Category Archives: Personal

On Being Agoraphobic and Stuck in a Crowd

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So tonight after work I had to go to Tesco at City Centre because a.) I forgot to order the seafood for tonights paella in the grocery order for this past Monday and b.) Simon and I still haven’t gotten our heads around having a real sized refrigerator and only order food to last through Thursday, so we needed something for dinner tomorrow night (I’m making chicken nachos, if anyone would like to stop by for a bite. Although I am making them from scratch without a recipe, so they may suck. You have been warned.).

The worst times to be at City Centre, crowdwise, are after 11:30am on a Saturday (hence my almost never getting to see Saturday Kitchen, with James Martin, my cooking boyfriend, because we are already out of the house and shopping by 10am on Saturdays) and after work on Thursday nights. Thursday night is, traditionally, Late Night Shopping at City Centre. Now a lot of the stores stay open later most nights, but it used to be that the entire of City Centre was shut down by about 5:30, so being open to 9:00 on Thursdays was a really big deal (yeah, not doing 24 hour time today. Deal with it.). And it gets waaaay crowded. And I am agoraphobic. I hate, despise, loathe crowds. I only spent about an hour at Disney World last summer because of the crowds. And the fact that my sunglasses were giving me a migraine. But that’s another story.

So there I am, at City Centre, after waiting in the queue for the World’s Slowest Cashier (TM) at Tesco, surrounded by crowds. And panicking, just a little. And when I panic? I get rude. Really rude. All my ‘excuse mes’ and ‘sorry, can I get bys?’ go right out the window when I am in a crowd. I push, I shove, I glare and I mutter. “Dammit, did you have to stop *right* in the middle of the fucking side walk?” “Hey, old man, get the hell out of my way!!” Yeah, polite, I ain’t.

Obviously, I cope. Cuz here I am back in my flat, safe and sound. But it was touch and go for a bit. I nearly cried. Literally.

I fucking hate crowds. Can I move to a desert island? Please? Just me, Simon and all of our DVDs, CDs, games and game consoles? And the internet? K?

Time Goes By…

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The street where I wait for the bus to work is where a lot of school children walk to get to school. I don’t know what school they go to, but at least 15 – 20 of them walk by every day.

There is one group of boys I have been seeing for the past 3 years. I’ve actually watched them grow.

3 years ago they were small children. Horsing around as they went to school, calling each other names. Now the shortest of them is taller than me. In only 3 years. And they look so darn serious, like the weight of the world is on their shoulders. In only 3 years.

I want to ask them what happened. What happened to them razzing on each other. What happened to the fireworks they used to throw around Bonfire Night (almost got me with one, once. I was less than pleased). When did they become ‘adults’? And why?

Why do we have to lose that? That playfulness as we walk to school? The feeling that all things are possible and all things are fun, even walking to school. Maybe the destination holds hard work, but getting there should be a joy, yes?

Now they walk to school, still in the same group, but they barely talk to each other. They walk like they are going to their doom.

I miss those playful little boys. They were a joy to watch. Now they are just another group, trudging through life, and it makes me sad.

The ‘Joy’ of the NHS

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So I went to the Diabetes Clinic today. I don’t think I mentioned before about my having Type II diabetes. But I do.

I control it with diet and *cough* exercise. In other words, I watch what I eat and think about doing exercise.

Wasn’t too bad today, although they were running an hour behind. The Doc seemed pleased with my current levels. Last A1C was 6.3, which is very good. Under 7 is very good. Under 6 would be excellent.

So, what’s the ‘joy’? The fact that I never seem to get my most recent test results until I go back, 6 months later. That’s even with a rush put on the A1C results, as I am suppose to have those numbers the same day. But I never do.

And the waiting. I wait to be weighed. I wait to have bloods taken. I wait to see the doctor. Waiting waiting waiting.

I always go prepared, book in hand (and I bought a magazine today). But it is still aggravating. And they always run out of chairs.

