47 Things I love About YOU! In honor of my birthday, I want to honor you – thank you for being my friend! Also, I bought a new car. Anyone looking for a 2000 Jeep? Good price, I swear it works!
1. You are all ridiculously attractive. Seriously. I didn’t pick you for that, but I’m not going to say the eye candy isn’t nice.
2. You are all opinionated.
3. Some of you have terrible opinions.
4. That’s OK, I probably do in your eyes too.
5. You are cool about us agreeing to disagree.
6. Thank you for being willing to be wrong
7. Sometimes you are not, and I respect that as long as it is civil or really funny.
8. If I’m being a real asshole, you call me out.
9. Thank you for telling me the truth
10. Many of you are incredibly funny – like stand-up funny. I could make jokes with you guys for days. Years. Can we retire and form the Sarcastic Feminists of America?
11. Thank you for not holding my unchangeable past against me
12. I’ve known most of you at least 10 years – colleagues, new friends, reconnected family, former lovers.
13. Thank you for meeting me halfway
14. 15+ years for my Burners.
15. Thank you for being there through good times and bad
16. 20+ years for my ravers. We were on Friendster together! We are old.
17. Thank you for not acting, judging, or treating me like you know me better than I know myself
18. 25 years for my first friends in Seattle.
19. Thank you for making so many ordinary moments, extraordinary
20. A lot of amazing people we lost in the rave scene. Too many to list, they all still hurt very deeply – shout out to my people on the other side.
21. 30+ years for my Kaiser ’89 Cougars! I sincerely love you guys.
22. Thank you for all the little things you did that make a big difference
23. 35+ years for the ladies that read my very soul – I can go years without talking to you and you know me so well you can finish my sentences still.
24. Thank you for always giving me the extra push I need
25. 45ish years for my family.
26. Thank you for sincerely loving me
27. I actually like my family.
28. Thank you for facing problems with me
29. Thank you for believing in me
30. They are not only incredibly attractive, but also pretty funny and scary smart.
31. Bunch of lawyers on family retainer, should I ever need legal services……
32. Random people that wandered into my life that I know will be connected to me forever – you guys are some kind of fairy witches that show up when things are pretty kooky, save me from myself and float away. I don’t know how to thank you, I’m not sure what you are, but I love you.
33. Some random chick I met on the internet because we share the same name and would up being the best friend I haven’t met – yet. I can’t wait to meet you!!!!!
34. My former boss-lady that is responsible for making me into a really good HR person (the history and soul of the company IS the employees) and launching me into an amazing career (and helping me through some really rough times)
35. Thank you for encouraging me when I stumble
36. Thank you for making me feel comfortable in my skin
37. Thank you to my amazing HR peeps – you kept me sane.
38. You live all over the world – I met you while traveling or you are a fellow traveler at heart.
39. Thank you for being patient and forgiving when I step on your toes culturally
40. You have interesting jobs – truck driver to pilot to waitress to preacher to sex worker to CEO to drug dealer to student to teacher to person on disability to actor to trustafarian to musician to professor to “anything to get by” to journalist to parent. As a person that thinks about work and working for a living, I value ALL of your professions and the work you do.
41. Thank you for talking things out with me
42. Thank you for being compassionate
43. Thank you for making time for me
44. We actually lived together – and you survived – as did our friendship.
45. Thank you for knowing that I can’t always be strong
46. Thank you for knowing when something is wrong with me
47. And most of all, thank you for being YOU
Sunday, December 15, 2019
About the false alarm
Meanwhile, in Hawai'i.......I hadn't been able to reach my dad at all yesterday and was worried he had a heart attack or thought it was real and got out his Marine Officer dude outfit and a stick and was looking for commies (he was a fighter pilot during the Cuban Missile Crisis and I never know if he is going to flash back).
The answering machine is apparently broken and they never answer their cell phone, so by last night, I was getting worried. But, he actually had the best day of his life.
Their cell phone is from the last century (really), so they didn't know anything until around 11 when they were being carted around the Waialae Golf Club at the Sony Open.
OK, we aren't allowed to use hot water, buy anything new that isn't food (that is also frowned upon), throw anything away, etc. because my dad is so cheap. Somehow, he lucked into the Open with two free tickets. They always just take the bus down and stand outside by the fence and watch through that. Somehow, he heard someone on the bus say if you had your military ID, you could get in free.
They walk around to the military tent and he pulls out his original ID which is from 1958 or 1959, at least 1/3 is missing, but they comp him and my stepmom. Some people felt sorry for them (they do look pretty bad - because they won't buy anything new - mismatched slippers, holes in their pants, home-cut hair) and carted them over to the VIP military tent. They got free hamburgers, chili rice and beer.
