Not a Trend . . . Yet

Back in my Black Belt days, I spent a fair amount of time reminding people that two data points do not constitute a trend.  In case you’re wondering, you need six data points for that.  But, when you find yourself in the same incredibly rare situation more than once, it’s hard not to wonder if something bigger is going on.

Eight years ago I started a new job that happened to come with an office (at least for the first year).  One day shortly after I started I put a conference call on speaker, and closed my door so I wouldn’t disturb anyone.  When the call was over I walked over to open my door, but the door wouldn’t open.  Hoping this could be solved simply, I IM’d a coworker and asked him to come talk to me.  He tried to open the door from the outside and thought I was playing a joke on him.  He called building services for me and kept up a play by play over IM.  This was not terribly useful.  Case in point: about 30 seconds after I witnessed a ceiling tile mysteriously slide to the side and a pair of legs dangle from above, I received a message stating, “They’re coming in.”  My new office mate walked over to the door, flipped the lock, and seemed genuinely surprised when the door wouldn’t open.  Did he really believe I hadn’t tried that?  While I don’t remember how long it took to resolve, I do recall that it took two workers—one on the inside and one on the outside—and full removal of the door knob and lock, to open the door.

I was running about two minutes late yesterday morning, trying desperately to make up time.  When I finally made it to my door, the handle just spun.  I checked the locks, thinking maybe I’d missed something.  But no, it wasn’t the lock, and the door wouldn’t budge.  I immediately called downstairs, explained my situation, and waited for a porter to come to my rescue.  A knock on the door came a few minutes later.  For what it’s worth, it’s very strange to have someone knock on your door and not be able to open it.  I slid a key out to him and he let himself in.  He quickly assessed the situation and called someone else.  It was less than twenty minutes from the time I attempted to leave until I finally made my exit, but they were a rather strange twenty minutes.  I may have checked that the doorknob was functioning a handful of times yesterday afternoon.

The thing is, I’ve never met anyone else who has ever been locked inside.  I’ve never even met anyone who knows anyone else who has been locked in.  And now it’s happened to me twice.  Here’s to hoping I don’t have four more of these waiting for me.

It Came Around

I just returned from one of the most enjoyable weekends I’ve experienced in recent memory—I went to England to spend time with my oldest friend and her oh-so-sweet baby.  For my return trip I arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare, so I indulged in one last round of British food.  Since I needed to reduce my supply of Pounds Sterling, I paid in cash.  I found a sunny spot to sit and tucked into my breakfast. 

Once I’d finished, I straightened up my purse and wallet and discovered that, unfortunately, I had £5 less than I should have.  I thought back over my morning: paying the taxi driver and getting change, purchasing my food—and surmised that I had given the man at the food counter £11.70, not £6.70 as I had intended.  In turn, he gave me change as though I had paid him £6.70.  I went over every possibility in my head and realized that was the only plausible scenario.  

At this point it had been at least 15 minutes since I’d made my purchase.  I turned to look at the checkout area and saw that there was a long line.  I checked the line every minute or so, and it never seemed to get any shorter.  I looked at my watch.  In a few minutes I should head to the gate area.  Was it worth it to even ask the question?  I decided to give it my best.  I found a break in the line and jumped in.

Me: I’m sorry, I’m sure it’s too late to do anything about it, but I believe I gave you £10 instead of £5

Checkout Dude: You know, I just found a £10 note in the £5 slot. I wondered what happened.
Me: I meant to give you £5. I’m so terribly sorry.
Checkout Dude: So, how much do I owe you?
Me: £5

And with that, he handed over £5.

I’ve always been a big believer in karma.  It’s one of the main reasons I often try to do the right thing—I simply don’t want to deal with payback down the road.   You might recall that I had a similar experience in November of 2008.  So, if you’ve ever wondered how long it takes the universe to return $10 (or £5), it looks like the answer is just about three years.

Comeuppance

As I may have mentioned before, I’m a bit of a late adopter.  My TV screen is not flat. My car (when I had one) did not have GPS.  And, until quite recently, my phone flipped open.  The phone became a bit of an issue.  Since my new job involves social media, everyone in my office has the latest and greatest in calling wizardry.  Left to my own devices, I probably would have upgraded eventually.  Probably.  But I quickly realized that not upgrading might prove to be a career-limiting move.

I ordered my Fancy New Phone (FNP) and immediately put the unopened box on the bottom shelf of the coffee table, where it remained for the better part of a month.  When I finally activated it, the heavens did not open and light did not suddenly fill my benighted life.

But there were little things:

• Two friends and I arrived at a theater only to discover that the movie we wanted to see was sold out.  I pulled out the FNP, found where else the movie was playing, bought tickets for the next showing, and got directions to the theater.
• A few weeks later I was casually shopping and couldn’t remember where a particular store was.  FNP to the rescue; and yes, I had been walking in the wrong direction.
• Last night I turned on my laptop to look for airline tickets.  After a few minutes I saw a pop-up that Security Shield had been installed, and everything on my laptop stopped working.  I tried every trick I could think of, and nothing was getting me anywhere closer to a functioning computer.  Try finding solutions online when your browser doesn’t work.  In desperation, I pulled out the FNP, searched for help, and found very specific instructions on how to fix my problem.  They actually worked. 