On a good note, however, when I went to check in, I told the receptionist that my address had changed. She asked whether I was in University, because if my address changed regularly she’d be happy to send my letters and such to my mum’s address. I thanked her for thinking I was young enough to still be in University. She then noticed my age on her computer and laughed at herself. But I was very thankful!

Be There When You Said You Would

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So today the plumber was suppose to come by to look at the toilet in our En Suite bathroom.  It works but not well and sometimes you have to flush twice.  He never showed up, never called.  We don’t have his number to call him, as it was arranged through our Landlord.  Who will be getting a call on Monday.  Yet another example of crappy customer service.

I realized I was lecturing on proper customer service, but never proved I knew anything about it.  I do.  My early career, just after University, was in CS.  I worked for Telecom USA Published, who was acquired by McLoed in 1996.  I left there when I moved to California.  They published telephone books and I worked at their customer service desk.   Then, when I moved to California, my first permanent job out there was with Proxim as the tech support Admin and first line tech support.  I worked there for a couple of years before moving on.  So I do know what customer service is and the difference between bad and good customer service. I’m not just talking out my ass!

I still, in some ways, work in customer service.  Our tenants are our customers at NISP and my SMT are my direct customers.  And I give good service.  I may bitch, to my co-workers, even to my bosses, but I always do what needs to be done when it needs to be done.  And that’s the true hallmark of good customer service.  It doesn’t have to mean bending over for the customer or giving in to unreasonable demands, but it does have to mean doing what you said you were going to do when you said you were going to do it.

Whether that is showing up on time to fix the toilet.  Or getting the papers done for a meeting.

And if you can’t do it, then call, send an email, hell put up smoke signals.  Don’t just leave your customer hanging.

I do not believe the customer is always right, because they aren’t always right.  But they always deserve an explanation of why things didn’t go as planned.  And really, its not too much to ask.

How’d It Happen?

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Along with wondering Who Decided? I often wonder, How’d It Happen?  How did the myriad of immigrants accents become the broad twang of the New York accent?  How’d it happen that the French speak French and the Germans speak German if, theoretically, all of mankind evolved from one place and one species?

How did those same immigrants who moved to the southern part of the United States start speaking in their accents?  Boston?  Yorkshire?  Northern Ireland?

How do accents evolve? How do they start?  Do they change over time?

And how are accents learned?  I speak with an American accent, Simon with a Northern Irish/English/Scottish one.  What kind of accent will our kids have?  Combination?  Northern Irish as that is what they will hear most often?  But we’ll be the ones teaching them to talk.

I can’t even tell you how Simon achieved his accent.  His parents are both Scottish, his father speaks with a definite burr, his mother sounds more English to me.  But one thing I have learned in my time here is that I have a hard time differentiating between the United Kingdom accents.  Someone will call at work for the CEO and not leave their name and I’ll tell him and he’ll ask me what kind of accent they had.  I can never tell him, unless it is *not* UK.

So…How’d it Happen?

If No One Complains, Nothing Will Change

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So we are waiting for a part to come in for our boiler. We were told it would be in in a week about a week ago. No part, no call from the boiler man. Our boiler works, but keeps overheating, which is a pain in the ass.

When I mentioned to Simon how annoyed I was that we hadn’t even gotten a call with an update he said, “Well, British repair men.”

Nope, sorry, not a good excuse. There is *no* excuse for poor customer service, ever. And until people start complaining about things like that, nothing will change, ever.

There are sparks of good service in the UK. We have ordered a new shelf for our ‘fridge as one of them was broken. I ordered it online and have received two emails now with updates as to what the delay is. I am not angry about the delay because I was told there would be a delay.

There used to be a TV advert for some airline, I don’t remember which, with a bunch of people waiting in a meeting room. They are getting more and more restless as the clock goes 20, then 30 minutes past when the meeting was apparently scheduled to start with no one starting it. Then a man comes in and says “And now you know how our customers feel when a plane is delayed with no explanation. Let’s get to work.”