Of course, they try to put what they can't finish in Kathy's purse to take home. On the bus. Someone feels sorry for them and packs them food to go. They watch the game, decide to head home.
Same thing - someone sees them shuffling on the golf course with their ripped up clothes, leaky to-go food, and, not only drives them back, but puts them on a private shuttle to catch the bus home. So while everyone was terrified for their families, calling their loved ones, etc., he sauntered through a golf tournament free of charge, got free beer, at least a week's worth of food AND got carted around like some celebrity.
We could have a reality show called Roach Dynasty or Staple This House (before it falls over) or Cr@p My Dad Tries to Sell on Craigslist, but the market cap would be too small. Anyway, I am extremely happy he got free stuff because that makes him happy, and I am also extremely happy to be making fun of my dad on FB instead of telling you another Air BnB story. Lady this week was lovely - she got me flowers when she heard about our previous guests. Humans.
The answering machine is apparently broken and they never answer their cell phone, so by last night, I was getting worried. But, he actually had the best day of his life.
Their cell phone is from the last century (really), so they didn't know anything until around 11 when they were being carted around the Waialae Golf Club at the Sony Open.
OK, we aren't allowed to use hot water, buy anything new that isn't food (that is also frowned upon), throw anything away, etc. because my dad is so cheap. Somehow, he lucked into the Open with two free tickets. They always just take the bus down and stand outside by the fence and watch through that. Somehow, he heard someone on the bus say if you had your military ID, you could get in free.
They walk around to the military tent and he pulls out his original ID which is from 1958 or 1959, at least 1/3 is missing, but they comp him and my stepmom. Some people felt sorry for them (they do look pretty bad - because they won't buy anything new - mismatched slippers, holes in their pants, home-cut hair) and carted them over to the VIP military tent. They got free hamburgers, chili rice and beer.
Of course, they try to put what they can't finish in Kathy's purse to take home. On the bus. Someone feels sorry for them and packs them food to go. They watch the game, decide to head home.
Same thing - someone sees them shuffling on the golf course with their ripped up clothes, leaky to-go food, and, not only drives them back, but puts them on a private shuttle to catch the bus home. So while everyone was terrified for their families, calling their loved ones, etc., he sauntered through a golf tournament free of charge, got free beer, at least a week's worth of food AND got carted around like some celebrity.
We could have a reality show called Roach Dynasty or Staple This House (before it falls over) or Cr@p My Dad Tries to Sell on Craigslist, but the market cap would be too small. Anyway, I am extremely happy he got free stuff because that makes him happy, and I am also extremely happy to be making fun of my dad on FB instead of telling you another Air BnB story. Lady this week was lovely - she got me flowers when she heard about our previous guests. Humans.
Labor Day 2017
I'm not independently wealthy, which means I have to work for a living.
On this Labor Day, I would like thank those unsung heroes that do the work, the labor, that allows us to thrive. WOMEN. We know (there is no logical argument or proof otherwise) are paid less than men by about 25%. Race, education, region, industry - all play into this as well. In addition to being paid less for similar work, we also have to overwhelmingly manage the family - that would cost about $60,000 per year on child care, cleaning, meal prep, etc. if we were paying someone else. Not to mention the psychological labor of planning everything from Thanksgiving, to a household move to a home fix-it project, to a vacation.
IMMIGRANTS. We know immigrants are paid less, oftentimes below the minimum wage. Oftentimes in slave-like conditions. To do what you and me don't want to do - slaughter the cows and chickens, take care of our elderly, work outside in 90+ degree heat to maintain the yard, the pool, the kids, the construction, and the kitchens of the USA.
CHILDREN. Children work in agriculture, the sex trade, manufacturing. In 2017, 12 year olds are allowed to work 12 hour days in tobacco fields.
PRISONERS. Prisoners make much of your store-bought food. They infuse the asparagus in the water we buy for $7 at Whole Foods (McDonalds, Starbucks, Koch). They make your clothes (Walmart), answer your cell phone questions (AT&T). Harvest your food - for $2 per day. Think on that.
I'm fortunate to live in a state with strong labor protections, and I do my best to uphold them and try to make the workplace creative, fun, welcoming. But I never forget those of us that make it possible to live and work as respected and valued human beings.
