Rising Above It

This past week I experienced  the worst customer service and business transaction of my life. After a week of red flags, ambiguous responses, and unreturned phone calls, I repeatedly gave this small business the benefit of the doubt. 

Ultimately they failed to follow through with their commitments. They did not arrive to help me move. Then they suddenly stopped answering my calls. Understandably, I flew into problem-solving mode. I tried to contact them repeatedly to no avail. Finally, they responded to my attempts to call from an unrecognized number. I informed them that their business practice was unacceptable. At this point, the employee began to yell at me for not being an understanding person, and attempted to explain how things sometimes don't go as planned.

Although I was strongly compelled to match this person's volume and emotionality, I resisted the urge to explain my work history and the litany of evidence that directly contradicted the assumptions about my lack of patience and empathy. I calmly stuck to the facts at hand, and explained the recent events that led to my frustration. The individual, interrupted me, and escalated further. Feeling my own will to be rational begin to fade, I quietly stated "I am not going to argue with you about this. I've contacted the proper authorities, and I'm done now. Have a nice evening." I promptly hung up, and called a different company to assist me with my needs.

I spent the rest of the evening filing formal complaints with all of the involved agencies. I took special precautions not to let my emotional reaction infect my appeals. I composed, edited, and recomposed several letters that objectively listed the facts as they applied to the improper business conduct. I repeatedly read my letters aloud, and adjusted elements to insure that I came off as professional and competent.

Insuring that I remained mature and adult about this process aided in the alleviation of my distress only slightly. It did feel nice to know that I had not sunk to the irrational level of the individual I was speaking with. However, sitting amongst my uprooted possessions, I still had a highly unsettled feeling about what had occurred. Yes, I was happy that someone would be contacting this business about the impropriety of their service, but I was still somewhat uncool about the whole thing.

Then, while browsing the Better Business Bureau website to obtain information about the complaint process, I ran into a link for complimenting a company. That's when it hit me. Despite my resistance, all of this negativity had still infected me, my mood, and my actions. I had accidentally neglected to acknowledge the impeccable response I got from the gentlemen at an additional moving company. He registered no offense that I had not hired him first, and immediately offered to pick up the slack at very short notice. He provided me with assurance and understanding when I was distressed, and was even grateful that I called him at all. It was remarkable, and, once I acknowledged it, restored my faith in humanity. So, I clicked on that link, and spent just as much time composing one compliment for him as I did on all of my complaints for the other company. After hitting submit I noticed something incredible. I felt better. I felt lighter and reassured.

Now, I'm not publishing that whole story to remind everyone how great I am. I know there was a lot in there about how I stayed calm and collected. There was also a great deal of boasting about my mature response under pressure. All of that sounds like one giant disorienting pat on the back, but I assure you it's not. I provided those details to explain that, despite responding to the conflict in a sophisticated and composed manner, I still felt unease. While proud of my response, it still left me uncomfortable and feeling somehow responsible for my contributions. It was not until I stopped capitulating to the negativity that I finally gained the resolve to move past it.

Once again, this life lesson reminds me of something my parents told me often throughout my childhood. Whenever I became upset about some argument or unfair situation, they would tell me to "just rise above it." I had always translated that to not sinking to low levels, staying cool, and avoiding the pull to engage in anything akin to a fight. While I'm sure that has always been part of the advice, a bigger part of me thinks the lesson actually called for me to walk away from a bad situation and enter into a positive one.

Shouldshine

Image found here

It's sunny, and the Oregonian in me feels like I'm wasting it by sitting inside. My pale legs are literally glaring at me for choosing my couch over a blanket paired with a patch of itchy grass. My inner voice is screaming at me for not jumping on this opportunity to log some sun-time.

And, all I want to do is tell the me inside me to calm down. My pasty legs can stop being so judgmental, and my inner voice can just shut the hell up. I get it.

Here, in this particular patch of the Pacific Northwest, the sun does not have a consistently reliable presence. Therefore, ignoring a beautifully warm day like today seems somewhat neglectful. History might indicate that this behavior is even disrespectful to this kid.

