A Mood Pick-Me-Up

While trying to figure out a way to access a Webinar I registered for on humane education (the company doesn’t support Apple products, and Apple doesn’t support the workarounds), I came across this photo. Jack Moskovita waited more than four hours to get this shot of a Golden Rufous’s brief stay in Washington. My frustration with technology quickly dissipated.

Connecting in an iSociety

Last week I had the good fortune of visiting an elementary school where one class spurred their third- and fourth-grade brethren to raise money for the local humane society. “Just $1” was all they asked from everyone.

They ended up taking in $1,000.

I joined a humane society employee in thanking the children and introducing them to two of the dogs awaiting adoption. Every child was allowed to approach and pet the setter-like pups we had.

The children were sweet and well-behaved; many wanted to regale us with stories—mostly tragic—of their families’ dogs. One youngster, though, really stood out to me.

She was part of the Special Education class and her teacher held her during her introduction. The sprite’s dark hair spiked out in fine braids and red bows, matching her striking red-and-white ensemble and nicely framing her inverted teardrop-shaped face. Her large, round eyes popped when she came within an arm’s length of the pooch. I thought at first that the situation was too much for her. As her teacher repeatedly (and somewhat exasperatedly) encouraged her to say something, an altogether different kind of communication was starting to occur: As the pooch stretched her tiny head toward the girl, the girl’s round eyes had changed from surprise and anxiety to…what? Some kind of understanding? The two youngsters, canine and human, seemed to be having a soundless conversation together. I told the teacher the girl was already saying something though we couldn’t hear her. Thankfully, the teacher relaxed and allowed the child a few more moments with the dog.

After all the children had met the dogs, and as the presentation of the $1,000 donation was about to begin, I scanned the audience of children and noticed the little “red-and-white” girl in the back row, just staring into space. What was she thinking or seeing? I watched her long enough for her to notice me and lock eyes. I smiled and waved; she beamed and waved back.

I wanted to scoop her up and take her home with me. I wanted her to become best friends with the little pooch at the end of my leash, having a lifetime of endless, wordless conversations together. I wanted, at least, to always remember the calm and wonder that came over her when she and the pooch looked into each other’s gaze.

I thought about this encounter when I first saw Marshall Soulful Jones perform his poem “Touchscreen” (watch the video below—I promise you it’s worth your time).

I think Jones would agree that in our iSociety, the invisible thread between a little girl and a pup trumps every kind of technological connection we idolize.

Rage Against the Machine

Employees at many (most?) companies consider the HR people "them" or "other." The reasons vary, some undeserved. But earlier this week I got a full dose of the mayhem an HR department can cause.

I was doing what unemployed people do with their time: applying for a job online. Here's how the madness unfolded.


Eureka!
I found the job late Saturday. It seemed like one I was qualified for, so I started researching the company.

The company was fairly large (room for career movement), produced goods I wouldn't mind being affiliated with (nonfiction books), and was headquartered in an historic town (a picturesque relief from my current situation). All good.

Only one problem: There was a deadline for applying. I had until midnight to get my cover letter and résumé put together.


Deadline Looming
I wrote the cover letter and proceeded to fill out the online application. At the top of the app., some fields were asterisked in red and a note explained that red indicated you were required to complete those fields. Looked at another way, the fields not asterisked in red were optional.

So I skipped filling in the work history beyond the 12 years at my last job and at 11:45 pm, all I had left to do was attach my cover letter and résumé. The app. software allowed me to choose any one file but not actually attach it. When I chose my second file, it seemed to replace the first one. Then the program wouldn't allow me to delete the file and start over.


Deadline Hits
At midnight, I decided to write a note about the difficulty—explaining I would try to find a workaround—and hit "Submit" just to get the app. in by the deadline. Then I e-mailed the company that created the software and searched the Web for someone outside the HR department at the publishing house to send my files to.

Surprisingly, I reached a live person at the software company around 2 am. We volleyed e-mails for a bit, but to no avail. At 5 am I finally went to bed, no closer to a solution than I was 5 hours before.


Monday, Monday…
Can't Trust that Day
Though I wanted to call the publishing house first thing in the morning, I was due in court as a witness AND, more to the point, my cellphone service sucks. I couldn't risk a dropped call while I was asking for a favor.

So I called in the afternoon and the very polite receptionist said she'd talk to HR on my behalf. She called back moments later to relay the following information from "them":
1. They received my application at 12:15, so it was too late.
2. I submitted an incomplete application.
(Remember all the fields I said weren't marked "required"?)
3. But they'll allow me to submit a second application.
(How? They'd already taken down the listing from all the job boards.)
4. They accept only Word docs.
(Not the file types listed on the actual application: .pdf, .txt, .rtf, and .doc.)

Did they think I would just slink away? Give up? Little did they know that all the bullying life's thrown my way this year has given me a new kind of determination. All I'd wanted was an e-mail address I could send a couple of files to. But I'd do it their way.

So I found a way to open a generic application on the publisher's Web site and I answered every bloody question—even if all I wrote was "NA" or "I don't know." I wrote a note about it being my second attempt, then realized what time it was.

Drat! It was 5 minutes before I was supposed to meet a friend. I called him to say I'd be late, but all I had to do was press a few buttons and I'd be done.