On this Labor Day, I would like thank those unsung heroes that do the work, the labor, that allows us to thrive. WOMEN. We know (there is no logical argument or proof otherwise) are paid less than men by about 25%. Race, education, region, industry - all play into this as well. In addition to being paid less for similar work, we also have to overwhelmingly manage the family - that would cost about $60,000 per year on child care, cleaning, meal prep, etc. if we were paying someone else. Not to mention the psychological labor of planning everything from Thanksgiving, to a household move to a home fix-it project, to a vacation.
IMMIGRANTS. We know immigrants are paid less, oftentimes below the minimum wage. Oftentimes in slave-like conditions. To do what you and me don't want to do - slaughter the cows and chickens, take care of our elderly, work outside in 90+ degree heat to maintain the yard, the pool, the kids, the construction, and the kitchens of the USA.
CHILDREN. Children work in agriculture, the sex trade, manufacturing. In 2017, 12 year olds are allowed to work 12 hour days in tobacco fields.
PRISONERS. Prisoners make much of your store-bought food. They infuse the asparagus in the water we buy for $7 at Whole Foods (McDonalds, Starbucks, Koch). They make your clothes (Walmart), answer your cell phone questions (AT&T). Harvest your food - for $2 per day. Think on that.
I'm fortunate to live in a state with strong labor protections, and I do my best to uphold them and try to make the workplace creative, fun, welcoming. But I never forget those of us that make it possible to live and work as respected and valued human beings.
Camping with Otters
Went camping. Left at 8 a.m. Three hour ferry wait. Get to campsite at 4 p.m. Tent ripped 4:15 p.m. Air mattress collapsed at 2 a.m.. I woke up partially impaled on a Madrona at 3 a.m. Chipmunk attacked at 5 a.m. Were camped in the all unhappy-infant section who were being "looked after" by drunk Uncle Billy from 5 p.m. to 10 a.m. Fire failed to light. Then consumed (entirely - like ashes, food go bye bye) our food after Uncle Billy "loaned" us some lighter fluid and made fire arcs with my lighter and bug spray. Offers me a bag of fire Cheetos at 7 a.m. that I consume while stitching up my leg and railing Benadryl. However, coming home on the ferry, I see a guy with a t-shirt that said, "I have mixed drinks about feelings". I immediately proposed.
46
Wisdom from Jen - how to be 46 and still be cool (you are welcome)
