Author Archives: Pamela

Tornados are rare around here. The guy on the news says that Washington averages one tornado a year somewhere in the state.

My mother-in-law is one of the people that was injured in 1972 in the deadliest tornado ever to hit the West Coast.

Yesterday, the tornado touched down in her next door neighbor’s yard.

You’ve got to wonder what the Universe is trying to tell her.

Is it: “Don’t worry, you’re not going to go in a tornado.”

Or: “Damn! Missed again.”

NOAA has a map of the tornado path here. If you divide the map into quarters vertically, her house is around the 1st quarter mark.

Bob went over there as soon as he knew what was going on, within two hours of the event. She was a model of calm. She had already talked to insurance and scheduled her yard crew. Also, an army of people were already papering the neighborhood with business cards and fliers offering services. There has never been a better time to own a chipper and a chainsaw in SW Washington.

Last night, my drive from the park-n-ride took me across the storm path but it was dark and I didn’t see much except a lot of debris and a few signs that blew over.

This morning I went to Priscilla’s neighborhood and wow, kind-of took my breath away. Chunks of limbs and debris are everywhere. Giant trees tipped over or their tops snapped off. You’ve got to wonder what it sounded like. Everywhere you look along her street there’s some kind of crew cleaning up limbs, sawing up stumps. Also all kinds of utility people and cherry-pickers. Quite a sight.

I arrived around 11am and one of the guys helping in her yard (they had 6 people) said they already had most of the backyard cleaned up. It still looked like a mess to me.

Priscilla said she heard loud booms and crashing against her skylight. As she backed away she heard crashing against her second skylight. She decided to hightail it to the basement and was grateful to see no trees in her living room when she finally emerged.

I talked to another guy who said that one of the neighbors saw the tornado touch down in the next door neighbor’s yard and said it was instant violence like the trees were stuck in a blender.

Photoset of tornado damage here.

Here’s the stuff from behind my desk. No favorite red pen. The only logical conclusion is that someone stole it. Also no gum. What I thought was gum was a lens cleaning tissue.

On Monday night I jammed one of my toes at yoga. Basically it was the equivalent of kicking a wall and my toe swelled a tiny bit and I took a photo of that because what could be more fascinating? Sadly, my feet are not photogenic and instead of looking so cute like they look in real life, they look like frankenfeet so I’m keeping close-ups of my feet private. It’s still hard to curl my toes but I think I’ll make it. I have this shoulder thing too so Monday might it was like a 100 year old lady just trying to get through it.

This is my desk. I had to take everything off of it and then lay down with my tongs and jam my hand between the edge of the desk and the wall to rescue my lens cleaning tissue. I really thought I could make a better post out of this when I sat down but now I’m out of time.

Today I remembered to bring the tongs in.

Yikes, in my search for a photo illustration I found this: www.tongs.com your resource for snake handling equipment. I had no idea there was enough snake handling going on that we needed a resource. Now I’m too distracted to find a photo.

They’re regular old spring-loaded cheap-metal tongs. The kind you use in the kitchen for grabbing and flipping hot things.

I brought them to the office because I’ve dropped a whole bunch of stuff – including the office tongs I bought specifically for this purpose – behind my desk and my arms are too short to reach the stuff and the desk is too big and covered with crap for me to move.

Besides tongs, there are some tissues, a pack of gum, paper clips (unlikely I can pick them up with the tongs, but I will try), rubberband (ditto), my favorite red pen, and no doubt some wonderful surprises.

Big Wednesday here.

Warning: this is a total nerdcore post. You might just quit reading right now.

If I could marry a show, I would marry Dr. Who.

I am a total Dr. Who newbie. Me sitting here talking about Dr. Who is like someone watching 10 episodes of Buffy from season 5, and then trying to explain the Buffy-Xander-Willow dynamic.

If you’re as interested as I am, you can do what I did and take a day off of work and read the Wikipedia entry and related links. It says there are 738 episodes. 738!

I think I’ve seen 14.

Dr. Who is kind-of like James Bond, in that different actors come along and play the same character. Except in Dr. Who they acknowledge that they look different and there’s an explanation which is in the article. I’m still not completely clear on it, myself.

My first Dr. Who was with the Ninth Doctor played by Christopher Eccleston whose name I always want to make much harder to pronounce that it is. I loved this Doctor very much and was greatly dismayed when after one season he changed into the Tenth Doctor. Two episodes later I was in love with the new one.

I also love all the guest stars like this weekend we had Giles (Buffy), Beth from Moonlight and one of the Doctor’s earlier companions which I’m sure would have been more meaningful if I wasn’t such a newbie, sort of like when Faith turned up again in the last season of Buffy.