I don’t think that the outcome in any of these scenarios would have been drastically different without the FNP.  I could have called Moviefone and found those tickets.  I would have walked around a couple blocks and found the store eventually.  And I simply would have lived without my laptop for the night and, after a fretful night convinced that I would loose everything on it, used my work computer to find a solution.   No, the outcome wasn’t different, but it sure is easier to get there with my FNP.

Just don’t tell anyone I said that.

Sorry, Bugs

For Christmas this year my parents gave both my nephew and my great nephew bomber hats.  They, of course, both looked adorable in their cozy headwear.  But my nephew decided that he would prefer a hat one size larger.  This is how my folks happened to have an extraneous hat lying around the house.  Being prone to silliness, I put the hat on one night and attempted a little comedy.  My parents took one look at me and insisted that I needed a bomber hat of my very own.  I declined the offer.

The weather in New York this week made me long for the balmy days in Prague.  As I seriously contemplated frostbite, I thought longingly of that hat.  I emailed my dad and two days later the hat arrived on my doorstep.  As fate would have it, the weather had warmed considerably by then.  But I am all-too certain that it will cool again before spring arrives.

I tried on the hat and it was even cuter than I remembered.  I began to wonder how I would clean such an item and looked for a tag.  Sure enough there was one inside the hat: “Dry Clean by Furrier.”  Ruh roh.  That oh-so-soft-and -warm trim on my new hat?  That would be rabbit.  For a split second I considered sending it back.  But then I tried it back on.  And I remembered how cold it can be at the bus stop in the morning.  And it’s not like returning the hat would bring the poor little bunny back to life.  I may as well take advantage of his sacrifice.  Now if that cold weather would just come back . . .

Today in New York

As I left my apartment this morning in my typical rush, I opened the door into the hallway and noticed something flying.  As it landed in front of me my first thought was, “Butterfly?”  No, its crunchy outer shell indicated it was definitely not a butterfly.  Or anything else non-creepy.  As I slammed my door more forcefully than ever before (I usually attempt to be at least somewhat considerate of my neighbors) I realized I’d just had my first indoor roach sighting.  I’ve seen them on sidewalks but never on carpet.  Not how I wanted to start my day.

And then I continued rushing for the subway.  I was almost there when I felt my bag being tugged off my shoulder.  Not slipping, but being pulled.  Forcefully.  A man walking in the opposite direction was attempting to rip my bag off my arm.  At the same time I was thinking, “Well, I’ve lived here for more than a year, it had to happen sometime,” I turned in the direction he was pulling my bag and yelled “Hey . . . .”  And then I saw that he was laughing.  And that it was someone that I knew.  This near-mugging was spookily similar to the only time I picked up a hitchhiker and he turned out to be a guy I went to high school with.

I left for work early enough that the subway was extra crowded.  And slow.  After we’d been moving for a few minutes, the lights went out.  I suppose I knew on some level that subway tunnels were dark, but I hadn’t internalized it until this morning.  Thankfully there was a man working on his laptop near me.  The screen provided the only light.  And, after a few seconds, the lights came back on.  But the prospect of being stuck in a crowded subway car in the dark does make you think.

This evening I’ll have a New York experience of a different kind: I’m going to the 9/11 Memorial.  I’ve been watching the progress on the site for the last year.  I remember when the trees came in and the first day the waterfalls were tested.  I’m fascinated by the construction workers I see every day.  But something tells me it will be different to be inside.

Mr. Lowell

 . . . was my English teacher my senior year of high school.  I vividly remember his lament when a large number of his students (including yours truly) hadn’t chosen a topic for an assignment.  “Why can’t you find one thing that you’re interested in?”  Perhaps that was the case for my peers: they simply couldn’t generate enough interest in any one thing to write a paper about it.  For me it was quite the opposite; there were so many things that I was interested in that I couldn’t possibly narrow down the options.

And so it is with blogging.  Since moving to New York, I encounter fascinating tidbits on an at least daily basis.  I have no need to search for material.  The subway alone provides subject matter for thousands upon thousands of posts.  And yet, when it comes time to put fingers to keyboard, I can never decide.  And so I go on without updating, leaving the false impression that there’s nothing of interest here.  Au contraire.

As a sort of reparation for my blogging laziness I offer this . . .

Picture a diplomat’s car.  (You know you’ve seen them in movies.)  I’m willing to bet you’re imaging something black and shiny of European origin, quite possibly with tinted windows.  I see those a lot.  But they’re not diplomat cars; they’re rich people cars.  The diplomat cars I’ve seen have been Kias and Toyotas.  So, um, no, not exactly what you’d expect.

Fun While it Lasted

Today I shared my last post over at the Peanut Gallery Speaks.  Feel free to come shed a tear.

In practical terms, I think this means that I have no excuse for not updating here more frequently.  No promises on how that will pan out.