1. Be 46
2. Be cool
3. Use a lot of terms you don't understand like "bye, Felicia!"
4. Invest in a yurt-centered trailer park - in Nova Scotia
5. Try to have at least half of your teeth
6. Date Bill Nye (I'm not dating Bill Nye)
7. Get a jet ski
8. Show up in Monaco with a jet ski and a yurt, DO NOT APOLOGIZE. EVER.
9. Swear all day - very loudly
10. Appreciate your friends - even the annoying ones
11. YOU picked them, YOU deal with it
12. Fine!
13. Start a podcast on NPR (no one will listen)
14. Attempt to show off all your real teeth in SnapChat
15. Delete SnapChat because it doesn't make any sense
16. Find old GoPro and do Xtreme snowboarding and photoshop into coolness
17. Marry your best friend
18. Accept that shit will just start to fall off your body
19. Invest in good insurance
20. Care about politics and justice in such a way that others are slightly in awe/terrified
21. I was just.....oh crap! My knee fell off. Is that a tooth? WTF?
22. Did I mention insurance?
23. Have vivid dreams of Paul Ryan crying before he goes to bed at night. Don't worry, he hasn't slept in 22 years.
24. Wear age-inappropriate clothes and walk by Forever 21 eating a Twinkie
25. Every day, give MORE than you take. Much, much more.
26. Be prepared to have no one give a shit
27. Discover the rumors about yourself - waay better than reality
28. Try to make real life match rumors
29. Opt for the rumors
30. Call a snarky teenager out in public if they are being mean
31. Travel everywhere. Anywhere.
32. Appreciate your totally insane family
33. They think you are batshit crazy too
34. See EVERY show
35. Twice
36. Date a drummer at least once
37. Break up with the drummer
38. Start your own band
39. Write your own book
40. Start your own religion
41. Leave it
42. Start to see the patterns in life and embrace their logic
43. Let some friends go - they were there when you needed them and it is OK to release them
44. Swim. Oh my God, swim! And run! Jump. You will get hurt now because you are old - whatever
45. Accept you, totally imperfect you
46. Give back more than you take
1. Be 46
2. Be cool
3. Use a lot of terms you don't understand like "bye, Felicia!"
4. Invest in a yurt-centered trailer park - in Nova Scotia
5. Try to have at least half of your teeth
6. Date Bill Nye (I'm not dating Bill Nye)
7. Get a jet ski
8. Show up in Monaco with a jet ski and a yurt, DO NOT APOLOGIZE. EVER.
9. Swear all day - very loudly
10. Appreciate your friends - even the annoying ones
11. YOU picked them, YOU deal with it
12. Fine!
13. Start a podcast on NPR (no one will listen)
14. Attempt to show off all your real teeth in SnapChat
15. Delete SnapChat because it doesn't make any sense
16. Find old GoPro and do Xtreme snowboarding and photoshop into coolness
17. Marry your best friend
18. Accept that shit will just start to fall off your body
19. Invest in good insurance
20. Care about politics and justice in such a way that others are slightly in awe/terrified
21. I was just.....oh crap! My knee fell off. Is that a tooth? WTF?
22. Did I mention insurance?
23. Have vivid dreams of Paul Ryan crying before he goes to bed at night. Don't worry, he hasn't slept in 22 years.
24. Wear age-inappropriate clothes and walk by Forever 21 eating a Twinkie
25. Every day, give MORE than you take. Much, much more.
26. Be prepared to have no one give a shit
27. Discover the rumors about yourself - waay better than reality
28. Try to make real life match rumors
29. Opt for the rumors
30. Call a snarky teenager out in public if they are being mean
31. Travel everywhere. Anywhere.
32. Appreciate your totally insane family
33. They think you are batshit crazy too
34. See EVERY show
35. Twice
36. Date a drummer at least once
37. Break up with the drummer
38. Start your own band
39. Write your own book
40. Start your own religion
41. Leave it
42. Start to see the patterns in life and embrace their logic
43. Let some friends go - they were there when you needed them and it is OK to release them
44. Swim. Oh my God, swim! And run! Jump. You will get hurt now because you are old - whatever
45. Accept you, totally imperfect you
46. Give back more than you take
Free shit on Haili Road
Tonight, I stole the wheelchair from my 103 year old neighbor in Hawaii. She raised me, as well as all the kids on the block. She is my Auntie Grace and I took her wheelchair so I could transport a bunch of mattresses she was going to toss out on bulk pick up. Why did I do this? The mattresses were free! Haven't you been paying attention? I am now my dad. Shit.
Get out more - Womxns March
A lot of days, I get really annoyed with Seattle.
The gentrification, insane housing prices, armies of Amazon employees that hog the sidewalk in their $200 jeans, destruction of music venues, loss of egalitarian places like the Hurricane...
But some days, I fall in love with it all over again. Like today. Marching in solidarity with 125,000 of my closest friends under an almost sunny sky in January.
Families, women, men, big union guys from the SEIU dressed entirely in pink. People singing, hugging strangers, being irreverent, dancing badly and walking peacefully together for a million different reasons from a million different points of view.
Shout out to the Seattle I fell in love with 22 years ago - you are still here.
You smelly, weird-haired, tattooed, pierced, musicians, freaks, anarchists, queers, artists, feminists, radicals, writers, nerds, outcasts....
WE are all still here. And, apparently, we need to get out more.
The gentrification, insane housing prices, armies of Amazon employees that hog the sidewalk in their $200 jeans, destruction of music venues, loss of egalitarian places like the Hurricane...
But some days, I fall in love with it all over again. Like today. Marching in solidarity with 125,000 of my closest friends under an almost sunny sky in January.
Families, women, men, big union guys from the SEIU dressed entirely in pink. People singing, hugging strangers, being irreverent, dancing badly and walking peacefully together for a million different reasons from a million different points of view.
Shout out to the Seattle I fell in love with 22 years ago - you are still here.
You smelly, weird-haired, tattooed, pierced, musicians, freaks, anarchists, queers, artists, feminists, radicals, writers, nerds, outcasts....
WE are all still here. And, apparently, we need to get out more.
Election - I'm Going To Run
I went running last night for the first time in five years.
Running in loafers and jeans - away from the police, on the freeway. And I feel oddly alive. Strangely alive.
Went outside last night to a huge line of cars rerouted to my street and at least 5 helicopters overhead and at least 12 cop cars because protesters were trying to shut down I5. I heard the drums. I smelled the smoke bombs, I saw the Twitter feeds, so I put on my jeans and a pair of loafers so I could see what was going on.
I RAN to the freeway overpass I heard they were blocking, saw nothing, adjusted my feed and followed the sirens to 65th. I couldn't figure out where they were. but I wanted to be in. Ran up the off ramp. onto I5 and stayed behind the barricades - nothing. I could hear it, I could sense it, but I couldn't find it. I ran to the other on ramp - nothing. I ran back - nothing.
