The first casualties when computers take over the world: Kids and Receptionists.

Hello everyone!

I don't generally write about my job these days because, well, I work alone, from home, and my co workers are miles away from me. If they annoy me, I simply close down my instant message window and go get another cup of coffee.

Nope, no more Elsie W or Noelle C in my life.  My job's not funny. I never work with insane, stupid people ever again.

Or so I thought.

To explain what I do for work now is complicated, and I think it's a little confidential, so I won't go into detail. Let's just say I set up job interviews for people I've never met.  Which means I talk to a lot of people on the phone every day.  Many of those people are smart, kind, helpful, and good natured.

Any some of them have been cripplingly stupid.

I blame the Internet.

I've asked some teacher friends of mine so I'm not just basing this claim on my own opinion, but man...the Internet is making some of us (and you probably don't think it's you, but it might be) really, really stupid.  When I was a kid, if you wanted to know something about a foreign country, you went to the encyclopedia, you pulled the correct volume, you flipped through the pages until you found the country and you read about that country.

In order to do that, you had to be aware of where the bookshelves were, which books were encyclopedias, which letter of the alphabet you had to find, and how to find something in a book. You also needed to know how to walk to the book shelf and back without disrupting a classroom full of other kids looking up the same information about other countries.

That all required some skill. And that was skill that then translated into a job later as a receptionist or

Can type and file while on the phone

. Can't walk more than fifty feet

 in the shoes she's wearing.

Knows who's going to get fired next week,

who's pregnant and not admitting it, and who likes whiskey 

in their morning coffee.

Will be cooking a four course dinner for herself and her husband

when she gets home.

office manager or what have you, because you knew how to look things up, gather information, read, walk, and alphabetize.

Which meant if you were looking for a job when I was a kid, you could call an office, get the woman (I'm not being sexist, the person who answered the phones 90% of the time when I was a kid was a woman.) at the front desk, ask her if they were hiring, and she could tell you what positions were open, what hours were available, how to apply, what their phone number and address were, and who to talk to about an interview.

Things have changed.

Whereas you'd be a shoo in for a receptionist job if you could talk on the phone and make coffee, now you need (I'm not kidding, I do this for a living, remember) a college degree, you need to know how to operate all the Windows systems including Excel, you need to have book keeping experience, be bilingual, be able to process payments of all types over the phone, and be able to lift 60 pounds at any given moment. You also must be able to sit for long periods of time, be on your feet 8 hours a day, and be certified in CPR.

Has an MBA, runs marathons, builds websites for fun.

Has no idea what the company actually does. Doesn't know 

the names of more than seven other employees.  Uses her oven

for storage. 

You know what you do not need to be a receptionist?

Any sort of working knowledge about the employment needs of the company. You only need to know these words, "It's on the Internet."

How do you need all that knowledge and still not need to know whether or not you're hiring?  How do you need to be that educated...and still know nothing?

Well, I know, you're going to tell me that companies now have HR departments.  That's fine.  I get it.  So when I get the receptionist who graduated from Berkley with a PHD in ordering coffee from Starbucks but has no idea what the office address is (I seriously had that conversation with a receptionist the other day.  I asked her what her street address was, she had no idea what I was asking.) that's when I ask for the HR person or the Personnel department.

And you'd think I was asking that receptionist for her social security number.

This was an actual conversation I had the other day:

Receptionist: ABC Company

Me: I'd like to speak with someone in your human resources department.

Her:  Why?

Me:  I'm calling to ask some questions about an open position.

Her: Have you looked on our website to see if we are hiring?

Me:  Yes, and it says you are, so I would like to ask some questions regarding the position.

Her: You have to apply for it online before you can talk to anyone in HR.

Me:  I'm just trying to find out if the job is still open.

Her:  You have to apply online to find that out.

At this point I realize I'm not getting anywhere with her.  So I bid her a good day. I hang up. I dial the office number again, this time instead of pressing 0 for the operator I press 4 to report an absence to HR. Sure, not the most honest way to do things, but hey, I have to do what I do.

I had a boss that made me keep a sign on my desk that 

said, "Director of First Impressions."

I put it on Elsie W's desk...and watched the fun.

And this is the following:

Her:  A B C company.

me:  (It's the same receptionist.)  HR please.