And still, here I sit, giving my overly-adored couch a little extra appreciation. You know why? Because the Olympics are on, I feel like snuggling, and I have faith that the sun will return.

So, my chalk-colored legs can give it a rest. Even if I'm wrong about the weather, I know you can't store up sun-time and save it for a rainy day. It doesn't work like that. If that gaseous beast were to spontaneously disappear, I'm no worse-off than George Hamilton. I won't have forgotten what life in the light was like, and I regardless of the opportunity, I will not regret the one afternoon I took to do what I wanted.

Officially Unnoticed

Here I am, crossing the finish line, going entirely unnoticed.

As I have mentioned, I had a unique upbringing rife with dudes in lycra costumes atop various versions of an odd two-wheeled contraption.

My parents are ACTIVELY involved in the cycling community. They're famous even. As a result, we were always at bike races. They were so common place to me, that I thought all sports had a bell lap, and I didn't realize most men don't shave their legs until I was in middle school. I can barely remember a spring or summer that didn't include me going to a bike race.

I had a brief period in high school when I was "too cool" to hangout with my parents. When that stage hit, I opted to stay at home during several of the weekly races (at this time I think there was a race four days a week), but I still came out every now and then. When I went off to college I missed every race in the spring, and there was a couple of summers I had a job and couldn't go. However, I've been back, and regularly officiating or helping out for three years straight now.

At my greatest estimate, I've missed a cumulative 3 out of the last 26 years of bike races in Oregon. That being said, I seem to have gone unnoticed. I'm at these events all the time, and barely anyone knows who I am. This wouldn't be that surprising to me, if my siblings also seemed to be invisible to this particular community...but alas that's not how it is.

My older brother was absent from bike racing for a much longer time frame than I. He spent multiple summers at camps, and schools in other states. Now that he's local again, he's at easily half of the races that I am, but everyone knows who he is. When he and I walk the course together, people wave and call out to him while I walk alongside quietly making sarcastic comments. No one seems to notice. But, my brother is bigger and louder than I am. He has more of a presence than I do. So, I guess that makes sense.

Explain my sister then. Nine years older than me, my sister has been absent from this community for a long time. I have markedly less childhood memories that include her at the races. Then she went to college several states away, and worked in the Southwest over the summers. Afterwards, she lived in another state for years. She must have been gone from Oregon bike races for at least ten years. Now, she occasionally helps out, but she's by no means a regular. Despite all this, people still mistakenly call me by her name. I stand next to my parents, as people ask about her, and what she's up to. Don't mind me, I'll just take your registration fees while you chat.

How does nobody know who I am? My father's theory is that people do know who I am. He thinks that they don't acknowledge me because they find me intimidating.

That's really hard to type without laughing. I mean, I'm not exactly the pinnacle of intimidation. I'm rather small. Hell! Just last week, I bought clothes from the children's department, and they fit me perfectly. That's not very threatening. Well, my father thinks the reaction comes from an association with my parents. Okay, I'd agree...except for my siblings don't seem to command the same "intimidation," and they're not only equally associated with my parents, but they're normal sized humans!

None of it makes any sense. I'm around all the time. I'm often scoring your points races, or calling ties off the camera. I am usually the one with photographic proof that you've broken the rules. I'm a person you probably want to know (I like cookies), but sure! Go on thinking I don't exist. Keep wondering who that little girl at the finish line is. Step in front of me in the port-a-potty line, and bump me out of the way at registration like I don't know what's going on. Even more, continue to yell at me for trying to fix your number. You probably know more about it than I do anyway. It's not like I've seen 6 million numbers or anything.

It's actually kind of funny. I get to see and hear things that I wouldn't if people knew I was of the famed Murray family.



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Rebel on Wheels

OKAY! Fine! Let's talk about it.

I have a bike now.

If you actually know me, you can be classified into one of two thoughts on the subject. One of the groups is probably thinking something along the lines of: "so what?", "haven't you always had a bike?", or "why is this a big deal?"