I was fully prepared to be your cub reporter on the scene, but I never saw another human that wasn't in blue. My actions were dangerous and stupid, but, I loved it. I ran like I had purpose. Tuesday night, I was in shock. I was sad and broken. And I still am, but I have this weird drive to do something about this.
And it isn't what you think. I have learned some hard lessons. I have been dismissive of working class issues. I have, frankly, been a dick. And I pride myself on being non-biased and accepting. I have openly mocked people's beliefs, and that is not OK or even who I am.
And I am, sincerely, sorry. I am sorry I disregarded your points of view and failed to see where you are coming from, and utterly failed to realize my own culpability in this. This opened up my eyes and caused me some serious reflection as a friend, relative, and fellow citizen.
I don't like the guy,l don't like what came out of his mouth, I hate his voice, I can't stand his face, I hate what he appears to believe about people I love and even am. But the people have spoken and they need to be heard.
That is the deal. It has happened before and we put on our adult panties and addressed the issues. No change or growth comes without a painful learning experience. And this was mine. Was ours. And before we have to learn anything else the hard way, I have to clean up my own house, my own shit. And I do that with absolute honesty and self reflection as I prepare for the next opportunity to move us, honestly, forward.
Keith Ellison and Tulsi Gabbard - I have started the PAC. We are building the case. And I packed my clothes for tomorrow - I am going to run. Just like a mile. But I am going to run.
Running in loafers and jeans - away from the police, on the freeway. And I feel oddly alive. Strangely alive.
Went outside last night to a huge line of cars rerouted to my street and at least 5 helicopters overhead and at least 12 cop cars because protesters were trying to shut down I5. I heard the drums. I smelled the smoke bombs, I saw the Twitter feeds, so I put on my jeans and a pair of loafers so I could see what was going on.
I RAN to the freeway overpass I heard they were blocking, saw nothing, adjusted my feed and followed the sirens to 65th. I couldn't figure out where they were. but I wanted to be in. Ran up the off ramp. onto I5 and stayed behind the barricades - nothing. I could hear it, I could sense it, but I couldn't find it. I ran to the other on ramp - nothing. I ran back - nothing.
I was fully prepared to be your cub reporter on the scene, but I never saw another human that wasn't in blue. My actions were dangerous and stupid, but, I loved it. I ran like I had purpose. Tuesday night, I was in shock. I was sad and broken. And I still am, but I have this weird drive to do something about this.
And it isn't what you think. I have learned some hard lessons. I have been dismissive of working class issues. I have, frankly, been a dick. And I pride myself on being non-biased and accepting. I have openly mocked people's beliefs, and that is not OK or even who I am.
And I am, sincerely, sorry. I am sorry I disregarded your points of view and failed to see where you are coming from, and utterly failed to realize my own culpability in this. This opened up my eyes and caused me some serious reflection as a friend, relative, and fellow citizen.
I don't like the guy,l don't like what came out of his mouth, I hate his voice, I can't stand his face, I hate what he appears to believe about people I love and even am. But the people have spoken and they need to be heard.
That is the deal. It has happened before and we put on our adult panties and addressed the issues. No change or growth comes without a painful learning experience. And this was mine. Was ours. And before we have to learn anything else the hard way, I have to clean up my own house, my own shit. And I do that with absolute honesty and self reflection as I prepare for the next opportunity to move us, honestly, forward.
Keith Ellison and Tulsi Gabbard - I have started the PAC. We are building the case. And I packed my clothes for tomorrow - I am going to run. Just like a mile. But I am going to run.
Airport Fun with Dad (and blind husband)
Welcome to "I could not make this stuff up!" 125th edition.
Picked up the folks Tuesday night at SeaTac from Honolulu - so excited to see them after nearly a year. Had to stay home from work that day for serious tummy issues, still not feeling so great, but figure it won't take very long.
Get to the airport, wait in cell phone lot, no call. Check flight status - already arrived. Hmm, weird. Go to arrivals and wait in the car.
Unfortunately, my step mom lost her purse with the only cell phone between the two of them. I got a call from the security phone letting me know they were looking for it. OK, no prob. I will just go get their bags and wait in pick up. Got bags. Waiting another 30 minutes, tell Chris to sit in the car in the driver's side, took my phone, left my purse and wallet. Waiting, walking around another 45 minutes - no parents. I call security and ask to have them paged.
Meanwhile, my cell rings - Chris is in a panic. The airport cops are yelling at him to move the car. Since he doesn't have a license and never learned to drive, this is a problem. I tell him I will be right out. I go out - no car, no Chris.