Her:  Why?

Me: I pressed 4 to speak to HR.

Her:  You didn't press 4. You got me.

Me: Believe me, I pressed 4.

Her: Well you got me.

Me:  But I'd like HR. please.

Her:  You can't talk to anyone in HR.

Me:  Why not?

Her:  You have to press four to get them.

Me:  (I'm biting the inside of my mouth to keep from screaming.)  I. Did. Press. Four.

Her: Oh, you know what?  They're all at a conference today. No one from HR is in the office at all.

Me:  So how would I report an absence?  (because now I'm curious about the workings of the company.

Her:  The same way you would normally, you press four and leave a message.

Me:  I. Did. Press. Four. But. I. Got. You.

Her:  (Loooong pause.)  Oh, wait.

Me: What?

Her:  I picked up the wrong line!  Ooopsy doodle. Can you, like, just hang up and dial again and press four?  I don't remember how to transfer you from this line to HR.  I won't pick up again.


I'm shocked to report that the company isn't actively hiring a new receptionist.  They were, some months ago, and I looked at the job requirements. Sure enough, if "oopsy" got this job, it means she has a Bachelor's degree or higher in business, 5-7 years of reception and book keeping experience and can type 90 words per minute.

Pity she doesn't know how to transfer a call to HR.

The people who answer the phone for the company used to know everything about the company.  It was part of the gig. It's what made you a good receptionist.  When I worked as one, I knew who was in the office, who was on vacation, who was sick at home in bed (and who was lying about being sick).  I knew who would take random calls and who would not.  And I certainly knew if we were hiring.  Sure, I have a Bachelor's degree, but it's not in business, and everything else I learned by keeping my eyes and ears open.  I had to learn things before the Internet came along.


The Internet made us all stupid.

Now the Internet does everything for us.  Literally.  Kids don't have to look up anything in an encyclopedia. They don't even have to look it up online.  They just ask Siri or Alexa or whichever of the computerized brains we're allowing to do our work for us.


Think I'm kidding? Okay, it's back to school time...your kids are going to have reports and whatnot they have to do.  When they come up to you and say, "I have a report on Lewis and Clark," try telling them this:

"Well let's go to the library and do some research in the encyclopedias."

Let me know if you get some version of this look:

And then, for fun, wait until the night before that report is due...and shut down the wifi in your house.  Yeah, you might have to give up an evening of Netflix, but hey, it's worth it to watch their little faces melt and their little brains explode when they can't ask Alexa to do their homework for them.

Oh Hubby, sweet, silly, non-menopausal hubby.

Hello everyone!

So Hubby and I popped in a Harry Potter movie over the weekend. Doesn't really matter which one...we weren't actually watching it, we just needed some background noise while packing up the kitchen with Peaches, who moved into her own place.  (Some kids move out and the worst stuff to move is the bedroom. That is not the case when the kid moving out is a culinary/pastry student.)

Anyway...

While packing up, of course, I had several hot flashes.  I'm not a subtle person, I think we all know that.  So every time I have a hot flash, I announce it by saying, "There goes another shred of my youth, floating away."

After listening to this for several days, Hubby has decided to add his own take on menopause and hot flashes, and he uses Harry Potter as his example.

"Hot flashes," says he, "Are like the dementor's kiss."

For those of you not in the know, you're going to have to go and read the Harry Potter Books or see the movies. Or both, which would be the best way to go about it.  I don't have the time to explain a dementor's kiss and its ramifications within the 7 book, 8 film construct of the Potter universe.

Ooooh, did I just get all author-ly on your fannies?

Anyway, Hubby went on to explain how he envisions hot flashes. "It's like a dementor's kiss, every hot flash sucks out a little more joy from you."

So when I'm done with this I'm going to be joyless?  As in, "I had some joy going through menopause, but that's gone now?"

YOU MEAN THIS IS AS JOYFUL AS I'M EVER GOING TO BE THE REST OF MY LIFE?

"No, instead of joy, it's youth. Hot flashes suck out the youth."