The other group thinks this is really exciting. They think it's great that I've finally come around, and some of this group may even think I'm assimilating into bike culture. This group, however, may continue to be baffled by how someone of my pedigree has made it into adulthood without a bike (to which I respond -as if it's a defense- "I have a bulky old mountain bike that I keep at my parent's house and never use").

The back story here is that I've been around bikes and "bike people" my entire life. My childhood consisted of cramming into the backseat of a blue mini van named Pewee, or a red jeep with a porcupine rack loaded up with bikes of all types. We'd travel throughout the state listening to books on tape, and playing I-spy Alphabet, until we came to whatever location in which the lycra-clad were convening that particular weekend. At races, you might have seen me running around collecting rocks or pine cones to sell to my neighbors (no joke). Or I'd hop into the passenger seat of the follow vehicle with a My First Radio blaring the soundtrack to Beauty and the Beast, in order to help my mom by writing down the numbers of riders who fell off the back. Heck, to this day the basement of my parent's house is like an episode of Hoarders: Cycling edition.

One SMALL corner of my parent's basement.

For some reason, my unwillingness to get on a bike and ride confuses people who know my past.  I think it's obvious.  It's like the summer that I discovered bologna sandwiches. I thought they were delicious!  I ate them every day for a ridiculous length of time.  Then, one day I woke up, and just the sight of that Oscar Meyer package started the bile production going. It may not be that extreme with bikes, but the point still stands.

Also, we can't discount the rebel theory here.  I'm a good girl, and I get along with my parents really well, but everyone's got to rebel somehow.  It's a natural part of life. But, how does a good girl rebel?

When you're a Murray it's simple.  Don't get on a bike.

So, about two months ago, I was sitting in my apartment, which seems to be located right in the center of Portland bike-culture.  I was reveling in the irony of my existence at this particular location.  - In my neighborhood I'm surrounded by hipsters on color coordinated fixies doing track stops at every intersection and acting as though they don't want attention for it. Well guys, I'm not impressed.  I've seen it all before. -  I started to come around.  I thought, "maybe commuting on my bike isn't such a bad idea."

About two weeks later, after consulting with my father, I wind up with, of all things, a modified track bike, that has been christened "Mindy's Man Chaser." -- The story behind that title is a bit long, but I may share it at a later date. Now, I'm tooling around my neighborhood, and running errands on my bike.

What has happened here? I'm experiencing some kind of identity crisis. For one, I'm a Murray.  That means I should know what I'm doing right? Wrong.  It means I know what I'm SUPPOSED to be doing. I'm like the ultimate poser, and coming to grips with that has been quite an experience.

I am playing both the part of the official, and the dork with the big helmet and the older sister starter.  Check out my brother the speedster on the left though!

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Reasons Not to Help People

Location: Hawthorne District
Mood: Affronted

The Walgreen's in my hometown called me right away when my medications were ready. So naturally, the lack of a call from my new local Walgreen's led me to believe that my prescriptions were not ready. It had been a while, so I called this morning, and they informed me that it was indeed ready and had been for some time.

So, tonight I'm on my way home from my weekly night at my parent's house, and I swing by Walgreen's to pick up my prescription that should have been ready on Monday. As the attendant hands me my prescription I casually ask if my number was correct in the system. It is.

"How come I didn't receive a call?" I ask. The woman responds that it can take up to 3 days for a call to go out, and if I absolutely "have to know immediately" I am required to sign up for text-messaging alerts. So, I explain to her that I pay for my text messages. The woman shrugs in response, and indicates that she does not care about my financial woes. I don't blame her. Why should she? Then, out of pure curiosity, I ask why I used to get called immediately when I frequented the Gresham location.

Wow! You would not believe the attitude! It was like I had grossly offended her with my curiosity. She steps back and says "well, you know we put out over a hundred of these a day!" What I wanted to do was inform her that:
1.) I had not taken offense with the company policy
2.) I had not asked her what the branch productivity was and
3.) She needs a customer service refresher.
Instead, I just smiled sympathetically, thanked her for her time, and walked away. 