At this point I am getting pissed. I walk over to an officer, and yell, "where is my husband and my car? He can't drive and is legally blind! Why can't you people chill out?" Officer looks at me and says, "what kind of car? License number?" I reply, "never mind, forget it, thanks!" and run back in.
Chris calls, "I am down at the end of the airport". I run down, no Chris, no car. No parents. Shit. Go back inside. Get another call, "honey, I am on the freeway, I don't know where, the cops were yelling at me, so I took off". Shit. He can't drive, my car is gone, he is lost, I have no money. Tell him to pull over NOW, put on hazards and wait. Go back to look for parents. Find parents. No purse. Security tells us to go to the baggage claim, baggage claim says ticket counter, ticket counter says lost and found. Closed. Ticket counter says police. Go back to police, hope I am not recognized. Purse has been found! Someone has to go back through security with ID to get it. All IDs are in lost purse, in lost car or with lost husband. Dad is finally allowed to go back escorted by security.
Takes 45 minutes on what should have been a 5 minute journey. Dad really likes security lady and is telling her all about Hawaii. He doesn't want to leave because she is so nice (and a total hottie). By now, it has been 3 hours. Chris is somewhere in Des Moines on the highway with my car and money on the side of the road with the hazzards on. For 3 hours. Wait, there is more!
Decide the only way to find Chris is via GPS while in a taxi with a driver that isn't real keen on this situation. Driver drives around the airport, freeway, airport again - finally find my car with the hazards on the side of the road. Shove obscene amounts of money in cab driver's hand. Drive home at 85 mph just daring someone to stop me. The end.
Air BnB Guy Restores My Faith in Humanity
So, Air BnB has restored my faith in humanity - really.
Recently divorced white guy from rural Minnesota decided to take his kids on a trip to Seattle to bond. Poor guy - daughter is 12 and son is 14 - they are pretty much destined to hate him for a few years. He had been emailing me for months - worried about details, asking for recommendations, scared because he has never used Air BnB, worried about the safety of his kids.
I was getting annoyed, frankly. Dude, I am not a travel agency. Show up, sleep, take a shower, make some coffee and eat a granola bar and get on with your life.Try not to pound holes in my walls and leave dead rodents and dubious sex toys - I am a simple person.
They arrive, and at this point, I kind of have a vested interest in them having a good vacation - like I am worried about them. He was what he looked like - grizzled guy, my age, strong Minnesota accent, working class, gruff.
We spoke intermittently, I offered suggestions on places to eat, visit, talked to the kids a few times. I jokingly offered him a beer if he needed to get away from the kids and watch the news (we don't have a tv in the rental and he was jonesing hard).
He took me up on it Tuesday night. Knocked on the front door looking as much like a man that could use a drink as I have ever seen. We watched the news, I gave him a beer, then another. Chris was trying to sleep, so we went out on the patio to talk. We talked politics, gender issues, class, technology, society, family dynamics. He was sincerely worried his 12 year old daughter hated him. Maybe because it was 2 a.m. at this point, so I told him that she probably did and would get over it, but it was going to take a few years.
I had spent a few years in Minnesota with my mom for reasons related to my parents' divorce that I still don't entirely understand (NO ONE moves to Minnesota from Hawai'i without a very good reason - we had no family there, no connections, people had to wear shoes WITH socks - not my scene) and we talked about the old music scene.
\
We made Minnesota ties fast - both my mom and I are pretty social people. I actually met some of my best friends there and so did she (Deborah Healey). I remembered Paigey and Chrissie F and I going to shows in downtown and uptown, hanging out at Northern Lights record store, smoking cloves, getting into the 7th Street Entry and other music venues to see shows. We were 12. No one asked. Because a punker wearing braces with a shaved head, and anarchy sign in marker on her face smoking a clove looks a lot like an 18 year old, I guess.
Minnesota was hard for me, but I did get an intense appreciation for protest music. And causing mischief. And the people. So, Jason and I (our guest) had some heated conversation and some really cool insights.
I guess I was impressed when he said, several times, "Wait. I want to hear your perspective." I don't even say that often enough. Longest stay we have had - 7 days. No one died, no clear signs of property destruction - I am happy.
Today, as they were leaving, he confessed that he hasn't been on a plane since 9/11 and was terrified (they took the train here). He also told me he had filled the holes in the walls created by my other interesting guests, fixed the damn shower door (been broken for a year - so old, there are no parts), and washed "the linens". I almost cried. I asked the kids if things were better or worse after spending the week with their dad. They both said, "Better. A little better".