Which made me think of this movie clip:

Anyway, thinking about Hubby's picture of what I'm going through, while it's a bit naïve, I really can't fault him for it too much.  (Except that it's also funny, which is why it's in the blog.)  I mean, if you know Harry Potter (and seriously...it's a cultural touchstone. How can you know nothing about Harry Potter?  Go right now, get the books, sit down and read them. They were written for young teens.  Third graders burn through them in a matter of a couple hours.  You're an adult...READ THE BOOKS.  Or, conversely, take about 20 hours of your life and watch all 8 movies. But, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart...you really need to acquaint yourself with Harry Potter!)

Wait, where was I?

Hot flashes.

So below is a clip of a dementor's kiss.

Pretty gruesome, right?  Except...well...I mean...here's how hubby, poor, sweet, silly, non-menopausal hubby, is wrong:

A dementor's kiss is COLD.

RIGHT NOW I WOULD LOVE A DEMENTOR'S KISS!  I don't care how much joy or youth or whatever it sucks out of me....I NEED SOMETHING COLD!

Maybe it's more like the MACHINE from the Princess Bride...you know, the one in the Pit of Despair?

Is any of this normal? Asking for a friend...sort of.

Hello all!

First of all...gentlemen...this post deals completely and frankly (would you have one of my posts be anything but frank?) with menopause. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.


I thought menopause would be one of those things you sort of ease into. Like a gradual increase in some symptoms and a gradual decrease in others.

Nope.

I began menopause on June 27, 2019.  I know this because that's the end day of my last female punctuation and the first day I really noticed the hot flashes.

HOT FLASHES!  Here's something women seem to neglect to mention when they talk to other women.  (Sort of like some of the more interesting stuff that comes with pregnancy and delivery...why don't we share more?)

I thought I knew what hot flashes would be like...but I did not.

It's sort of like being tied to a rope and having someone lower you over an open fire.  Oh, wait, you know that part in "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" where Kate Capshaw is in that cage and lowered into a pit of fire?  THAT.

I have a hot flash roughly every seven minutes sometimes. And when I'm not flashing, I'm still in a state of dripping, stinking sweatiness. I keep turning down the AC and I need to buy more fans because apparently the number I have blowing directly on me at all times isn't enough.

But it's not just that I'm steaming lobster dipped in butter hot all the time.  It's also the...well I guess the medical texts call them "mood swings."  I like to better think of them as "momentary urges of rage of and murderous thoughts."

To be completely honest, for those of you who don't know me well, I've been an emotional person my whole life. I dance a delicate little line between normally exuberant and clinically in need of medication.  In fact, back in my late 20's....(ahh...the good old days, when I was sure I'd lose the baby weight and be a size 10 forever.) I was put on a low dose of Prozac because the five days before my female punctuation every month were so...dangerous for those around me.

I'm not saying my last doctor's appointment was rough...but my doctor doubled my Prozac level.

I've also noticed my language has gotten saltier. I mean, sure, my favorite pastime for decades has been to string together colorful cuss words for the amusement of those around me. But typically I would do it in private, like in a college dorm room, or in my kitchen when only my kids are around to appreciate it.  But lately, it does not seem to matter one %$@#$%%&* tiny bit. I simply don't seem to give a %&*^&)(# who hears me.

And poor hubby. He tries. He suggests things to ease my anger, ease my heat issues. He doesn't blink when I turn on another fan and turn the AC down to it's lowest setting and still kick off the covers.  Nope, he just puts on another layer and tries to stay quiet.  Because generally when me makes suggestions it only serves to further annoy me.

But is this normal?  I mean with PMS, there was a beginning and an end time. This doesn't seem to have an end. Every hot flash brings me more rage.  I'm not in any physical pain, but I have lost what little patience I have with things like standing in line at the pharmacy or sitting on hold on the phone.

Not that I eve had a lot of patience for either of those things.

I know I've ranted about how I was ready for menopause, and one of the reasons was that my laundry would be less because of less punctuation overflow.  I did NOT, however, take into consideration the amount of laundry I would need to do because of my tremendous B.O.!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And the whole idea that I would ever wear white pants is ridiculous anyway.  I'm still me...I still spill...also, it seems a side effect of menopause is NOT the shrinking of the fluffiness.

I notice that I have more hot flashes when I'm stressed.  So here's a question: If I really, really stress myself out for like the next week...can I get to the end of menopause faster?  Cuz' that would be great....