There’s a Doctor Who marathon coming up and I expect to see smoke coming out of my DVR by the time it’s over.

In other nerd news, I spent most of yesterday morning on the couch under a blanket reading a book about dragons and the Napolenic wars. No, I’m not making this up.

One last tidbit, they must be really hurting over there on the SciFi Wire since today’s headlines include something about a trailer for the new Star Trek movie (A remake of the old series. If anyone can think of a compelling reason why this remake should happen that doesn’t include a dollar sign, please let me know.) Another announcement that Governor Arnold will not be appearing or in anyway connected to the Terminator 4 movie like anyone cares.

And finally an announcement that Patricia Arquette won’t cross the picket line to attend the Golden Globes. I thought nobody was attending the Golden Globes. The Golden Globes are stupid. It would be like if a bunch of nerds at school started their own prom and elected their own prom queen and everybody acted like it was just as important as the real prom even though they knew it was just a pretend prom.

When I arrived at my new position I learned that it we were not going to be providing administrative services for contractors although that might happen some day. We were starting a new contractors license school.

Scary Man was going through an extremely acrimonious divorce. Remember the part about paranoid that everyone is screwing him? I don’t know the story but I am guessing that he had to turn the business over to her as part of the proceedings. Of course while that was going on, he was hand-picking employees from her business and bringing them with him as he secretly started the new one.

At the time I found the situation amusing and didn’t really grasp how appalling it was. Plus, I was one of those people who learned about accumulating debt the hard way and I had a car payment and credit card bills to pay and not a lot of confidence about what I could do in the world so I needed the job. And again, I liked the actual work.

I had to hire and train staff for the satellite schools and create new materials for the classes. I worked long hours which Scary Man assured me would be rewarded once the business got up and running.

Mrs. Scary Man was no dummy and quickly figured out what he was up to and there was a big ugly period with lawyers and depositions and unpleasantness. I guess they sorted it out. I was not happy about being dragged through it.

It did not take long for the job to go from fun to hideous. The long hours were a drag and there was never any reward. If you wanted to leave 15 minutes early so you could go to the airport and catch a flight because someone died, Scary Man would remind you for the next three months that he gave you 15 free minutes. I once had a hideous flu where I was passed out on the couch with a fever for three days and he called me at home and asked why I wasn’t at work.

My position evolved into something where I was in charge of everything, except sales, but had zero authority to do anything. I was in charge of supplies. I was in charge of complaints and refunds and company policy was don’t issue a refund unless the word lawsuit comes up or your life is threatened. Having contractor students and their wives calling me a bitch: that never got easier.

I was in charge of personnel. The staff jobs paid terrible and had terrible hours and the turnover was mind-bending. I had to keep those seats filled.

Scary Man would bitch me out if he didn’t like the help wanted ad. He would bitch me out if he didn’t like the person I hired. He’d bitch me out if an employee made a mistake because he said I wasn’t training them. He asked me to make an office manual that employees could use for reference and then accused me of making it easy for someone to steal the business procedures.

The only person stealing the business procedures to start a stupid contractors license school was him.

In less than a year, I started to look for other work. Scary Man offered me a position of being the company manager which I think meant that for another $100 a month, I could be in charge of the salesmen, too. I declined and said that I felt I’d outgrown the job and wanted to move on. He said he understood.

Then one day I took an hour and 15 minute lunch because I was at a job interview and when I returned he fired me on the spot. Said I wasn’t doing my job. Took my keys. Had the check ready. Good-bye.

I once filled out a job application that asked if I’d ever been fired for a job and why. “Yes. The business owner was an unreasonable prick,” struck me as an unprofessional response. What should I have said?

My first job when I graduated from college was working as a research assistant for a license exam prep school. At that time, in California, in order to get a contractor’s license, you needed four years of experience and you had to complete a lengthy application and take two exams. One was a general exam everyone had to take that covered topics like bonding and liens. The second one was for the specific trade, for example, general contracting, plumbing or swimming pools.

The school advertised on the radio and individuals, or often, their girlfriends/wives, would call in for more information. We would tell them that the program director was out and collect all their information so he could return the call as soon as he returned. This was called “a lead.”

The program director was a sleezeball salesman whose only reason for living was the commission. If he thought we could massage the qualifications and get that guy an exam date, he would want that guy’s money. I say guy because the entire time I worked there only one woman came through the program.

Part of the big sales pitch was that if you failed the exam, you’d get your tuition refunded. The thing is, if you looked at the sign up sheet, only about 20% of what you paid was considered tuition. Everything else was admissions fee, books and materials fee, license processing fee and so forth. They also liked to give away free courses for additional licenses, say you wanted plumbing and well drilling. Few people ever returned for the additional license.