Dads are hard. I'm going to get bossed around by mine and expect a battle of wills when I insist on some changes after he recovers from surgery on his spine next month. It sure isn't going to be a relaxing vacation in Hawai'i, but for me, it never is. I am always grateful for thoughtful conversations and spirited debate. To have potentially seen a change in circumstance and belief is a freaking wet dream for me. To have a relative stranger, with whom I have almost nothing in common, show me that kindness was beyond touching.
Now, I am going to take a shower. Because I can finally close the damn door.
Recently divorced white guy from rural Minnesota decided to take his kids on a trip to Seattle to bond. Poor guy - daughter is 12 and son is 14 - they are pretty much destined to hate him for a few years. He had been emailing me for months - worried about details, asking for recommendations, scared because he has never used Air BnB, worried about the safety of his kids.
I was getting annoyed, frankly. Dude, I am not a travel agency. Show up, sleep, take a shower, make some coffee and eat a granola bar and get on with your life.Try not to pound holes in my walls and leave dead rodents and dubious sex toys - I am a simple person.
They arrive, and at this point, I kind of have a vested interest in them having a good vacation - like I am worried about them. He was what he looked like - grizzled guy, my age, strong Minnesota accent, working class, gruff.
We spoke intermittently, I offered suggestions on places to eat, visit, talked to the kids a few times. I jokingly offered him a beer if he needed to get away from the kids and watch the news (we don't have a tv in the rental and he was jonesing hard).
He took me up on it Tuesday night. Knocked on the front door looking as much like a man that could use a drink as I have ever seen. We watched the news, I gave him a beer, then another. Chris was trying to sleep, so we went out on the patio to talk. We talked politics, gender issues, class, technology, society, family dynamics. He was sincerely worried his 12 year old daughter hated him. Maybe because it was 2 a.m. at this point, so I told him that she probably did and would get over it, but it was going to take a few years.
I had spent a few years in Minnesota with my mom for reasons related to my parents' divorce that I still don't entirely understand (NO ONE moves to Minnesota from Hawai'i without a very good reason - we had no family there, no connections, people had to wear shoes WITH socks - not my scene) and we talked about the old music scene.
\
We made Minnesota ties fast - both my mom and I are pretty social people. I actually met some of my best friends there and so did she (Deborah Healey). I remembered Paigey and Chrissie F and I going to shows in downtown and uptown, hanging out at Northern Lights record store, smoking cloves, getting into the 7th Street Entry and other music venues to see shows. We were 12. No one asked. Because a punker wearing braces with a shaved head, and anarchy sign in marker on her face smoking a clove looks a lot like an 18 year old, I guess.
Minnesota was hard for me, but I did get an intense appreciation for protest music. And causing mischief. And the people. So, Jason and I (our guest) had some heated conversation and some really cool insights.
I guess I was impressed when he said, several times, "Wait. I want to hear your perspective." I don't even say that often enough. Longest stay we have had - 7 days. No one died, no clear signs of property destruction - I am happy.
Today, as they were leaving, he confessed that he hasn't been on a plane since 9/11 and was terrified (they took the train here). He also told me he had filled the holes in the walls created by my other interesting guests, fixed the damn shower door (been broken for a year - so old, there are no parts), and washed "the linens". I almost cried. I asked the kids if things were better or worse after spending the week with their dad. They both said, "Better. A little better".
Dads are hard. I'm going to get bossed around by mine and expect a battle of wills when I insist on some changes after he recovers from surgery on his spine next month. It sure isn't going to be a relaxing vacation in Hawai'i, but for me, it never is. I am always grateful for thoughtful conversations and spirited debate. To have potentially seen a change in circumstance and belief is a freaking wet dream for me. To have a relative stranger, with whom I have almost nothing in common, show me that kindness was beyond touching.
Now, I am going to take a shower. Because I can finally close the damn door.
Friday, April 4, 2014
Dear India's Mom
Dear India's mom,
You don't know me, but I know you.
I know you are from South Africa. I know you probably have some major issues around race and class. I know you don't like my boyfriend. I know you said some things to him that were so hateful and mean that you are incredibly lucky he is a peaceful human being. I know what you said pissed off my ex military redneck dad enough that he was willing, rather, anxious, to literally want to "put you in your place". I know you live on Kailuana and want to keep the rest of us dregs of society out.
I also know your daughter is a very cool woman. I know she gets things on a level that you don't. I know that you, despite your personal feelings, have let your daughter continue with lessons at a place a person you don't like manages. I also know that somehow, your daughter wound up with the only white guitar teacher there.
Look, I have a number of friends from South Africa, mainly Jews from Cape Town, who spent years in prison or under house arrest for opposing apartheid. I also have white friends from Jberg who left in fear because they didn't know what was going to happen to them after apartheid was over. Given the history of Africa, this wasn't a stretch.
