My neighborhood Cat Burglar was nabbed this past weekend and that just warms my heart. Apparently, Mr. CB, barely missing a beat after my confrontation with him, continued his life of crime just blocks away. After two failed attempts, he was picked up and arrested by police on Saturday.
I received a call from the police on Sunday, letting me know they thought they'd captured my guy. On Monday, two detectives came to my office to show me a serious of pictures and take my statement.
I was a little concerned about picking this guy out of a lineup. I didn't really get a very good look at his face. He kept his back to me and his head down. In the past, I've always said I'd be crap at picking a guy out of a lineup. I never even seem to be able to recognize famous people, whether they are local celebrities, politicians or Hollywood starlets. I went to the Sundance Film Festival one year and my friends had to keep pointing out the movie stars. If I did see someone who appeared "Hollywoodesque", I'd ask "is that someone?"
So I wasn't real confident that my identification abilities would do much good. Unless they had a good shot of his hairdo, I'd be screwed.
Also, I didn't figure they'd have five guys who look totally different, i.e. a redhead, a blond, a bearded fella, a 400lb dude and my CB, making is easy for me to choose. As I suspected, the detectives showed up with six photos of clean shaven, dark haired fellas. However, only two had that thick, dark, curly hair and luckily one of those two had the jawline of the guy I had pinned to my front door. I actually picked the right guy! How excited was I when the officers told me that was, in fact, Mr. Cat Burglar.
As I suspected, my laptop is probably long gone. Having been swapped for some quick cash, it has probably changed hands twenty times by now. Minor detail, really. Justice prevails and Mr. CB will spend some time in the "big house" and in some wee way, I feel like I helped put him there.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Sleepless In Seattle
Three years ago, when I found my Seattle apartment, I was so excited because I had a great view of the Space Needle and downtown, and even a bit of the sound from my balcony. It's on the third floor, which is actually four stories up since my building starts with 'G', rather than 1. As a single woman living alone, I was specifically seeking something off the ground floor. Something that felt safe and secure.
My building is a security building, the locks on my doors are substantial, my windows double pane, and my neighbors generally watchful. I've always felt safe. Naturally, I'd leave my windows and balcony slider door open during the nice weather. Who would shimmy up four stories to climb into my apartment? You can see the balconies from the street. For three years I barely gave it a second thought. I'd leave for days with my slider unlocked.
However, that over confident feeling of safety finally caught up with me when last Friday morning at 7.30 I was greeted by a real live "Cat Burglar" in my apartment. I had gotten up, gone to the bathroom (with the door wide open as single people who live alone do) and walked out to my living room to find, squatting next to my television, a man dressed in black. I could only make out his silhouette, not his facial features. It wasn't quite bright enough yet.
Flabbergasted and baffled at first I began asking questions, "What the hell?" "What's going on here?" "What are you doing?" Mr. Cat Burglar was silent and unmoving. I then very firmly and steadily said "GET OUT" enunciating the T's. And then more urgently "Getout! Getout!" Attempting to comply with my request, he slowly stood and turned toward the balcony carrying something in his arms. That's when I lost all sense of reason and began shouting "hey, wait, what do you have? What are you taking?" and chased him out onto my balcony hitting him, screaming, pushing him against the railing and trying to grab the item (which turned out to be my laptop). I continued this madness trying to convince him to drop it, asking him what else he had and swearing at him with a mouth like a sailor. I was basically having this complete conversation by myself as Mr. CB was not speaking to me.
He began to climb over my balcony rail onto my neighbor's, but realized this would pose a problem. He could not retreat the way he came with his arms full of my possessions. He backed out and blocked me rushing back into my apartment. I continued to charge him. For one split second we both stopped short. I was suddenly aware of my vulnerability standing there in my flimsy bathrobe and wondered if he'd pull a gun. He, apparently, realized his predicament of being somewhat trapped in this wild woman's apartment. His goals were to keep his face hidden, his hands on the loot and get out unscathed. He ran for the door and I charged after him continuing my kicking, hitting and screaming routine yelling for him to get out, but not exactly making it easy for him to do so. I still wanted my laptop and whatever else he had taken.
Mr. CB was trapped against my door trying to fumble with the multiple lock system. It was at this point I was considering grabbing his curly dark hair and ramming his head against the door. But something inside me finally snapped. I suddenly became aware of this fella's size, strength and ability. He did, after all, climb up the side of my building. I can't even do a chin up.
Once he managed to get out of my apartment I chased him down the hall and yelled for help. My neighbor from downstairs ran up and asked if I was okay. Said she was going to call the police, but thought I was having a fight with my boyfriend. Of course she'd think that, at no point was I yelling "Help!" or "Police!" I considered this early morning, it's not like I had my wits about me.
Upon telling my little tale to others, everyone has some suggestion about what they would have done if this had happened to them. Is this suppose to make me feel better? "I would have gotten a knife!" one said. Yeah, I've got time to go to my kitchen and fish around my drawers for the one sharpish knife I own.
"I would have kneed him in the balls," was another. Mr. CB made sure his back was to me at all times. Besides, I've heard that doesn't really work because he'd be facing me and have all the control.
"You should have kicked him with your heel on the top of his foot," insisted another. Ummm....please be reminded that I was barefoot and he was wearing heavy duty climbing shoes. Even as I considered how I could hurt him, I realized my current half naked state didn't provide me with a lot of ammunition. Which is why I had to just get him out of there before he decided to hurt me instead. He'd gotten away with my laptop and wallet. Could have been much worse.
Afterwards, a policeman came, then his lieutenant came, then the burglary squad came. Fingerprints were lifted (probably mine), photos taken and statements made. On Monday a follow up policewoman came out to talk about safety tips and commended me for my efforts. Later her sergeant called and sent an email regarding the mess the fingerprint dust made on my carpet. By this point, I was expecting the Mayor himself to pay me a visit.
There has been a rash of similar burglaries in my neighborhood lately. Hopefully they'll catch the guy. Although I never saw his whole face, I definitely would recognize that hairdo of luscious curls and am keeping my eyes peeled.
In the meantime, I'm keeping my slider locked like a good girl, and I still feel pretty safe overall. Just needed to be reminded that this is, in fact, a city and I need to treat it as such.
My building is a security building, the locks on my doors are substantial, my windows double pane, and my neighbors generally watchful. I've always felt safe. Naturally, I'd leave my windows and balcony slider door open during the nice weather. Who would shimmy up four stories to climb into my apartment? You can see the balconies from the street. For three years I barely gave it a second thought. I'd leave for days with my slider unlocked.
However, that over confident feeling of safety finally caught up with me when last Friday morning at 7.30 I was greeted by a real live "Cat Burglar" in my apartment. I had gotten up, gone to the bathroom (with the door wide open as single people who live alone do) and walked out to my living room to find, squatting next to my television, a man dressed in black. I could only make out his silhouette, not his facial features. It wasn't quite bright enough yet.
Flabbergasted and baffled at first I began asking questions, "What the hell?" "What's going on here?" "What are you doing?" Mr. Cat Burglar was silent and unmoving. I then very firmly and steadily said "GET OUT" enunciating the T's. And then more urgently "Getout! Getout!" Attempting to comply with my request, he slowly stood and turned toward the balcony carrying something in his arms. That's when I lost all sense of reason and began shouting "hey, wait, what do you have? What are you taking?" and chased him out onto my balcony hitting him, screaming, pushing him against the railing and trying to grab the item (which turned out to be my laptop). I continued this madness trying to convince him to drop it, asking him what else he had and swearing at him with a mouth like a sailor. I was basically having this complete conversation by myself as Mr. CB was not speaking to me.
He began to climb over my balcony rail onto my neighbor's, but realized this would pose a problem. He could not retreat the way he came with his arms full of my possessions. He backed out and blocked me rushing back into my apartment. I continued to charge him. For one split second we both stopped short. I was suddenly aware of my vulnerability standing there in my flimsy bathrobe and wondered if he'd pull a gun. He, apparently, realized his predicament of being somewhat trapped in this wild woman's apartment. His goals were to keep his face hidden, his hands on the loot and get out unscathed. He ran for the door and I charged after him continuing my kicking, hitting and screaming routine yelling for him to get out, but not exactly making it easy for him to do so. I still wanted my laptop and whatever else he had taken.