As I ventured out and through the rain drenched parking lot, I heard a bang and some crunching sounds.  When I looked over my shoulder to investigate, I discovered a crazy elderly woman driving her Buick station wagon directly into a shopping cart. No, she didn't side swipe it, or grace it backing out of her spot.  She quite literally drove the front end right into it, and continued to drive for about 5 seconds. When she stopped, I figured I'd be a good Samaritan and assist her.

I approached, and moved the cart for her, as she very slowly attempted to get out of the vehicle. Once out, she walked around to the back of her car and surveyed it. I'm not entirely sure what for, as the impact was clearly on the front driver side corner. She then walked around to the passenger side of the car, looked at it, and looked around while I quietly pushed the cart over to the side walk. Not sure what she was doing, I stood on the curb and watched for a moment. Coming to no solution, I attempted to make my way to my own car, all the while going unacknowledged by this crazy old bat. When she returned to the rear driver side she looked up. I smiled responsively at her and waved. I mean, what else was I going to do? 

I know what you're expecting here. Obviously she gushed over how sweet and magnanimous I was. She clearly noted how amazing it was to have a world with people like me who are willing to help a little lady, and not ask for anything in return. She then explained to me that she is a quadjillionaire, and offered to pay for my upcoming grad school tuition, and buy me a house. Also, she has a handsome single doctor grandson who she wants to set me up with. Perfect!

Surprisingly, that's not how it went. I know, I know...calm down.

In reality, the woman glared at me as if I was some nefarious teenager causing havoc in my neighborhood just for shits and giggles. It was like she thought I had pushed something into her car. She watched me with her angry expression as I walked to my own car. It was so unsettling that I immediately locked the door, and clutched my phone in case I should need to call the authorities. Eventually, she got back in her car and drove off. (This is the part where I would make the lackluster sitcom flop noise "wah wah," but you can't hear it. So, it doesn't translate).

Seriously though...what is the world coming to? Why are people so needlessly cranky?

Is This What Carole King Meant?

Location: Home
Mood: sad

On Friday, the world population had a game-changing experience. Our planet moved, and reminded us just how precariously placed our existence is.

For those of you who are completely oblivious, I'm talking about the 8.9 earthquake, and subsequent 20 ft tsunami in Japan. I've had a number of reactions to it. Initially my reaction was one of "holey-shit" proportions.  I then clutched the news with all my might, and used it to help ease my own anxieties about a Grad School interview.  Hearing about this event helped me to put things into perspective. Yes, getting my masters is important, but, in the grand scheme of things, a failure to achieve acceptance is less than that. Surprisingly, listening to the radio talk about the frighteningly massive waves that were headed for my state, helped me to relax. Instead of thinking that botching this experience would be the worst thing ever, I thought "this isn't so bad."

Later, I breathed a sigh of relief as most of Oregon classified the experience as "a drill." As my own stress eased, I took a less egotistical look at the catastrophe. I turned my gaze on the news (or lack thereof) coming from Japan. I found images of a real life whirlpool, and heard news of missing trains that undoubtedly carried the hundreds of geographic sight-seers to the bottom of the ocean in a suffocatingly sealed metal box. The death toll numbers being reported continue to be terrifying.  Surely, no one event could wipe out that many lives?  But it has, and entire cities have lost contact with the rest of the planet. Then I learned of the nuclear reactors that are posing a new threat to society.  Now, I can't not think about it.

Historically, I've had my battles with anxiety and overly-worrisome thought processes. Things like this don't help. Sure, it puts my normal every day concerns into perspective, but it also reminds me just how much there is to be terrified of.

All my life I've heard about how the Pacific Northwest is overdue for "the big one." This has just been something I've heard and known about.  I've never given it too much thought, because to really consider it is overwhelming.  I always knew it would be bad, but watching the Japanese quake and the fallout from afar, has been alarming. I can't help but feel like I'm walking on a tight-rope that could at any moment give way. The earth has become this menacing demon looming over us.  I place Us on a metaphorical web with a starving carnivorous spider nearing. I look around at all the potentially awful ways to be destroyed, and my heart pounds faster.