The school would prepare the license application and the student would sit through a series of taped classes and take practice exams that were created by people like me, recent college graduates who knew squat about the contracting industry. We would extract information from books about carpentry and plumbing and put them into taped classes and tests.

I don’t think one person ever asked about the source material for the classes and exams.

I actually liked the work. I liked researching new materials and working with the students and answering their questions.

The salesmen were loathsome cads. There was one guy who regularly told new students, “Stop by any time, my door is always open,” who insisted we tell students who asked for him, that he wasn’t in. Our secret nickname for him was, “the Lounge Lizard.”

If you guessed that a business owner who bases his business on hardcore sales tactics and deceptive paperwork is going to be repugnant SOB, you are exactly right. He was intimidating and unreasonable and a control freak. There was no policy for sick leave, vacation or retirement. There was some sort of health insurance that was completely worthless but he never let you forget how great he was because he didn’t have to provide that. He assumed everyone was dishonest and trying to cheat him. He scared me and I did everything I could to stay below his radar.

Because most of the students were actively working, the school’s main hours were in the evenings but no matter what time the last student was out the door, the staff could not leave until 9pm, closing time. The boss would phone at 8:47pm to check on the deposit or something. Then he’d call again at 8:58pm to remind someone to turn off the light in his office. He might ask to talk to a specific person, to make sure no one left early. So we’d all have to stand there in the lobby, holding our purses until exactly 9pm.

I later worked in the back office processing applications while the regular application processor took leave to have a baby. The application lady was obsessively organized and my work passed her rugged inspection and I hit the radar of scary boss man.

After less than one year at this job, he approached me and did this number on me where he said he knew I was smart and that I would leave eventually and would I be interested in this other opportunity he knew about. As I understood it, it would be administrative services for small business contractors. We would do their paperwork, billing, payroll, insurance type stuff and also referrals.

He wanted me to be vague about why I was leaving the company so I lied to all my nice co-workers (sorry!) and left the job.

Forgive me. I was only 24 years old and completely clueless how the world worked. Nothing about this scenario raised any red flags for me plus this new position would offer more responsibility and about a 20% pay increase. I bit.

Some weird piece of wood found by the river in Orleans

I’m working on an epic post about my first job out of college. I had no idea it would take so much time to write when I started. Turns out personal ancient history is fertile writing material.

Today was back to work and the word of the day is rain. Pouring on the way to work. Pouring during lunch. Pouring all the way home. Probably pouring now but I can’t hear it from where I’m sitting right now.

Some ladies on the bus were furious that it was late. They threw a giant fit as if the bus driver was personally responsible for the rain, traffic and wrecks going in both directions. Ladies: it’s public transportation. Not magic.

They sat for the entire ride making catty remarks about the driver. They also said the driver was 45 minutes late and she said she was only 21 minutes late and they did exaggerated faux-relieved faces and said, “Only 21 minutes.”

I wanted to tell them that if their new year’s resolution was to be a catty witch they were doing a great job.

View from Franklin Park toward Vancouver Lake

I’m astonished by how quickly this time off has flown by and how little I managed to get organized. There was a moment this afternoon where I said, “Fork it. I need to goof off,” and I cracked open my gold box of Twin Peaks DVDs. The series holds up like nobody’s business. This is my most fanatical TV experience of all time. I watched every single minute of the show in its original broadcast. I met the Log Lady.

I watched through the entire series at 2 times but it’s been at least 10 years. This is going to be awesome.

Among my accomplishments this time off: I finished a draft of my story and that was priority number one. And I did have a lot of fun time with my sweetheart. We went for a walk again this morning along with half the neighborhood. It was like everyone was tired of eating cookies and watching the rain and wanted to get out in the wind and cold and stretch the legs.

My desk is still piled high with crap and I still haven’t gotten the paper version of the holiday newsletter out. Who cares? Am I going to be on my deathbed thinking: “Oh, bummer. My 07 holiday letters were catastrophically late”? I doubt it.

I’ve had a lot of instructions lately for my death. I’m always telling my husband, “If I die tragically, here’s what I want you to do.” Today I told him that even if I’m young, if it’s quick and painless he should tell everyone to be happy. Given the choice, I’d pick quick and painless over being eaten by a tiger, bear, alligator or shark any day. I’m disproportionally concerned about being eaten alive.

I went to yoga on New Years Eve and he asked me to be very careful driving home in case there were drunk drivers on the road. As I got in the car to come home and zoomed onto the freeway I cranked up the radio and guess what song came on?

(Don’t Fear) The Reaper. You know what I was thinking?

“Dammit! If I die right now, no one will know the irony.”

I live! And I predict 2008 will be a good year but, I’ve been enjoying sleeping in. Tomorrow that alarm is going to hurt.