Mr. CB was trapped against my door trying to fumble with the multiple lock system. It was at this point I was considering grabbing his curly dark hair and ramming his head against the door. But something inside me finally snapped. I suddenly became aware of this fella's size, strength and ability. He did, after all, climb up the side of my building. I can't even do a chin up.
Once he managed to get out of my apartment I chased him down the hall and yelled for help. My neighbor from downstairs ran up and asked if I was okay. Said she was going to call the police, but thought I was having a fight with my boyfriend. Of course she'd think that, at no point was I yelling "Help!" or "Police!" I considered this early morning, it's not like I had my wits about me.
Upon telling my little tale to others, everyone has some suggestion about what they would have done if this had happened to them. Is this suppose to make me feel better? "I would have gotten a knife!" one said. Yeah, I've got time to go to my kitchen and fish around my drawers for the one sharpish knife I own.
"I would have kneed him in the balls," was another. Mr. CB made sure his back was to me at all times. Besides, I've heard that doesn't really work because he'd be facing me and have all the control.
"You should have kicked him with your heel on the top of his foot," insisted another. Ummm....please be reminded that I was barefoot and he was wearing heavy duty climbing shoes. Even as I considered how I could hurt him, I realized my current half naked state didn't provide me with a lot of ammunition. Which is why I had to just get him out of there before he decided to hurt me instead. He'd gotten away with my laptop and wallet. Could have been much worse.
Afterwards, a policeman came, then his lieutenant came, then the burglary squad came. Fingerprints were lifted (probably mine), photos taken and statements made. On Monday a follow up policewoman came out to talk about safety tips and commended me for my efforts. Later her sergeant called and sent an email regarding the mess the fingerprint dust made on my carpet. By this point, I was expecting the Mayor himself to pay me a visit.
There has been a rash of similar burglaries in my neighborhood lately. Hopefully they'll catch the guy. Although I never saw his whole face, I definitely would recognize that hairdo of luscious curls and am keeping my eyes peeled.
In the meantime, I'm keeping my slider locked like a good girl, and I still feel pretty safe overall. Just needed to be reminded that this is, in fact, a city and I need to treat it as such.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Text Me When You've Googled Him
Upon scrutiny of my last T-Mobile bill, I decided it might serve me to step into the 21st century and pay for the text message service. I was resisting previously because I didn't want to add any more money to my bill. I had 1000 calling minutes with free nights and weekends for $39.99 (make that $49.99 with tax, fees, tips, excess unknown charges etc.). Still, fifty bones I was willing to pay. But when my last bill came in at nearly $70 I sat down to take a closer look.
Because others not only have text message service, but also use it almost exclusively, I was automatically drawn into this little web of communication. I would regularly tell friends "I don't use text" explaining that, yes, while I do recognize the benefits and convenience of using text messaging (I lived in Europe for 3 1/2 years, remember? That's ALL anyone does there.) I don't want to pay anything extra for it. I get tired of everyone telling me how things only cost an extra few dollars for this or that. All those 'extras' add up.
Regardless of me advising friends and family that I don't use text messaging, new people would inevitably send me messages via text. I am not controlled or stubborn enough to ignore these messages, so I'd open them and read them at 25 cents a pop. And then I'd respond! Another 25 cents. It doesn't take long to rack up an additional "few dollars" with just a small exchange with one or two people.
I marched myself downtown to visit the folks at T-Mobile to find out 1. how to stop these text messages from even coming across my path or 2. how much it costs to join the band wagon.
Needless to say, it turned out to be cheaper to join the band wagon. So now, for approximately $55.00 per month (yes, only $5.00 more) I have 400 or so opportunities to send and/or receive a text message.
Fine. I'll enter the world of text messaging communication. No problem. But I still refuse to use the word 'text' as a verb, i.e. "he keeps texting me," "I texted him yesterday," or "Text him and tell him we're on our way." The actual verb is "SEND", people. As in, "he keeps sending me text messages," "I sent him a text yesterday," and "Send him a text and tell him we're on our way."
"Google" is currently listed in the dictionary as both noun and verb. At this time, text is still just a noun. I realize this is soon to change, but I'm fighting it tooth and nail.
Because others not only have text message service, but also use it almost exclusively, I was automatically drawn into this little web of communication. I would regularly tell friends "I don't use text" explaining that, yes, while I do recognize the benefits and convenience of using text messaging (I lived in Europe for 3 1/2 years, remember? That's ALL anyone does there.) I don't want to pay anything extra for it. I get tired of everyone telling me how things only cost an extra few dollars for this or that. All those 'extras' add up.
Regardless of me advising friends and family that I don't use text messaging, new people would inevitably send me messages via text. I am not controlled or stubborn enough to ignore these messages, so I'd open them and read them at 25 cents a pop. And then I'd respond! Another 25 cents. It doesn't take long to rack up an additional "few dollars" with just a small exchange with one or two people.
I marched myself downtown to visit the folks at T-Mobile to find out 1. how to stop these text messages from even coming across my path or 2. how much it costs to join the band wagon.
Needless to say, it turned out to be cheaper to join the band wagon. So now, for approximately $55.00 per month (yes, only $5.00 more) I have 400 or so opportunities to send and/or receive a text message.
Fine. I'll enter the world of text messaging communication. No problem. But I still refuse to use the word 'text' as a verb, i.e. "he keeps texting me," "I texted him yesterday," or "Text him and tell him we're on our way." The actual verb is "SEND", people. As in, "he keeps sending me text messages," "I sent him a text yesterday," and "Send him a text and tell him we're on our way."
"Google" is currently listed in the dictionary as both noun and verb. At this time, text is still just a noun. I realize this is soon to change, but I'm fighting it tooth and nail.
Monday, March 30, 2009
A Holly Jolly Workplace
Although the pay at the 'Bridal Barn' is less than ideal, there are some positives about the job. I'm able to work autonomously with my clients. I take my bride into a private and rather elaborate dressing room fully stocked with bustiers, slips, mirrors all around, veils, shoes, sashes and bows, and extra chairs for their entourage, i.e. mom, future mother-in-law, sisters, best friends and bridesmaids (not always one in the same). In there, she is able to sample bridal frocks to her heart's content, or at least up to two hours, the standard appointment time. We have a fabulous runway for the brides-to-be to strut their stuff and get an even better view of their favorite gowns. It's a professional environment without the 'corporate' feel.
She is my client, my bride. I can chat, joke and build rapport while I get to know her tastes and needs. No one is breathing down my neck or listening to my favorite lines which I tend to use over and over. "That silhouette is soooo flattering on you." "You have the perfect bridal dress figure. Everything looks great on you" (a real crowd pleaser). Or the ever popular response to brides droning on about how much weight they plan to lose before the big day, "oh now, that's no way to live. You look fabulous and your guy loves you just how you are. You want to be able to relax and enjoy your day, which includes eating and drinking champagne!" Everyone loves to hear that nonsense regardless of size.
But the best thing about the job is what a 'happy' place it is. Even now in these times of economic strife when all anyone can think of are their purse strings and the media reminding us daily of the doom and gloom of the world, our clients come in excited and happy to spend a grand or two...or three...on a silk white gown they'll wear once. It's amazing really. Many groups will bring champagne and make a real event of the bridal dress shopping experience.
Sometimes the happy factor can be a little tough even for this perpetually optimistic soul. Remember Cameron Diaz' character in "My Best Friend's Wedding" and all the squealing and carrying on she did throughout the movie? Well, she was my bride a few weeks ago. Even enclosed in our private dressing room, the consultants could hear her squeals of delight throughout the store. Once she found her dream dress (a Sally Crew Satin Ball Gown for $2200) she was so thrilled gazing at her view from the runway, even her friends warned me that she would do a cartwheel if she could. No doubt. I was actually getting ready to duck.
