bullies, who are going to cause problems and cause problems until you stick up for yourself and shut them up." My only thought to that proclamation was I thought I was done with that in high school. Like I said, it's been years since I had to deal with people whose m.o. seems entirely comprised of macho posturing. In any other situation I'd be more than content to let the preening peacock have his run of the roost by extricating myself from ever having to deal with him. However, seeing as this is my job and finding another job would prove rather difficult and time-consuming, I am compelled into remaining a situation that is unfavorable to my normal temperament.

I'm not cut out to give tit for tat in a war of words spoken aloud. I believe is life is too short to surround yourself with people who just make you feel bad about yourself and that's what my work's been like in the last few days. I wish I could go back to being in an environment more conducive to honest labor. Instead I'm stuck in a place where I have to constantly watch my back and carefully consider my every move,

Not only is it annoying, but it's also not what I signed up for. I don't want to put myself in direct opposition to anyone. Nobody should be forced to deal with people who are caustic in nature. Nobody should be forced to work along side people who are annoying as all hell.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Mad 'Cause I Got Floor Seats At The Lakers, See Me On The 50 Yard Line With The Raiders, Met Ali, He Told Me I'm The Greatest

--"Getting Jiggy with It", Will Smith

I have a system in place at work when dealing with my customers of identifying strictly by their account number. Sure, there are some accounts which I can immediately recollect just by their name, but the majority of the vendors I deal with have fallen through the gaps in my admittedly faulty short-term memory. When one is dealing with four hundred accounts over a three-year period there simply isn't a memory shortcut complete enough to allow me access to each and every connection I've ever made. For the most part, even when the customer wants to give me their name and the name of their company, I'm forced to inquire as to their customer number before I can even begin to administer assistance.

It got me thinking of how everything would be so much easier at my job if all my accounts did away with their names and simply referred to themselves by their designated number. I wouldn't have to remember who's the owner, who's the accounts payable person, or even what the name of the company is. I could just ask what customer number was calling and proceed from there. Especially in a business setting, the usage of names is so cumbersome. Every other company name is "Car Audio" this or "Stereo" that; it all begins to run together in my head before long. However, a number? A number is truly unique. When you plug in a name, it pulls up a list of possible matches, but when you plug in a number, it always brings the correct account each and every time. Dealing with the numbers is just simpler.

I acknowledge part of it is just me being lazy. I also acknowledge that part of it is the fact that I've never been too keen on the customer service side of my job. Pretending to be friendly with strangers has never been my forte and I truly find it difficult to be friendly with individuals I'm supposed to maintain a business relationship with. I've never been adept at the whole schmoozing requirement of dealing with people. I'm much more the type to get to the heart of the reason why I'm calling or why they are calling than dally with the non-essential accounts of how their day is going or where they just came back with their family. To me, sadly maybe, they are just a list of numbers. Each company is basically a tally of how much they owe us or how much they can possibly buy from us. This doesn't mean I go out of my way to be cruel to them, but I just find it awkward to think of them as friends with one breath and then have to ask them for money with the next. Indeed, even when my friends borrow money from me I'm always rather straightforward about asking for it back without any pretense of subtlety to it. I've never been one to lead into a difficult question; I've always just asked it. And that's the way I wish I could treat my customers. I wish I could just get down to business--give me you customer number, hand over your check, and let me be.

I don't know--part of me thinks it's the whole name business that gets people into trouble in the first place. The only time one insists on being called by their name is when you're expecting some sort of long-lasting relationship with someone else. I don't tell every cashier or clerk my name because it's really not that vital to me that they address me by my given name. Given that, I also don't make it a point to list in excruciating detail everything I did that day. It detracts away from the business at hand. I'd much rather somebody tell me what I owe rather than tell me their name when I'm trying to buy something or when somebody is trying to buy something from me. Telling me your name in the midst of a deal is a bit like asking me to respect you or be in an awe of you. It's just not going to happen.

By the same token I guess that's why I'm bad with people's names in general. I've always decided who I thought warranted remembrance and it's usually not the people who insist on being called by name. The people whose names I've always filed away have always been the people who have made an honest impression on me enough to seek out their names and lock it away. It's a little like earning a name. Before that decision takes place you might as well be a number to me--that's the extent of how much importance I'll be placing on what you might choose to tell me.

I think the problem lies with the idea that everyone thinks they're important enough to compel everyone to remember them. Everyone thinks they've done enough, said enough, or plainly lived enough to feel important to the world at large. They think just by merely saying words, introducing themselves to everyone they meet, they are making a distinct impression upon everyone. But if you ponder that, that's entirely impossible. How many people do you bump into that truly stand out? How many people do you meet that have you falling on everyone of their words? Not very many. Everybody can't be important to you. By extension, every name that you happen to hear isn't going to be worthy of remembrance. I swear, I would have a far easier time if everyone just introduced themselves by their phone number or even address. At least that's given me some bit of information that is telling and worthwhile of jotting down should the need to contact them arise. A name without connection is just plain boring. Impress me first with your exploits or your personality or your talents... and then ask me if I'd like to know your name. That's almost how I wish the bulk of my conversations would go. I seriously would do away with this whole giving your name first bit and skip right to the part where I find out about you.

I don't know--maybe I have it backwards. Maybe it is like everyone tells me, that everything would go more smoothly if I just treated everyone as if they were special, if I treated every customer as if they are the most important account in the world to me. But to me that just seems like facetiousness. People know when they've earned my admiration and customers should know when they've earned my good graces. Anything other than brutal honesty just makes a mockery of the system. I shouldn't have to pretend that your name means anything to me before it actually does. And I shouldn't have to treat you like you're some hotshot celebrity before by God you've actually become that celebrity in my eyes.

You can't tell me you're somebody worth knowing. Only I can decide that. You can't give away your name; you really need to be asked for it.

At least by me.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers