Saturday, August 27, 2011
The Customer Is NOT Always Right- A J Adams
If you have ever worked ANY kind of customer service position, you will read this book and identify with nearly every anecdote. If you haven't worked customer service, you will read this, laugh, and say "Things like that don't REALLY happen, do they?" YES THEY DO.
For your consideration, my own anecdote:
I work in the property/evidence room for the local Police department. We often field calls from people who know the law better than the officers and try to impress us with this while demanding that we give them their stuff back. 99.9% of the time they are wrong. This one was truly special:
Me: Property Room, how may I help you?
Idiot Caller: Yeah, your stupid officer stole mah pills and I want em back.
Me: (resisting the urge to tell her that whoever it was is not MY officer) May I have your name please so that i can look the record up?
IC: *slurs name*
Me: I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Would you repeat it for me please?
IC: You is as dumb as that officer, now quit fooling around and tell me how to get mah pills back!
Me: Insulting me is not going to get them back any faster. Would you please spell your name for me?
IC: *gives name, slightly more clearly* Hurry the f--- up and tell me what to do to get mah pills.
Me: There's no need to swear at me ma'am. I see here that your pills were put in as evidence, so you will not be able to claim them until the officer signs a release or a judge gives you an order for us to return them to you.
IC: Whaaaaaat?!? Dat be some bullsh-t! Y'all cain't be takin peoples pills and stuff. *rants in this vein for a few more minutes*
Me: *having looked at the incident report while irate idiot is screaming and swearing at me* Ma'am?
IC: WTF? I need mah dayum pills!
Me: *snapping* Maybe you shouldn't have offered to sell them to the officer when he pulled you over for DUI!
IC: Furreal? I did that? I was pretty tore up. *click*
yeah, some days I love my job......
Monday, August 22, 2011
Poetry Monday
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
by E. E. Cummings
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
*I loved the show Beauty & The Beast. So much that I even bought the soundtrack, mixed with music and Ron Perlman's deep melodic voice reading assorted poems. This was one of my favorite tracks!
by E. E. Cummings
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
*I loved the show Beauty & The Beast. So much that I even bought the soundtrack, mixed with music and Ron Perlman's deep melodic voice reading assorted poems. This was one of my favorite tracks!
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Books Can Be Decieving- Jenn McKinlay
from Amazon: Lindsey is getting into her groove as the director of the Briar Creek Public Library when a New York editor visits town, creating quite a buzz. Lindsey's friend Beth wants to sell the editor her children's book, but Beth's boyfriend, a famous author, gets in the way. When they go to confront him, he's found murdered-and Beth is the prime suspect. Lindsey has to act fast before they throw the book at the wrong person.
My take: Good story, smooth flow. I loved that the chapter headers were old fashioned Date Due cards/pockets! Do you know the only word in the English language that ends with the letters -mt? Read this book and you'll find out.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Maggie's Second Chance- Nancy Furstinger
ok, I admit I'm a sap and a sucker for animals. This beautiful story made me cry. Maggie is a sweet dog, pregnant and abandoned by her owners. She's taken to a shelter to have her puppies. The puppies all get new homes, but Maggie is left to languish until a little boy sees a news story about her and begs his teacher to help him help her. His class petitions the city council and gets a no-kill shelter created- just in time to save Maggie who is about to be euthanized.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Poetry Monday
One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
by Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Sunday Silliness- Happy Birthday to Me edition
5 Of My Favorite Things:
Tye-dyed shirts
Butter Almond Ice Cream
Books- lots of books! (and how did they get that photo of my living room? LOL)
Lions- what? they're cool.
London!
once again, thanks to Google Images for the assist
Tye-dyed shirts
Butter Almond Ice Cream
Books- lots of books! (and how did they get that photo of my living room? LOL)
Lions- what? they're cool.
London!
once again, thanks to Google Images for the assist
Friday, August 12, 2011
My Boyfriend Wrote a Book About Me: And Other Stories I Shouldn't Share with Acquaintances, Co-workers, Taxi Drivers, Assistants, Job Interviewers, Bikini ... and Ex/ Current/ Future Boyfriends But Have- Hilary Winston
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Love Letters- Katie Fforde
This was a charming read. Laura, the heroine, is about to lose her job at a British indie bookstore when it goes out of business. During one of the final book signings her store is hosting, she impresses the author's agent so much that she's invited to run a literary festival. Due to a miscommunication during a planning meeting for the festival, Laura has to travel to Ireland to plead with reclusive author Declan to make an appearance. He says he'll do it, but only if she sleeps with him....and then the fun really starts! Don't worry, Declan doesn't turn out to be the pig that comment makes him sound like, but I'm not telling what happens next.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Poetry Monday
"What Do Women Want?"
by Kim Addonizio
I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what's underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I'm the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I'll pull that garment
from its hanger like I'm choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I'll wear it like bones, like skin,
it'll be the goddamned
dress they bury me in.
by Kim Addonizio
I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what's underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I'm the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I'll pull that garment
from its hanger like I'm choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I'll wear it like bones, like skin,
it'll be the goddamned
dress they bury me in.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Poetry Monday
The Parakeets
by Alberto Blanco
translated by W. S. Merwin
They talk all day
and when it starts to get dark
they lower their voices
to converse with their own shadows
and with the silence.
They are like everybody
—the parakeets—
all day chatter,
and at night bad dreams.
With their gold rings
on their clever faces,
brilliant feathers
and the heart restless
with speech...
They are like everybody,
—the parakeets—
the ones that talk best
have separate cages.
*As much as I wanted a dog growing up, we lived in apartments where it was too hard to keep one. I did however have several parakeets with amazingly distinctive personalities. Casey bird was my first, followed by Rio, Dove, Sunshine & Storm. This poem reminded me quite a bit of them.
by Alberto Blanco
translated by W. S. Merwin
They talk all day
and when it starts to get dark
they lower their voices
to converse with their own shadows
and with the silence.
They are like everybody
—the parakeets—
all day chatter,
and at night bad dreams.
With their gold rings
on their clever faces,
brilliant feathers
and the heart restless
with speech...
They are like everybody,
—the parakeets—
the ones that talk best
have separate cages.
*As much as I wanted a dog growing up, we lived in apartments where it was too hard to keep one. I did however have several parakeets with amazingly distinctive personalities. Casey bird was my first, followed by Rio, Dove, Sunshine & Storm. This poem reminded me quite a bit of them.
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