Yet another more subdued, but equally as excited bride expressed her gratitude for helping her find her special gown (another Sally Crew for $1900) by offering me a $20 tip. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to accept tips. But hell yeah, I took it and gave her a hug!
In any case, I have to admit that I don't dread going to work, the clients are happy, excited and generally eager to buy. I usually leave pretty beat, however. All that smiling, lifting heavy dresses and running for eight hours, and pretending to be sincerely interested in the details of an overpriced event is truly quite exhausting.
She is my client, my bride. I can chat, joke and build rapport while I get to know her tastes and needs. No one is breathing down my neck or listening to my favorite lines which I tend to use over and over. "That silhouette is soooo flattering on you." "You have the perfect bridal dress figure. Everything looks great on you" (a real crowd pleaser). Or the ever popular response to brides droning on about how much weight they plan to lose before the big day, "oh now, that's no way to live. You look fabulous and your guy loves you just how you are. You want to be able to relax and enjoy your day, which includes eating and drinking champagne!" Everyone loves to hear that nonsense regardless of size.
But the best thing about the job is what a 'happy' place it is. Even now in these times of economic strife when all anyone can think of are their purse strings and the media reminding us daily of the doom and gloom of the world, our clients come in excited and happy to spend a grand or two...or three...on a silk white gown they'll wear once. It's amazing really. Many groups will bring champagne and make a real event of the bridal dress shopping experience.
Sometimes the happy factor can be a little tough even for this perpetually optimistic soul. Remember Cameron Diaz' character in "My Best Friend's Wedding" and all the squealing and carrying on she did throughout the movie? Well, she was my bride a few weeks ago. Even enclosed in our private dressing room, the consultants could hear her squeals of delight throughout the store. Once she found her dream dress (a Sally Crew Satin Ball Gown for $2200) she was so thrilled gazing at her view from the runway, even her friends warned me that she would do a cartwheel if she could. No doubt. I was actually getting ready to duck.
Yet another more subdued, but equally as excited bride expressed her gratitude for helping her find her special gown (another Sally Crew for $1900) by offering me a $20 tip. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to accept tips. But hell yeah, I took it and gave her a hug!
In any case, I have to admit that I don't dread going to work, the clients are happy, excited and generally eager to buy. I usually leave pretty beat, however. All that smiling, lifting heavy dresses and running for eight hours, and pretending to be sincerely interested in the details of an overpriced event is truly quite exhausting.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Who Knew?
Who would have thought I'd be any good at this whole bridal sales thing? Certainly not me. I've never pegged myself as a 'saleswoman.' As a matter of fact, I've purposely avoided sales-type jobs as much as possible. Years ago, in my naive youth, I made a feeble attempt at home makeup sales. No, not Mary Kay, but their competitor, "Beauty Control." I purchased the starter kit for several hundred dollars, booked home parties with all of my friends and co-workers and at most I'd come home with a few lipstick sales. I sucked at it. My dream of becoming a Senior Sales Consultant earning six figures was quickly squelched. Furthermore, much to my husband's chagrin, I was stuck with an expensive inventory of makeup. I spent the next few years trying to recoup the money I laid out, at least a portion of it.
While in Europe working for the tour operator companies, part of my job was selling excursions i.e. island tours, boat trips, Greek and Turkish Nights, pub crawls and tours to ruins. My success rate was a bit better than the makeup sales, but still not what I'd call dynamic. Luckily, it was only a small portion of my job description and I excelled in the other areas so my bosses loved me anyway. Phew.
So based on my past, I've always known that a career in sales was not my destiny. I had considered real estate sales when I first returned to Seattle, however, being realistic about my strong suits, I decided to opt out of that career choice. What made me go into wedding gown sales? Rent. I had to pay my rent and with limited jobs available in this town, as well as others, I had to take what was offered to me. I'd considered a career as a barista, but even that seems to require a Ph.D. in coffee these days.
As luck would have it, I seem to be doing okay with this bridal biz. A couple more gowns to sell and I will have reached my monthly goal. I wasn't even trying. As a matter of fact, when I saw what my monthly goal was I just scoffed at it. How was a brand new consultant who barely knows the difference between a Mermaid and a Trumpet style or can't judge a Taffeta from a Tissue Taffeta by touch suppose to reach that kind of goal? Honestly, I just didn't take it too seriously. Instead, I simply chummed up to my customers and tried to make them feel like I cared about them and their stupid wedding. Apparently, that's the ticket. Who knew?
While in Europe working for the tour operator companies, part of my job was selling excursions i.e. island tours, boat trips, Greek and Turkish Nights, pub crawls and tours to ruins. My success rate was a bit better than the makeup sales, but still not what I'd call dynamic. Luckily, it was only a small portion of my job description and I excelled in the other areas so my bosses loved me anyway. Phew.
So based on my past, I've always known that a career in sales was not my destiny. I had considered real estate sales when I first returned to Seattle, however, being realistic about my strong suits, I decided to opt out of that career choice. What made me go into wedding gown sales? Rent. I had to pay my rent and with limited jobs available in this town, as well as others, I had to take what was offered to me. I'd considered a career as a barista, but even that seems to require a Ph.D. in coffee these days.
As luck would have it, I seem to be doing okay with this bridal biz. A couple more gowns to sell and I will have reached my monthly goal. I wasn't even trying. As a matter of fact, when I saw what my monthly goal was I just scoffed at it. How was a brand new consultant who barely knows the difference between a Mermaid and a Trumpet style or can't judge a Taffeta from a Tissue Taffeta by touch suppose to reach that kind of goal? Honestly, I just didn't take it too seriously. Instead, I simply chummed up to my customers and tried to make them feel like I cared about them and their stupid wedding. Apparently, that's the ticket. Who knew?
Monday, February 16, 2009
The Serious Business of Bridezilla Wear
Lots to learn in the bridal industry I’m finding out. It’s not just selling a fancy dress to the Princess Bride as I’d expected. From the first day when my manager sent me home with three bridal magazines to ‘study’, along with books “The Law of Attraction” and “Jeffrey Gitomer’s Little Red Book of Selling”, I knew she was a bit more serious about this stuff than I’d ever be. Okay, fine, I’ll play along. Besides, as everything in my life, it’s only temporary. It’s also an opportunity to learn something different and experience something new.
The first day of work found me engulfed in a sea of white. Every dress looked the same to me; big, fluffy, lacey, flouncy and white. Lots of white. Later I learned they were not all white. They were varying shades of white, diamond white, ivory, natural, dark ivory. Learning the fabrics is even more complicated. Satin, silk satin, silk/poly blend satin, Japanese satin, Indian silk, taffeta, silk satin taffeta, Duchess, silk crepe, silk organza, silk voile is just a start in my very long lesson on fabrics. My mentor lost me after the satin. I was frantically trying to take notes, but when I went back to review it was all just a bundle of words that really made no sense at all.
Next are the silhouettes: sheathe, mermaid, trumpet, A-line, ballroom. Sounds easy enough until you’re caught putting a trumpet in with the A-lines. The difference is very subtle when on a wooden hanger- believe me!
Alencon lace, French lace, Chantilly lace – wait, isn’t that a song?
“Don’t worry, you’ll learn,” my mentors assure me. Oh really? I’m not so sure. This is a temp job, after all. Technically it’s an 8 week gig. The learning curve for a non-fashionista like me could be a lot longer. Just when I think I’m starting to distinguish a Pronovias gown from a Paloma Blanca gown, I’m stood corrected.
After a week studying my books, taking copious notes, pouring through racks upon racks of the fluff, I start to become more familiar with the inventory. Knowing the inventory is key for a successful sales consultant. Clearly. Then walk in a gaggle of bridesmaids and I’m the only one available to assist. Crap. Bridesmaids’ dresses are a whole other ball game. They come in a lot more colors, shapes and styles. And so do the bridesmaids. One wedding party will contain a variety of heights, shapes, body issues to hide, body issues to augment, and ONE bride to please. After spending an hour with a group of girls trying to decide upon the chocolate brown or the truffle for their dresses, I learn by going on the designer’s website that neither color is still available in the particular style of their choice. Our in-store color swatch book is out of date. ARGH. The whole process of buying a wedding gown and the accompanied bridesmaids’ dresses is about like buying a car. Actually, I think people put less time and effort into buying their car. This job requires a good deal of acting as well. While my face is smiling and saying “this is the perfect gown for your lovely figure,” my cynical old mind is saying “chances are you won’t even be married to this guy in five years, so save your dough or spend your money on something you can really use, like a nice vacation.”
The first day of work found me engulfed in a sea of white. Every dress looked the same to me; big, fluffy, lacey, flouncy and white. Lots of white. Later I learned they were not all white. They were varying shades of white, diamond white, ivory, natural, dark ivory. Learning the fabrics is even more complicated. Satin, silk satin, silk/poly blend satin, Japanese satin, Indian silk, taffeta, silk satin taffeta, Duchess, silk crepe, silk organza, silk voile is just a start in my very long lesson on fabrics. My mentor lost me after the satin. I was frantically trying to take notes, but when I went back to review it was all just a bundle of words that really made no sense at all.
Next are the silhouettes: sheathe, mermaid, trumpet, A-line, ballroom. Sounds easy enough until you’re caught putting a trumpet in with the A-lines. The difference is very subtle when on a wooden hanger- believe me!
Alencon lace, French lace, Chantilly lace – wait, isn’t that a song?
“Don’t worry, you’ll learn,” my mentors assure me. Oh really? I’m not so sure. This is a temp job, after all. Technically it’s an 8 week gig. The learning curve for a non-fashionista like me could be a lot longer. Just when I think I’m starting to distinguish a Pronovias gown from a Paloma Blanca gown, I’m stood corrected.
After a week studying my books, taking copious notes, pouring through racks upon racks of the fluff, I start to become more familiar with the inventory. Knowing the inventory is key for a successful sales consultant. Clearly. Then walk in a gaggle of bridesmaids and I’m the only one available to assist. Crap. Bridesmaids’ dresses are a whole other ball game. They come in a lot more colors, shapes and styles. And so do the bridesmaids. One wedding party will contain a variety of heights, shapes, body issues to hide, body issues to augment, and ONE bride to please. After spending an hour with a group of girls trying to decide upon the chocolate brown or the truffle for their dresses, I learn by going on the designer’s website that neither color is still available in the particular style of their choice. Our in-store color swatch book is out of date. ARGH. The whole process of buying a wedding gown and the accompanied bridesmaids’ dresses is about like buying a car. Actually, I think people put less time and effort into buying their car. This job requires a good deal of acting as well. While my face is smiling and saying “this is the perfect gown for your lovely figure,” my cynical old mind is saying “chances are you won’t even be married to this guy in five years, so save your dough or spend your money on something you can really use, like a nice vacation.”
Sunday, February 1, 2009
New Job New Shoes
I accepted a part-time sales position at the bridal shop. Hey, they called me back almost two months later practically begging. How could I say ‘no’? Okay, really how could I say ‘no’ when rent is due and with thousands of layoffs in the area and virtually no decent jobs available at the moment work needs to be had? I’ve had far more greenbacks outgoing than incoming these past few months, so when I said I’d do most anything, I really did mean anything. I’m sure there are worse things I could be doing. I’m sure I’ve done them already.
Besides, this is just a temporary bandaid to rescue me from my current lack of funds dilemma. I’ve been applying for jobs- “real” jobs - all over the country, as well as outside the country. One job in particular, I think I’m quite interested in. I’m in stage two of the hiring process. The stage where they’ve reviewed my resume and have now asked me to submit some ‘homework’ assignments. I did that and now I wait.
I say I think I am interested in this position because accepting a job is similar to buying a pair of shoes. You see them sitting prettily in the shop window looking very stunning and appealing (that would be the job posting), you inquire about the designer, the materials, and cost (read the job description), you picture yourself wearing the shoes (you envision yourself actually doing the job). You decide ‘yes, these shoes I’d like to try on’ (you apply for the job). You then walk around the store in the shoes, trying them on carpet, on the hardwood floor, determining if you really want them, thinking about outfits and occasions you would wear them with(you go to the job interview and find out as much as you can all the while selling yourself). You take the shoes (accept the job offer) excited about your new purchase. But until you actually wear the shoes for a full day, in your practical everyday walk-a-day life, running for buses and traipsing through the rain, you really can’t tell if the shoes are the right fit.
I have dozens of shoes that haven’t worked out. They are ‘date’ shoes. Shoes I can only wear if a date picks me up from my front door, carries me to the car and drops me off in front of the restaurant while he parks. Minimal, if any, actually walking involved. I rarely wear these shoes. I also have dozens of jobs that haven’t quite worked out. My well-rounded talents and diverse interests are glowing on my lengthy resume, however. I’ve had to start bundling jobs to keep it under ten pages.
I’ve applied to jobs in Chicago, Honolulu, D.C., San Diego for example. My mind begins to race. What if I actually get a job in one of these places? Will I like living there? Do I want to live there? Suddenly my love/hate relationship with Seattle leans more on the love side of the meter. I’ll miss the mountains, the sound, the islands, my great friends, plentiful arts and music scene, restaurants and happy hours. What about my terrific low rent apartment with the spacious balcony and incredible view?
Wait. Am I seriously considering my idiotic apartment in all this? I’ve lost my mind. Anyway, I’m still trying on jobs and haven’t even gotten to the point of having to make a decision. I’m sure if and when I do, it’ll be the right decision. Besides, as my dear brother has previously pointed out, like the shoes I can return to the store, I can always return to Seattle.
Besides, this is just a temporary bandaid to rescue me from my current lack of funds dilemma. I’ve been applying for jobs- “real” jobs - all over the country, as well as outside the country. One job in particular, I think I’m quite interested in. I’m in stage two of the hiring process. The stage where they’ve reviewed my resume and have now asked me to submit some ‘homework’ assignments. I did that and now I wait.
I say I think I am interested in this position because accepting a job is similar to buying a pair of shoes. You see them sitting prettily in the shop window looking very stunning and appealing (that would be the job posting), you inquire about the designer, the materials, and cost (read the job description), you picture yourself wearing the shoes (you envision yourself actually doing the job). You decide ‘yes, these shoes I’d like to try on’ (you apply for the job). You then walk around the store in the shoes, trying them on carpet, on the hardwood floor, determining if you really want them, thinking about outfits and occasions you would wear them with(you go to the job interview and find out as much as you can all the while selling yourself). You take the shoes (accept the job offer) excited about your new purchase. But until you actually wear the shoes for a full day, in your practical everyday walk-a-day life, running for buses and traipsing through the rain, you really can’t tell if the shoes are the right fit.
I have dozens of shoes that haven’t worked out. They are ‘date’ shoes. Shoes I can only wear if a date picks me up from my front door, carries me to the car and drops me off in front of the restaurant while he parks. Minimal, if any, actually walking involved. I rarely wear these shoes. I also have dozens of jobs that haven’t quite worked out. My well-rounded talents and diverse interests are glowing on my lengthy resume, however. I’ve had to start bundling jobs to keep it under ten pages.
I’ve applied to jobs in Chicago, Honolulu, D.C., San Diego for example. My mind begins to race. What if I actually get a job in one of these places? Will I like living there? Do I want to live there? Suddenly my love/hate relationship with Seattle leans more on the love side of the meter. I’ll miss the mountains, the sound, the islands, my great friends, plentiful arts and music scene, restaurants and happy hours. What about my terrific low rent apartment with the spacious balcony and incredible view?
Wait. Am I seriously considering my idiotic apartment in all this? I’ve lost my mind. Anyway, I’m still trying on jobs and haven’t even gotten to the point of having to make a decision. I’m sure if and when I do, it’ll be the right decision. Besides, as my dear brother has previously pointed out, like the shoes I can return to the store, I can always return to Seattle.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Looking for Work IS Work
My luck seems to have run out. Over the last three years since my return to Seattle, I've found it quite easy to find work. Most of it was temporary work, but that's all I was looking for. Not sure of what I wanted to do outside of travel, play and write, temporary gigs were ideal for my lifestyle. With one foot out the proverbial Seattle door, a temp job was preferred over anything too committal.