But as soon as I hung up from my friend, I hit the button and…the Big Nothing AGAIN. I ended up copying and pasting my files into the little box I'd used to write notes. I had no time to review or proofread anything, which is a shame because so much can go awry when moving text from one software program to another. I shudder to think what my letter and résumé looked like to the readers at the other end.


On behalf of job-seekers everywhere, I have a message for HR people:
You should choose technology that says and does exactly what you expect. Want a Word file? Then the app. shouldn't say it accepts four different types of files. Want every field completed? Then say so. If the software provider can't customize it properly for you, then find someone else who can. Don't ignore the defaults of the system. They can give false impressions to candidates, wasting your time and theirs.

Say what you mean and mean what you say.

Thankfully, I know an HR department isn't necessarily a reflection of the company for which it toils. And I know the HR department isn't responsible for the programming. But still. HR bought the program, didn't it? Did anyone bother testing it? Is it not compatible with Macs? Why wouldn't it upload my files?!

Maybe it's just my karma kicking in. But if what goes around really does come around, then whoever signed off on that application may find themselves eliminated from Santa's Good List.

Oh, you better watch out…

I Can’t Control My Karma

I still have some unresolved issues with my phone/Internet/cell provider and I have to confess I’ve not come clean with them about one serious obstacle: karma.

My work family grew to accept and try to offset the extraordinarily bad luck I had in three different areas of my life:
1. Technology
2. Public Transportation
3. Restaurants

For example, in our offices, the writers and designers used Macs while everyone else had a generic PC. Every 15 months or so there was an uprising from the CFO and IT Director about getting rid of the Macs (largely because the IT department didn’t have anyone to service them). And each time, I led the brigade to denounce their reasoning.

Even so, my little laptop periodically “acted out” in mystifying ways. One time, every e-mail in my inbox (and we’re talkin’ a LOT of e-mails here) disappeared. Didn’t scurry into another folder, didn’t end up on some clipboard somewhere—just went poof! Another time, every file in a folder containing one year’s worth of 8 monthly publications, including revised files, began to open. Frequently, I would have only my Web browser open while researching something and suddenly Word would “hijack” the browser—the window showed the browser, but the menu at the top of the screen was from Word.

I was the only one who had such problems with a Mac. (I was also the only one who could go to a fine-dining establishment and have a bug or a broken piece of steel equipment in my dessert, or be served the wrong order. Other people started ordering for me.)

When my company finally hired an IT person who vowed to help the Mac faction, my boss made it clear to the fellow when he introduced us that I was a special technology challenge.

Of course, the young whippersnapper said something to the effect that karma has nothing to do with anything. He was of the binary generation.

No, no, insisted my boss. It wasn’t just technology; it was anything to do with food and public transportation as well.

Everybody got a good laugh out of it.

Slowly, though, Mr. IT started to understand my tech karma. At first, he thought things were “operator error”—that is to say, my fault. But he came around and warmed to me, trying to find workarounds so I could keep production moving. But he still didn’t buy into the karma explanation.

Then one wintry night, he happened to be waiting for the same bus as I was. We chatted a bit before it came, then went our separate ways once we boarded.

Before the bus inched its way through traffic past the downtown area, it broke down. Everyone was ordered off to wait for another bus. This was at least a weekly occurrence for me. Mr. IT, however, came toward me with his jaw dropped.

“That’s NEVER happened to me before. You DO have bad karma! I didn’t believe it before, but I do now,” he said, keeping his distance as if my karma were contagious. “No offense, but I’m going to get on a different bus now because I have to get somewhere.”

And with that, he walked to another stop for a different route toward his destination.

As for my possible karmic interference with phone/Internet/cell issues at home, maybe there are some things better left unsaid.

"She's Got A WHAT?"

Word has spread through my family about Lull. And perhaps without thinking about it, just as a way of making conversation, my mother told her mother that I have a blog now.

"What's a blog?" my grandmother asked.

My mother didn't know.

I said I'd explain it in a letter; my mother said don't bother. It's too complicated for my grandmother to understand. But I think Mother underestimates her.

My grandmother is 97, no longer watches television or reads (her eyes and ears are failing), and doesn't participate in the community events at her nursing home. She lives in a world apart from ours—ours of the incessant communication variety. A letter to her requires 20 point type and stories that don't require much exposition. 

At first I noodled on how to explain a blog to her. It seemed straightforward and with a few hand drawings, I believed I could get the point across.

But then I realized a minor gap in her technology experience. She hasn't worked in an office since the Olivetti days. She missed out on electric typewriters, fax machines, and conference calls. She knows her grandchildren have cellphones that drop her calls more than half the time. She knows they work on computers but has no understanding of what that means. Technology is alien to her and not to be trusted. So I've got some explaining to do to bring her up to date.

It gives one pause, though, doesn't it? To think about the technology that we so often take for granted. Even I'm of an age that predates the fax machine and have vivid memories of the first time I had to send one at work. It was laborious then and never aided in getting a decision out of our consultant any faster than a FedEx package did.

It's a pity that my grandmother doesn't have a blog. Just reading her reminiscences could be a fascinating window into another era. I suspect future nursing homes, if they still exist, will have to be equipped with computers or computing devices so Millennials and their descendants can stay plugged in. This makes me smile.