That’s all people really want. An explanation. Some idea of what the problem is and about when it will be resolved. Whether its a missing boiler part or building a whole building that is behind schedule.

And until people start to ask for answers, none will be forthcoming.

And that’s the key to the customer service problems in the UK, and Belfast in particular. No one wants to complain. So nothing changes.

More About the New Flat

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The kitchen is big enough that Simon can stick the kettle on and make a coffee and I can make toast and pour juice at the same time.

The bedroom is big enough that even though I was running a bit late this morning, we did not get each other’s way while he got ready for his shower and I finished getting dressed.

The lounge is big enough that we both have plenty of room for our toys  (get your minds out the gutter, I mean our action figures).

The big sofa is big enough for Simon to lie full out.  All 6’2″ of him.

The bathtub is long enough and deep enough to cover me to my chin.

We are very happy here.

More About Me – Part 3

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Since I’ve just gotten back to work after being ill for a few days, I thought I’d talk about my job some.

My official title is Personal Assistant to the Senior Management Team (which is much neater than it used to be. It used to be Personal Assistant to the CEO and Two Other Executives. No joke, that was my title. Now you know why I don’t have business cards). But what does that mean, day to day?

It means I run the office. I type letters, take minutes, write Board papers, write minutes, ‘tart up’ (NISP definition, to tart up, verb, to fix a document so that it is in Science Park format and won’t make your eyes bleed. There is a severe lack of the ability to put full stops at the ends of sentences around my office!) papers, keep track of diaries, book travel, order supplies, make coffee, drink coffee, file, staple, collate, bind, post things, open post, book doctors appointments for the CEO, book appointments of all sorts for the other two Execs…basically anything that has to do with the smooth running of NISP, I do.

My day basically starts with email (as, I think, does most people’s these days). In my email will be instructions for the day. Drafts of letters, notes of meetings to be booked.  Then I check the Exec’s diaries for their appointments during the day, to see if they need taxis booked.  Then I get to work.  Of course nothing ever goes as planned and I am interrupted all day long by people needing things.  Asking questions.  Etc etc etc.

Oh, and I’m also the web mistress.

International Association of Buffy Fans

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Some of you might have noticed the comment in yesterday’s entry by my friend Asta (sorry, hon, I have no idea how to get the accent over the first a!). If you clicked on her name, it will take you to her blog. Which you will only be able to read if you can read Icelandic (at least I assume that’s what she writes in!). That’s because Asta is from Iceland.

How do I know someone from Iceland? Same way I know my husband and quite a few of my internet friends. We met on The Buffy Cross and Stake posting boards, ‘lo these many years ago.

Once the show was over, most of us moved over to Live Journal and continued our friendships. As such I have friends from all over the world. Iceland, Germany, South Africa, United States, Canada, United Kingdom and probably other places I can’t recall at the moment.

And that, to me, is the true value of the internet. It brings people together who never would have met otherwise, in a way that has never happened before in the history of humankind. To be trite, the world is getting smaller and smaller every day. And I love it that way.

It isn’t only that I never would have met Simon without the internet, I never would have met a lot of people who are my closest friends. All of The Hussies, for one thing. Most of the people on my friend’s list on LJ, for another.

And, yes, I have met quite a few of them in person. They are my ‘true’ friends. Whether I have met them in person or not.

Maybe I can’t ring most of them up and say ‘meet me at our local’. Maybe there are some that I will *never* meet in person. Doesn’t matter. They are my friends.

And I love them all.

Just a Quick Post Today

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As I have a urinary tract infection, feel like crap and am home from work.

Happy Valentine’s day, or, as many of my friends prefer to call it, Half Price Chocolate Eve.

Simon and I exchanged cards and are going out for dinner tomorrow night.

And now I am going to go take an amoxocillian (yayayayaya for doctors!) and crawl into bed.