In the past three years I've been an ESL teacher, a janitor, a receptionist at a theater supply store, a law firm and a seafood company called Ocean Beauty Seafoods (I kept answering the phones "good afternoon, Ocean Booty" and they offered me full time work anyway!), an administrative assistant in the City of Seattle's Engineering Records Center, a Seattle Art Museum librarian assistant and education department admin assistant, a pet nanny and dog walker, and I did market research for WhitePages.com. I was head of programming and development at a non-profit international education organization, catered an event at an art gallery, was a mystery shopper and drove a woman's car from Denver to Seattle.
The jobs over the last three years have been as diverse as my interests in life. Intriguing and entertaining. Unfortunately, the opportunities seem to have come to a screeching halt. No longer are friends or friends of friends tracking me down with the random odd job. Those days seem to be over for this "professional service provider." sigh.
I knew it would all have to come to an end eventually. I was just hoping I could hang on to the multiple thin income strings (or threads rather) a bit longer. With thousands of out of work talent hitting the streets with every layoff announcement, the competition for these and other crap jobs is fierce.
So, as Dr. Phil says, "if you're out of a job, then that's your job!" Oh, the reality of it all. I've been hitting it hard and letting up is not an option. Keeping the momentum up along with the optimism is a full-time job!
In the past three years I've been an ESL teacher, a janitor, a receptionist at a theater supply store, a law firm and a seafood company called Ocean Beauty Seafoods (I kept answering the phones "good afternoon, Ocean Booty" and they offered me full time work anyway!), an administrative assistant in the City of Seattle's Engineering Records Center, a Seattle Art Museum librarian assistant and education department admin assistant, a pet nanny and dog walker, and I did market research for WhitePages.com. I was head of programming and development at a non-profit international education organization, catered an event at an art gallery, was a mystery shopper and drove a woman's car from Denver to Seattle.
The jobs over the last three years have been as diverse as my interests in life. Intriguing and entertaining. Unfortunately, the opportunities seem to have come to a screeching halt. No longer are friends or friends of friends tracking me down with the random odd job. Those days seem to be over for this "professional service provider." sigh.
I knew it would all have to come to an end eventually. I was just hoping I could hang on to the multiple thin income strings (or threads rather) a bit longer. With thousands of out of work talent hitting the streets with every layoff announcement, the competition for these and other crap jobs is fierce.
So, as Dr. Phil says, "if you're out of a job, then that's your job!" Oh, the reality of it all. I've been hitting it hard and letting up is not an option. Keeping the momentum up along with the optimism is a full-time job!
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Enough with the Tipping
Webster's Definition:
Tip: vb - to give a gratuity to. n- a gift or sum of money tendered for a service performed or anticipated; gratuity.
At what point did tipping transition from it's original intent of an extra amount in appreciation for good service to an obligation, an expected and entitled amount?
Tipping has gotten out of hand. Rather than giving a small amount of change to show appreciation for outstanding service, it's now an expectation in certain fields. And not only is the tip itself expected, but a certain amount is also expected regardless of the level of service provided. That's where I get irritated. Since when are we tipping people for doing their basic job?
The only job the curbside check in fellow has is to check you in and take your bag and the expected tip (posted on the sign in front of his desk) is $3 per bag. Is he doing anything particularly unique from his basic job duties that should require an added tip? If so, I don't know what that would be.
I have no problem giving a waiter/waitress a fair tip based on the service they provide. I can be a little demanding requesting sauces on the side, lemon but no ice in my water, eggs cooked very well done for example. However, 20% is a bit steep. Add that to your bill and a reasonably priced lunch sky rockets into dinner pricing. A friend just informed me that 15% is standard, 18% is above average and 20% is outstanding. Those three amounts are generally listed at the bottom of your bill, too, just to help you out when figuring your payment. Again, I tip according to service, not the price of the bill. In Seattle, the service is usually quite high, so I don't mind tipping accordingly.
Tipping the barista, on the other hand, is minimal if at all. She's making me a latte. There's nothing unique about my latte. I order off the menu. I don't ask for extra foam, or super hot. They don't even put the sleeve on the cup for me. The drink costs $3.56 as it is, I'm not giving an extra dollar because they are doing their job. I know most people do and I'm sure the baristas are spitting in my drink before shoving it over the counter at me.
On my recent trip to Vietnam, there was an exceptional amount of tipping involved. Besides the cost of the trip itself which wasn't necessarily cheap, we were informed that tipping certain providers was expected. The pre-travel information packet laid out who we were to tip and how much was standard. Besides the tour guide, who did his level best to go above and beyond to look after us and make sure our every need was met, we were also expected to tip the bus driver, the bus assistant, the maids, other guides, and anyone else who provided a service.
The bus driver drove us around. He is paid to drive. Is he expected to do anything else? No. Did he do anything else? No. Why are we tipping this person? The suggested tip was $3-4 per person per day. The bus assistant's job was to keep the bus clean inside and out, distribute waters and "cool and refreshing towelettes" to the passengers, assist everyone getting on and off the bus and handle the luggage. The suggested tip for this fellow was $1-2 per day. I had no problem tipping him that amount. I think he pretty much has a crap job and probably is a servant to the bus driver running his errands and getting him coffee. And I can bet his wages are nearly nothing.
There was one tipping incident in particular that left me with a sour taste in my mouth during the trip. My friend and I had a massage at our first hotel. The cost of the massage was $10 for an hour. I told my friend we should probably give an extra dollar for a tip. Based on what we had learned, this seemed adequate. The massage itself was not very satisfactory. The girl sat on my rump while she massaged my back. That alone did not allow me to relax and enjoy the massage. Her movements were quick and the entire massage felt rushed. She slathered baby oil on her hands once before the massage began and never reapplied it again. It felt like a dry massage. The room was stark with no music or candles and you could hear the other employees outside the door chatting and laughing loudly amongst themselves. There was nothing relaxing about the entire experience. At the end of the treatment the girl handed me a receipt book for me to write in my tip amount. I handed her a dollar. She made a face and threw it back at me insisting I give more. I requested to speak with the man at the front desk. I asked him if my dollar was out of line and he assured me that it was absolutely fine and took my money. My friend told me that her girl wouldn't take her dollar, but wasn't asking for more. She simply indicated a tip wasn't necessary. Completely inconsistent.
Here in America the list of professions that we are expected to tip is getting longer by the minute: bellboys, sky cab, taxi drivers, hair stylists, nail and spa services (you tip for a massage, but do you tip your physical therapists? No.), hotel maids, room service, concierge. I was even told that it was good practice to tip the flight attendant- not necessarily with cash, but a gift of chocolates or some other specialty item would be appropriate. Although the thought has crossed my mind, I have never done this. I wonder if the gesture would get me upgraded into a first class seat for free? I'll have to experiment with that in the future.
I would just like to see a day when everyone made a decent enough wage for providing exceptional customer service that it wasn't left up to the customer to contribute further to the provider's income. Ah, in an ideal world.
Tip: vb - to give a gratuity to. n- a gift or sum of money tendered for a service performed or anticipated; gratuity.
At what point did tipping transition from it's original intent of an extra amount in appreciation for good service to an obligation, an expected and entitled amount?
Tipping has gotten out of hand. Rather than giving a small amount of change to show appreciation for outstanding service, it's now an expectation in certain fields. And not only is the tip itself expected, but a certain amount is also expected regardless of the level of service provided. That's where I get irritated. Since when are we tipping people for doing their basic job?
The only job the curbside check in fellow has is to check you in and take your bag and the expected tip (posted on the sign in front of his desk) is $3 per bag. Is he doing anything particularly unique from his basic job duties that should require an added tip? If so, I don't know what that would be.
I have no problem giving a waiter/waitress a fair tip based on the service they provide. I can be a little demanding requesting sauces on the side, lemon but no ice in my water, eggs cooked very well done for example. However, 20% is a bit steep. Add that to your bill and a reasonably priced lunch sky rockets into dinner pricing. A friend just informed me that 15% is standard, 18% is above average and 20% is outstanding. Those three amounts are generally listed at the bottom of your bill, too, just to help you out when figuring your payment. Again, I tip according to service, not the price of the bill. In Seattle, the service is usually quite high, so I don't mind tipping accordingly.
Tipping the barista, on the other hand, is minimal if at all. She's making me a latte. There's nothing unique about my latte. I order off the menu. I don't ask for extra foam, or super hot. They don't even put the sleeve on the cup for me. The drink costs $3.56 as it is, I'm not giving an extra dollar because they are doing their job. I know most people do and I'm sure the baristas are spitting in my drink before shoving it over the counter at me.
On my recent trip to Vietnam, there was an exceptional amount of tipping involved. Besides the cost of the trip itself which wasn't necessarily cheap, we were informed that tipping certain providers was expected. The pre-travel information packet laid out who we were to tip and how much was standard. Besides the tour guide, who did his level best to go above and beyond to look after us and make sure our every need was met, we were also expected to tip the bus driver, the bus assistant, the maids, other guides, and anyone else who provided a service.
The bus driver drove us around. He is paid to drive. Is he expected to do anything else? No. Did he do anything else? No. Why are we tipping this person? The suggested tip was $3-4 per person per day. The bus assistant's job was to keep the bus clean inside and out, distribute waters and "cool and refreshing towelettes" to the passengers, assist everyone getting on and off the bus and handle the luggage. The suggested tip for this fellow was $1-2 per day. I had no problem tipping him that amount. I think he pretty much has a crap job and probably is a servant to the bus driver running his errands and getting him coffee. And I can bet his wages are nearly nothing.
There was one tipping incident in particular that left me with a sour taste in my mouth during the trip. My friend and I had a massage at our first hotel. The cost of the massage was $10 for an hour. I told my friend we should probably give an extra dollar for a tip. Based on what we had learned, this seemed adequate. The massage itself was not very satisfactory. The girl sat on my rump while she massaged my back. That alone did not allow me to relax and enjoy the massage. Her movements were quick and the entire massage felt rushed. She slathered baby oil on her hands once before the massage began and never reapplied it again. It felt like a dry massage. The room was stark with no music or candles and you could hear the other employees outside the door chatting and laughing loudly amongst themselves. There was nothing relaxing about the entire experience. At the end of the treatment the girl handed me a receipt book for me to write in my tip amount. I handed her a dollar. She made a face and threw it back at me insisting I give more. I requested to speak with the man at the front desk. I asked him if my dollar was out of line and he assured me that it was absolutely fine and took my money. My friend told me that her girl wouldn't take her dollar, but wasn't asking for more. She simply indicated a tip wasn't necessary. Completely inconsistent.
Here in America the list of professions that we are expected to tip is getting longer by the minute: bellboys, sky cab, taxi drivers, hair stylists, nail and spa services (you tip for a massage, but do you tip your physical therapists? No.), hotel maids, room service, concierge. I was even told that it was good practice to tip the flight attendant- not necessarily with cash, but a gift of chocolates or some other specialty item would be appropriate. Although the thought has crossed my mind, I have never done this. I wonder if the gesture would get me upgraded into a first class seat for free? I'll have to experiment with that in the future.
I would just like to see a day when everyone made a decent enough wage for providing exceptional customer service that it wasn't left up to the customer to contribute further to the provider's income. Ah, in an ideal world.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Home From My Holidays
Vietnam turned out to be even more than I had imagined. We started our tour in the busy northern city of Hanoi where the streets are bustling with hundreds of motor scooters and the "honk honk beep beep" of traffic coming and going in every which direction. Crossing the street took an act of bravery - or stupidity- and some skillful eye/feet coordination. Although some of our fellow travelers were afraid to make attempts, I found the challenge exhilarating. Tall skinny houses lined the streets of Hanoi where we were told not one, but up to seven families may be living per household. People crowded the sidewalks crouched on small stools eating food prepared right there on small cookers. This, our guide explained, was due to the crowded kitchen inside the house. With seven families sharing one kitchen and one bathroom, it just makes sense to eat on the sidewalk (comparable to our version of an outside BBQ or having a picnic on the porch while we watch passers by).
Throughout our trip we continually were witness to so many contrasts. For example, the people take their shoes off to enter their home, yet at the end of the day, they park their scooters inside the house. Safety reasons. There is a helmet law for drivers, but apparently not for passengers. We'd see a helmeted driver with his entire unhelmeted family of five strategically stacked on the scooter with him. And Christmas decorations adorned every window, hotel, street corner in this mainly Buddhist country. Western dressed woman donned traditional conical hats.
Other highlights of this interesting city included a Cyclo tour of Old Town - another contrast of old vs new transportation, a visit to the Temple of Literature where I rubbed a turtle's head for good luck in my upcoming studies, an entertaining water puppet show, the French Quarter, Museum of Ethnography and some wonderful Vietnamese food.
After a few days in Hanoi, we headed to Ha Long Bay for an overnight trip on a traditional Junk boat. The weather was unseasonably cooler than expected, but we managed to get this far without actual rain. We were four days into the trip by now and I was still wearing the same top I flew over in! I hadn't been able to break out any warm weather garments yet and only took a couple of long sleeved tops because it wasn't suppose to be this cold. I had borrowed my niece's windbreaker for the trip and I was so glad for it.
From the very majestic Ha Long Bay, we headed back to Hanoi for our in-country flight to Hue a little further south. Warmer, but rainy. We visited the Thien Mu Pagoda (Pagoda of the Heavenly Lady) which overlooks the Perfume River, the magnificent Hue Citadel and the Forbidden Purple City which took us back in time. Our guide shared detailed stories of past Kings, Queens and residents and their impact on the history of Vietnam. Although the weather was inclement, this kept the crowds at bay and the rain actually accentuated the peacefulness of the temple and the Hien Lam Pavilion.
From Hue, we headed south to Hoi An, a nearly Venice-like town in Central Vietnam (complete with regular flooding and small boats to haul you around) just south of the famous China Beach and Lang Co Beach. We took some time and stepped out on the beach to dip our toes in the sea. Tired of the cooler weather and rain, we were excited to finally see a bit of sunshine and sandy beach. Upon reaching Hoi An and checking into the resort hotel perched on the river, we were greeted with yet another amazing Vietnamese meal (there were many of these and my rather snug trousers are proof) and then a walking city tour weaving our way through the alleys and narrow passages of this cozy little town. Here we also participated in a Vietnamese cooking class where loads of laughs were had while we learned to make fresh spring rolls, banana flower salad and grilled tuna wrapped in banana leaves.
The rains picked up as we trekked through the ancient My Son ruins of the Champa Kingdom. Again, it wasn't enough to spoil the day's activities. On the way to the ruins we stopped at a local market that isn't used to tourists. This was a highlight for all of us. Our guide walked us through the market explaining all the unusual 'treats' and how they are prepared. My travel buddy and I sampled the juice of a duck egg that had been boiled just three days prior to the duck being born. It tasted like chicken broth. Then we ate the duck fetus. No, not the yolk, the actual baby duck that was scooped out of the shell. Yeah, this from the girl who'd prefer china plates with food separators like a two year old so nothing touches. Later my friend tested Beattlenut. After watching her basically get stoned, I laughed my tush off as her entire mouth turned a bright red. The market ladies had fun at our expense. I'm not sure who was more entertained, them or us.