I have always loved the scenery of my home, and spent a day this weekend reveling in an experience that brings me back to my childhood. I ventured up my mountain, and quietly rode the chair lift through enormous and beautiful evergreens.  I peacefully skied down hills covered in thick and calming snow the day following an avalanche in a nearby area. I was overcome with how wonderfully pleasing the experience was, but also how potentially catastrophic it could be. At any moment, Nature, could take a turn. The wind could knock loose an avalanche, and pull me down with it. A tree could reach it's lifespan, and fall across the chords that pull me further up the active volcano. The earth could open up and cover us all in molten hot magma.

I know I'm being a bit dramatic. However, I can't help but acknowledge how truly unsafe this world is, and how frighteningly it could come to an end at any moment.

Anticipating Summer

Location: Apartment
Mood: Restless

Usually I don't care that much about summer. Don't get me wrong. I like it, but I'm not completely enamored with it like most of my peers are.  I have a number of theories to explain it.

 I think it has a lot to do with how pale, and therefore sensitive to sunburns, I am. I spend a lot of my summertime indoors because any extended time (and by this I mean about 15 minutes) in the sun equals guaranteed discomfort the next day.

I also think a lot of it has to do with my childhood.  Historically, summer has been the most active time of year for my family. It's bike racing season. Until very recently bike racing has been synonymous with my surname in the state of Oregon. When I was a child, my parents were at ALL OF THEM.  This means, I was at all of them. I actually have some very fond memories of suffering in the back seat as I shared space with my two older siblings and the entire OBRA collection of race gear.  Eventually, we grew, and OBRA (i.e. my parents) accumulated so much gear that it was borderline abusive to shove us into such a confined space. So, OBRA/my parents bought a trailer, and we got some leg room.

Wow, did I get sidetracked reminiscing.  My point was, that as a child when my school friends and neighbors were out exploring the nearby creek, or visiting the beach with each others' families I was reading Archie Comics and Animorphs under a sun tent at Alpenrose Velodrome, or playing on massive dirt piles in a criterium parking lot. As I matured, I began to express my distaste for attending bike races, and my parents allowed me to stay home. However, I wasn't sure what to do with my time.

Another of my theories for my lack of summer enthusiasm was my physique.  I've never been in great shape, and I've always been rather insecure about my body in a bathing suit. This is because of a combination of lack of toned muscles and my day-glow white skin which is blinding when exposed to direct sunlight. Really I stay indoors for you people.

Despite all of these factors, and probably several more that I can't think of,  I awoke this morning to a stream of warmth and light from my window.  It immediately conjured images of bathing suits, rivers, beach houses, warm days of reading in the park, and cool hikes in the Gorge.  Needles to say, I wanted summer.

Also, I've decided that I'd like to have a summer crush this year. Where can I get one of those?  Do you just post an advertisement at your local coffee shop?

La-La La La La

Location: I-84
Mood: Ridiculously Nostalgic

While driving home from my parents house this Christmas evening, I was struck with a random high-school memory. It is the type of memory that everyone has. The one that assures everyone that this particular period in their life is supposed to be absurd.

I think that the memory occurred because I was noticing all of the cars on the freeway in the rain, and I was wondering what portion of them were headed for The Grotto. *The Grotto* *The Grotto* *The Grotto*
(Why yes that was a fading echo narrating the transition into the memory)

It was mid December. It's Oregon, so that means it was raining. I was in my family's Subaru Outback with my former best friend, and my wankster boyfriend. We were on our way to one of my choir's numerous holiday performances. This particular one being at The Grotto. I don't know what we were talking about, but it was most likely something important that would cure the world of all it's problems. This potential world peace solution was never fully realized however, because Kelis - Milkshake came on the radio, and we went biserk.

