Monthly Archives: February 2019

Mistgakes? I’ve made a few.

It’s been not-quite-one-year since I took a new job with the same company. In that not-quite-a-year I’ve learned, essentially, one single lesson:

I don’t know anything.

New ways of doing old things, the proper ways to submit Official Stuff, Who is in charge of Whatever, how to get ahold of that Who… not to mention my newly-broadened vocabulary, which includes several dozen new acronyms that I sprinkle sans abandon into my everyday speech.

I went ’round and ’round with several people today, in an attempt to “fix” a problem that – erm, turns out – was of my own doing. After realizing my error, I unleashed a barrage of “Thank you for your patience while I learn this process” emails. Somewhere along the way, I read that this is a mentally healthier than simply saying “sorry I fucked up” over and over and over, and “mentally healthier” is one of my top priorities as I navigate some of these finer points of my job.

Turns out, it’s really – like really-really – easy to get caught up in the argh I don’t know what I’m doings and I’ll never get any of this right the first times. Ironic, considering that these are statements that, when spoken by anyone other than myself, I’m able to easily shoot down. Of course you won’t get everything right the first time. How else will you learn? Who is perfect on their first try? You’re being ridiculous.

Maybe the person I should be thanking for patience is myself.




*Fun fact: The misspelling in the title was completely unintentional. Then I decided to leave it.

People at the airport.

I’m quickly discovering that I could probably write a book full of Things and People I’ve Observed At Various Airports: it’s a gd oil geyser of material.* One of my favorite and most personally-respected sources of journalism agrees, as evidenced by this gem that showed up in my bookface feed today:


right? Spot on, Onion.

Were I to make a list (spoiler alert: I’m making a freaking list) of other airport caricatures, I’d include the following:

    So. Many. Devices. We get it, dude: you have a job where you type the things into the computer. You are Quite Important. You must make phone calls about the type-y things you’re doing. These calls simply cannot wait, even if it is 6:15 am. If I look closer at your laptop screen, I am 100% sure I’ll find that you’re just Lorem Ipsum-ing through a generic Excel file. You do not need two laptops, dude. That other one is definitely for porn. Don’t confuse the two.
  2. The “carry on rules do not apply to me” over-packer.
    …the fuck, lady? Wheeled suitcase, “purse” (that’s a duffel bag, ma’am), laptop bag, travel pillow, blanket, plastic sack of drinks and snacks from Hudson News and a live lobster. And all of it will need to go in the overhead bin.
  3.  The carefree flip flopper.
    Dressed wildly inappropriately for the current climate (shorts and sandals in Denver in January). Nary a speck of luggage in sight, he will simply walk off the plane at his destination as if he simply materialized there and has been living there all his damn life.
  4. The loudspeaker.
    Every single conversation is held at max volume. Everyone from here to the shoeshine stand 7 gates down knows she loves Jennalyn and Ashton very much and she’ll be home soon, she can’t believe that the flight’s been delayed twice, and that there are so many Foreigns working at this airport. Like, all of them. But that’s totally fine. I mean, someone’s got to clean the bathrooms and sell the US Weeklies. Like, I couldn’t do it, but good for them.





*side note: I’ve been combing through my years and years of random storytelling and I’ve finally FINALLY figured out a cohesive theme under which I can collect existing tales and produce new ones into – fingers crossed – some sort of publish-able product. This is just a side note. More to come on that later, maybe.


notes on a [bacon] scandal

I’ve been doing a lot of traveling for work for the past few months and frankly, it makes me tired thinking about it so I haven’t even gotten around to writing about it.

Unfortunately, there are just too many quick little nuggets of weird that I’ve unearthed to not take at least a half-hearted effort to share. So here I go. I’m going to type until I get tired. Which might be soon, don’t hold yer breaths.

  • A woman eating from a quart-sized plastic baggie of hard-boiled eggs. When I think “airport snack,” I generally think “granola bar.” Not this dame. Just living her best, breakfast buffet life right there at gate C2.
  • A man loudly complaining about the lack of Pepsi products. “Everywhere around here only sells Coke. Coke is so low-class,” he snarled as I looked over and saw a Pepsi machine not 20 feet down the concourse.
  • A stand in the Denver airport selling Climax Jerky, which – I know, I know. It’s a brand name. But tell that to my brain, which lay giggling in the gutter.
  • The worker at Auntie Anne’s who asked for my order, then promptly squatted down behind the counter to look for something. I sort of peered over the counter to see if I should, like, keep talking? Because what was happening? “Go ahead!” she called up to me. “I’m listening!”
  • My very damp belongings in my checked bag. I know, right? I never really gave much thought to my suitcase not being at least kind-of waterproof. I’ll never pack important papers in there again (Luckily my work stuff was okay. With the exception of all of my Post-it note pads, which ended up in a gross, wrinkled mass in my pencil case.
  • I ate In-n-Out Burger. It was good, but my earth was not shattered. I’m not sure it was worth the 1.5 mile walk from my hotel.
  • However, the dude ahead of me in line at In-n-Out Burger paid for his double double with a 100-dollar bill. His change was something like 97 dollars.
  • I ate at the hotel restaurant for breakfast a few days in a row. Day one: as Server Assistant Bro was filling up my water, a woman on the other side of the dining room is waving her arms wildly. Server Assistant Bro and I whipped our heads around: was someone choking on their made-to-order omelet? EXCUSE ME. EXCUSE ME? SIR? OVER HERE, SIR, she shrieked. Turns out her bacon was overcooked. I know because she told him that her bacon was too crispy in the same tone of voice you’d use to tell your Cocker Spaniel to stop pissing on the ottoman.
  • If only she’d had the made-to-order omelet.
  • Last day in town: guess who busts into the restaurant and demands to speak to someone in charge! Ol’ Shrieky McWellDoneBacon! Something was remiss with her bill from… a previous day? At this point I wasn’t able to pay attention; I was too consumed with cringing and flinching each time her voice ratcheted itself up an octave of sarcasm. OH, WELL, I GUESS IT’S HARD TO ADD THINGS UP, HUH? and THIS VOUCHER SAYS FREE. WHAT DO YOU THINK FREE MEANS? DOES IT MEAN I GET CHARGED FOR JUICE AND COFFEE?
  • Few things say TURNT like Friday Night Karaoke at the Holiday Inn Bar. I fell asleep too early to witness the spectacle, but in my mind it was all I ever hoped and dreamed it would be.
  • Speaking of falling asleep early…