Our next destination was the beautiful seaside town of Nha Trang where we'd spend a couple of days relaxing on the sunny shores of the China Sea...or just walk along the beach in the rain. By now we were getting a little discouraged by the "unseasonably rainy weather" we were experiencing and our guide was getting nervous. His job was to make us happy. My travel buddy was having her period and was seriously crabby by this point. After spending five hours digging her car out of her snow-filled driveway and driving from Spokane to Seattle to fly out the next day, this was suppose to be her tropical sun-filled holiday. The rain was bothering her much more than me (hard to believe, I know) but I didn't want to agitate her by patronizing her about how it could be so much worse. After lunch she found a bit of alone time to walk on the beach during a brief clearing, meet a local woman cooking lobster and take a "happy pill." She came back refreshed and smiling. We then hopped a scooter taxi and headed up to the beautiful Cham tower still in operation. We decided to walk back to our hotel and no sooner than we headed back, the rains began again. We spent the evening drying out in our hotel room which had an amazing view of the stormy sea, sipping rather poor Vietnamese wine and reading our books. We went to bed dreaming of a sunnier tomorrow. Or at least high clouds.
We were granted high clouds for our boat trip to a local fishing village, a ride in a round basket boat - an actual round boat woven with bamboo used mainly to fish for squid, and finally a relaxing afternoon on a private beach where we were able to swim in the China Sea and enjoy massages and pedicures on the beach....until a sprinkling of rain drove us under the thatched umbrellas. All in all it was a great day even without the sun.
Our hotel hosted a New Years Eve Gala which was basically a flop. The Gala took place on the rooftop off the second floor. Rather than mingling with all the other guests as I had hoped, everyone sat at their perspective dinner tables watching the dancers on stage perform routines to songs from ABBA and "We Are the World." They were trying to promote unity, but everyone just sat and stared at them. The best part of the night was viewing the growing crowd of locals gathering on the street below. Thousands of people jammed the streets outside the hotel and stood staring up at us-staring back down at them. Everyone watching and waiting for something to happen. Nothing ever did. Prior to the countdown balloons and confetti were released from the top floor windows, but the wind had picked up substantially and rather than fall downward, they were scooped up over the top of the building and carried who knows where. There was a giant disco ball, but it never got lifted and dropped at the appropriate time. I'm not sure it got lifted and dropped at all. After midnight, they announced all night dancing in the lobby. We all shuffled down there for some dancing, but the music wasn't set up yet. We waited around til almost 1.00 when we decided to call it a night. Happy @#$ing New Year.
After Nha Trang, we headed into the mountains to the city of Dalat. Unfortunately, after an hour of driving we learned the mountain pass we were headed to was closed due to flooding (imagine that) and we had to turn back and take another route. Seven hours of bumpy, jiggly, uncomfortable bus ride later, feeling completely beat up, we pulled into the stunning French style village of Dalat. So different than any other town we'd seen at this point. Highlights here included a scenic gondola ride through the lush mountains to visit the Truc Lam Zen Buddhist Pagoda and beautiful gardens, Dalat Cathedral, Xuan Huong Lake, exploring the village and seeing how the locals live, a home hosted dinner, visit to the University of Dalat to talk to local students and a visit to the Lat village to enjoy music and dance performance by the indigenous residents. That was great fun as we laughed and danced along learning their stories and traditions.
Leaving Dalat by plane, we headed to our final destination of Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) for the last three days of our tour. Saigon was the city I had expected it to be. Somewhat more modern than Hanoi, but not much. More busy scooter traffic (my travel buddy and I were seasoned street crossers by now), lots of shops, huge market, coffee shops and beautiful buildings. After some consideration of our finances, we decided to take the optional tour of the Cu Chi Tunnels with the group. It turned out to be well worth the money. We were able to explore the tunnels first hand as a group and even had the opportunity to drop into a trap door and crawl through a portion of the tunnel alone (except for resident bat). This was actually a bit creepy as you put yourself mentally in the shoes of those who lived in these tunnels 40 years ago.
Next day was a visit to My Tho for a boat trip along the Mekong Delta which included a stop off at a local bee farm for some exotic fruit samples; dragon fruit, longan fruit, rambuton, coconut, jackfruit and something that resembled grapefruit, but not really a grapefruit. We visited a family owned coconut candy factory where we saw the very labor intensive handy-work of making different types of coconut candy.
I am still skeptical about the 'tour group' method of travel, but it does come with pros, as well as cons. Our guide was informative and relayed entertaining stories of the history, traditions, superstitions and culture of the various regions of his country. I am certain I wouldn't have been able to cover as much ground and see all the sights we saw in the same amount of time if I had attempted the trip on my own. I'm not sure, however, I'd book a trip with Overseas Adventure Travel (OAT) for the next 30 years. Seems to be an older crowd who frequent these particular tours. My travel buddy and I deemed the acronym Old And Tired people upon meeting our fellow travelers. There were 16 travelers in our group and our youthful 45 years of age brought the median age down to 60 years old. Our guide informed us that ours was the youngest group he had ever hosted.
By the first day we had everyone pegged. The overly optimistic person who clapped her hands and squealed 'yea!' about everything (no this wasn't me!), the professional photographer who got into every local person's face with her rather invasive camera equipment, those who continuously asked every ridiculous question because they either liked to hear themselves talk or just refused to pay attention to our guide. We dubbed these gals as Numbers 1, 2 and 3 so we could gossip about them in code. This kept us equally annoyed and entertained at the same time. At various points throughout the first week or so each woman would shift on the totem pole of Most Annoying depending on what irritating thing they did or said that day. Yes, an awful game to play (we were clearly the young bitches of the group). However, I dare anyone to spend nearly three weeks with 14 total strangers and see if you don't start inventing inappropriate games. I'd never make it on "Survivor." Even if I didn't get voted off right away, I'd volunteer to leave after a few weeks. By week two, Numbers 2 and 3 were growing on us more and more. We were finding them almost delightful. We also really liked their husbands and thought we better make nice with these wives. By the end of the trip #3 was hugging us goodbye and calling us her daughters in her Philadelphia Jewish Lady accent - "dawwters". Just goes to show we need to give people a chance. It was a bit challenging for this introverted extrovert to be corralled with 16 people all day every day. My travel buddy and I managed to get away on our own on a few occasions but not many. It was a full schedule.
Overall it was a good trip and we had a great time and lots of laughs. And more importantly, I'm so glad I got to experience this amazing country - the beautiful rice paddies, colorful markets, children riding water buffalo, and farmers working the fields- before commerce and fierce development step in and turn the unique farm villages and seaside into tourist resorts and the cities become just another Asian hot spot of night clubs, bars, glitz and glitter and overpriced shopping.
Throughout our trip we continually were witness to so many contrasts. For example, the people take their shoes off to enter their home, yet at the end of the day, they park their scooters inside the house. Safety reasons. There is a helmet law for drivers, but apparently not for passengers. We'd see a helmeted driver with his entire unhelmeted family of five strategically stacked on the scooter with him. And Christmas decorations adorned every window, hotel, street corner in this mainly Buddhist country. Western dressed woman donned traditional conical hats.
Other highlights of this interesting city included a Cyclo tour of Old Town - another contrast of old vs new transportation, a visit to the Temple of Literature where I rubbed a turtle's head for good luck in my upcoming studies, an entertaining water puppet show, the French Quarter, Museum of Ethnography and some wonderful Vietnamese food.
After a few days in Hanoi, we headed to Ha Long Bay for an overnight trip on a traditional Junk boat. The weather was unseasonably cooler than expected, but we managed to get this far without actual rain. We were four days into the trip by now and I was still wearing the same top I flew over in! I hadn't been able to break out any warm weather garments yet and only took a couple of long sleeved tops because it wasn't suppose to be this cold. I had borrowed my niece's windbreaker for the trip and I was so glad for it.
From the very majestic Ha Long Bay, we headed back to Hanoi for our in-country flight to Hue a little further south. Warmer, but rainy. We visited the Thien Mu Pagoda (Pagoda of the Heavenly Lady) which overlooks the Perfume River, the magnificent Hue Citadel and the Forbidden Purple City which took us back in time. Our guide shared detailed stories of past Kings, Queens and residents and their impact on the history of Vietnam. Although the weather was inclement, this kept the crowds at bay and the rain actually accentuated the peacefulness of the temple and the Hien Lam Pavilion.