Teenage pandemonium broke out in that station wagon. Two teenage girls began to sing at the top of their lungs, and dance in their seats. I don't remember how the guy reacted entirely, but I do remember him spurring a lively debate when he said, "have you seen this music video? Gurl is ugly. Her milkshake definitely would NOT bring me to the yard."

This led me to ask a number of very naive questions such as: Who is this? What's a milkshake? Where is this "yard"? Why does she want the boys to go there?

It would be years before I answered most of these inquiries, but apparently the memory of rocking out to Milkshake before a holiday choir concert in one of Portland's most sacred places will stick with me forever.

Um, Wow

Location: Salem
Mood: aggravated

I had an interview today. It’s not the first interview since my last installment, but it’s the first worth saying anything about. (The last went okay).

This is for a professional therapeutic company that shall remain nameless. I applied for some open positions that I found online. I got VERY LITTLE information about the position and the company. However, my application for a Residential Counselor got pushed through, and I was asked to come in and meet with the associate director (a woman named Tami). I set up the interview a week ahead of time. Then I attempted to learn what I could about the organization in order to prepare myself.

I couldn’t find anything.

So, at this point I’m thinking this interview could go several different ways. It could be a residential counselor for nutbars, or it could be really interesting and not at all scary. It could be a glorified ass-wiper, or it could be just what I need. No idea.

I wake up this morning, and I have a freaking rash on my face! It was around my mouth (and no I didn’t do anything pervy to get it), so it’s right where you can’t hide it and the interviewer is going to be looking. So, that’s a great start to my day. I’m already apprehensive about what this job even is, and now I’ve got rash-mouth. I’m thinking I’m going to be SUPER impressive (in case you can’t tell, I’m being SARCASTIC).

The interview is in Salem, so I left two hours early. This gives me about 45 minutes to get lost and find the place. On the way down I thought I was getting pulled over two different times. Luckily I only THOUGHT I was getting pulled over, and the cops drove right past me. I’ve never been pulled over though, and this causes my heart rate to sky rocket. So, I’m nervous and freaking out.

When I arrive in Salem, Gloria PeuterSchmidt decides to go all weirdo on me and tell me to turn left when she clearly meant right...twice. When I finally got myself in the right direction (I’m not even sure how I figured out that she was tricking me), I drove right past a gas station and she says “You have arrived.”....
...
...
At a gas station? Um, Gloria, no way in hell did I just drive down to Salem to interview at a freaking Arco! Of course, this is an area of town that is one-way streets only. So, I wind up driving around the block about 1500 times. Finally I decide to call the place. So I pull over and look at my notes to get the phone number.

Yeah, I didn’t write a number down (let this be a lesson to anyone who ever finds themselves in my position). It’s now 12:55 and my interview is at 1pm. I know I have some email correspondences with a woman who works here. So I call home to have someone check my email for me.

No answer.
I call my mom’s cell phone.
No answer.
Dad, no answer. Sean’s out delivering food for the YMCA or something.

I tried calling my sister, but I thought this was a long shot because she never answers her phone. One ring later Amber answers her phone! She’s sitting at her computer! So she logs into my G-mail, finds out I’m at the right place, and gets the number for me. THANK GOD FOR AMBER!!!

Turns out Gloria kept telling me the building was on the right hand side of the road when it was actually on the left. Needless to say, Gloria and I are not exactly speaking right now.

I got there at 5 after 1, and had a nice little chat with the receptionist. Then two guys come to get me. I guess I’m not interviewing with this Tami woman. I’m interviewing with two guys, and one of them is VERY attractive.

So, here I am at this interview for a job I know nothing about, sitting across from a full on hotty, and I’ve got a freaking rash on my face!

They tell me about the job. I guess it involves helping sexually aggressive males. Yikes! Now I’m thoroughly frightened, but I listen hoping it gets better. It does, but not much. The pay is VERY little considering what they ask of you. If I’m offered it, I’ll probably have to turn it down because the pay doesn’t justify relocating to Salem.

One of these days I’ll find the perfect job.