From Hue, we headed south to Hoi An, a nearly Venice-like town in Central Vietnam (complete with regular flooding and small boats to haul you around) just south of the famous China Beach and Lang Co Beach. We took some time and stepped out on the beach to dip our toes in the sea. Tired of the cooler weather and rain, we were excited to finally see a bit of sunshine and sandy beach. Upon reaching Hoi An and checking into the resort hotel perched on the river, we were greeted with yet another amazing Vietnamese meal (there were many of these and my rather snug trousers are proof) and then a walking city tour weaving our way through the alleys and narrow passages of this cozy little town. Here we also participated in a Vietnamese cooking class where loads of laughs were had while we learned to make fresh spring rolls, banana flower salad and grilled tuna wrapped in banana leaves.
The rains picked up as we trekked through the ancient My Son ruins of the Champa Kingdom. Again, it wasn't enough to spoil the day's activities. On the way to the ruins we stopped at a local market that isn't used to tourists. This was a highlight for all of us. Our guide walked us through the market explaining all the unusual 'treats' and how they are prepared. My travel buddy and I sampled the juice of a duck egg that had been boiled just three days prior to the duck being born. It tasted like chicken broth. Then we ate the duck fetus. No, not the yolk, the actual baby duck that was scooped out of the shell. Yeah, this from the girl who'd prefer china plates with food separators like a two year old so nothing touches. Later my friend tested Beattlenut. After watching her basically get stoned, I laughed my tush off as her entire mouth turned a bright red. The market ladies had fun at our expense. I'm not sure who was more entertained, them or us.
Our next destination was the beautiful seaside town of Nha Trang where we'd spend a couple of days relaxing on the sunny shores of the China Sea...or just walk along the beach in the rain. By now we were getting a little discouraged by the "unseasonably rainy weather" we were experiencing and our guide was getting nervous. His job was to make us happy. My travel buddy was having her period and was seriously crabby by this point. After spending five hours digging her car out of her snow-filled driveway and driving from Spokane to Seattle to fly out the next day, this was suppose to be her tropical sun-filled holiday. The rain was bothering her much more than me (hard to believe, I know) but I didn't want to agitate her by patronizing her about how it could be so much worse. After lunch she found a bit of alone time to walk on the beach during a brief clearing, meet a local woman cooking lobster and take a "happy pill." She came back refreshed and smiling. We then hopped a scooter taxi and headed up to the beautiful Cham tower still in operation. We decided to walk back to our hotel and no sooner than we headed back, the rains began again. We spent the evening drying out in our hotel room which had an amazing view of the stormy sea, sipping rather poor Vietnamese wine and reading our books. We went to bed dreaming of a sunnier tomorrow. Or at least high clouds.
We were granted high clouds for our boat trip to a local fishing village, a ride in a round basket boat - an actual round boat woven with bamboo used mainly to fish for squid, and finally a relaxing afternoon on a private beach where we were able to swim in the China Sea and enjoy massages and pedicures on the beach....until a sprinkling of rain drove us under the thatched umbrellas. All in all it was a great day even without the sun.
Our hotel hosted a New Years Eve Gala which was basically a flop. The Gala took place on the rooftop off the second floor. Rather than mingling with all the other guests as I had hoped, everyone sat at their perspective dinner tables watching the dancers on stage perform routines to songs from ABBA and "We Are the World." They were trying to promote unity, but everyone just sat and stared at them. The best part of the night was viewing the growing crowd of locals gathering on the street below. Thousands of people jammed the streets outside the hotel and stood staring up at us-staring back down at them. Everyone watching and waiting for something to happen. Nothing ever did. Prior to the countdown balloons and confetti were released from the top floor windows, but the wind had picked up substantially and rather than fall downward, they were scooped up over the top of the building and carried who knows where. There was a giant disco ball, but it never got lifted and dropped at the appropriate time. I'm not sure it got lifted and dropped at all. After midnight, they announced all night dancing in the lobby. We all shuffled down there for some dancing, but the music wasn't set up yet. We waited around til almost 1.00 when we decided to call it a night. Happy @#$ing New Year.
After Nha Trang, we headed into the mountains to the city of Dalat. Unfortunately, after an hour of driving we learned the mountain pass we were headed to was closed due to flooding (imagine that) and we had to turn back and take another route. Seven hours of bumpy, jiggly, uncomfortable bus ride later, feeling completely beat up, we pulled into the stunning French style village of Dalat. So different than any other town we'd seen at this point. Highlights here included a scenic gondola ride through the lush mountains to visit the Truc Lam Zen Buddhist Pagoda and beautiful gardens, Dalat Cathedral, Xuan Huong Lake, exploring the village and seeing how the locals live, a home hosted dinner, visit to the University of Dalat to talk to local students and a visit to the Lat village to enjoy music and dance performance by the indigenous residents. That was great fun as we laughed and danced along learning their stories and traditions.
Leaving Dalat by plane, we headed to our final destination of Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) for the last three days of our tour. Saigon was the city I had expected it to be. Somewhat more modern than Hanoi, but not much. More busy scooter traffic (my travel buddy and I were seasoned street crossers by now), lots of shops, huge market, coffee shops and beautiful buildings. After some consideration of our finances, we decided to take the optional tour of the Cu Chi Tunnels with the group. It turned out to be well worth the money. We were able to explore the tunnels first hand as a group and even had the opportunity to drop into a trap door and crawl through a portion of the tunnel alone (except for resident bat). This was actually a bit creepy as you put yourself mentally in the shoes of those who lived in these tunnels 40 years ago.
Next day was a visit to My Tho for a boat trip along the Mekong Delta which included a stop off at a local bee farm for some exotic fruit samples; dragon fruit, longan fruit, rambuton, coconut, jackfruit and something that resembled grapefruit, but not really a grapefruit. We visited a family owned coconut candy factory where we saw the very labor intensive handy-work of making different types of coconut candy.
I am still skeptical about the 'tour group' method of travel, but it does come with pros, as well as cons. Our guide was informative and relayed entertaining stories of the history, traditions, superstitions and culture of the various regions of his country. I am certain I wouldn't have been able to cover as much ground and see all the sights we saw in the same amount of time if I had attempted the trip on my own. I'm not sure, however, I'd book a trip with Overseas Adventure Travel (OAT) for the next 30 years. Seems to be an older crowd who frequent these particular tours. My travel buddy and I deemed the acronym Old And Tired people upon meeting our fellow travelers. There were 16 travelers in our group and our youthful 45 years of age brought the median age down to 60 years old. Our guide informed us that ours was the youngest group he had ever hosted.
By the first day we had everyone pegged. The overly optimistic person who clapped her hands and squealed 'yea!' about everything (no this wasn't me!), the professional photographer who got into every local person's face with her rather invasive camera equipment, those who continuously asked every ridiculous question because they either liked to hear themselves talk or just refused to pay attention to our guide. We dubbed these gals as Numbers 1, 2 and 3 so we could gossip about them in code. This kept us equally annoyed and entertained at the same time. At various points throughout the first week or so each woman would shift on the totem pole of Most Annoying depending on what irritating thing they did or said that day. Yes, an awful game to play (we were clearly the young bitches of the group). However, I dare anyone to spend nearly three weeks with 14 total strangers and see if you don't start inventing inappropriate games. I'd never make it on "Survivor." Even if I didn't get voted off right away, I'd volunteer to leave after a few weeks. By week two, Numbers 2 and 3 were growing on us more and more. We were finding them almost delightful. We also really liked their husbands and thought we better make nice with these wives. By the end of the trip #3 was hugging us goodbye and calling us her daughters in her Philadelphia Jewish Lady accent - "dawwters". Just goes to show we need to give people a chance. It was a bit challenging for this introverted extrovert to be corralled with 16 people all day every day. My travel buddy and I managed to get away on our own on a few occasions but not many. It was a full schedule.
Overall it was a good trip and we had a great time and lots of laughs. And more importantly, I'm so glad I got to experience this amazing country - the beautiful rice paddies, colorful markets, children riding water buffalo, and farmers working the fields- before commerce and fierce development step in and turn the unique farm villages and seaside into tourist resorts and the cities become just another Asian hot spot of night clubs, bars, glitz and glitter and overpriced shopping.
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