I know that when a bomb goes off in a shopping center in Jberg that the shrapnel doesn't ask you what you believe of what color you are. I know that when I was living in London, the bombs the IRA set off in Victoria Station while I was on my way to school didn't ask me if I supported the mission of the IRA. (I did support the mission, not the methods). Life is complicated and things escalate very quickly when you are dealing with people's freedom or land or ability to feed their families.
That doesn't excuse what you said or how you acted to a person that was attempting to have a conversation with you as a potential ally.
Pulling the race or class card, on either side, is fucked up. When you told my boyfriend that you "had the money and attorneys to keep them off your "private" beach for 50 years", you confirmed every worst stereotype about people like you.
Intelligent minds can disagree - I firmly believe that. When you were questioned and got scared or mad or indignant and reacted the way you did, you ceased being an intelligent person, at least for that moment.
Here is the deal - Hawaii was not an idyllic place pre-contact by England. It was a classist society in which commoners could be killed for not knowing their place in society. It was, at times, a very violent society. Contact didn't make it much better, it just changed the class structure. Ensuing immigration and inter-marriage made it a pretty unique place, but still not a perfect one. There was one key principle that we all accepted as members of this society, however. It was that the land belonged to all of the people. Particularly to access fishing and gathering grounds and to the beach.
I understand that a lot of transplants, like you, may not have understood this before you came or have gleaned it since you have been here. But that access is something we hold sacred. When you bought a tract of land, cloaked it under the guise of a non profit corporation and put a gate on it, you violated that trust.
You can, and should, expect to be challenged on that. Just as you can expect additional eyes on your neighborhood. I looked up the tax records on your little street and found that almost all of the property owners were trusts (set up to avoid probate and estate taxes in the event of death) and/or NON PROFIT foundations and businesses. I have spent more than half of my career in non profits and I can assure you that I never worked in a $5 million office. Likewise, the "businesses" tended to be owned by a woman in a quasi-heterosexual marriage likely in order to claim the status of "woman owned business". Ownership was assumed by me using last names and has no basis in fact as being about 60% haole and about 40% Asian.
Doing one of my may bike-bys of the access gate in question (I don't take my car because it is a piece of crap 1996 Tercel that would be a pretty clear giveaway to my current position in the economic hierarchy), one of your neighbors offered to unlock the gate for me and two other women (one was haole, like me, and the other Asian). I don't know if, as a slightly chunky woman in my mid 40's, I am incredibly unthreatening, your neighbors are hella cool, or I got a race pass, but not everyone that you, or your charming neighborhood spokesman, pretend to speak for is a total jackass.
The "news" coverage by the smarmy and bordering on unethical Chris Tanaka, appears to have "closed" the matter with a smirk and an acknowledgment that yeah, you guys forgot to get a permit for 15 years but we are sure you have enough money to pay the fine so you can all go away now so we can have a martini. Chris, that was intentionally a run on sentence. Unlike you, I actually did INVESTIGATIVE journalism when I was a junior at Kaiser High School. I pissed off the principal. I got myself suspended. I sometimes wrote crap that had no basis in reality and I called it what is was - creative writing.
So India's mom, you have lots of supporters. From the elected officials who feed from your trough to the lobbyists who HASHTAG! defend you in social media.
I know this was kind of harsh and I pray that you are a better person than I tend to think you are right now. That you were just scared or mad or having a bad day.
If you want to have an intelligent conversation with me or my man, I would welcome it. If not, I offer you this piece of advice - learn when to shut your fucking mouth.
Sincerely,
Jennifer
You don't know me, but I know you.
I know you are from South Africa. I know you probably have some major issues around race and class. I know you don't like my boyfriend. I know you said some things to him that were so hateful and mean that you are incredibly lucky he is a peaceful human being. I know what you said pissed off my ex military redneck dad enough that he was willing, rather, anxious, to literally want to "put you in your place". I know you live on Kailuana and want to keep the rest of us dregs of society out.
I also know your daughter is a very cool woman. I know she gets things on a level that you don't. I know that you, despite your personal feelings, have let your daughter continue with lessons at a place a person you don't like manages. I also know that somehow, your daughter wound up with the only white guitar teacher there.
Look, I have a number of friends from South Africa, mainly Jews from Cape Town, who spent years in prison or under house arrest for opposing apartheid. I also have white friends from Jberg who left in fear because they didn't know what was going to happen to them after apartheid was over. Given the history of Africa, this wasn't a stretch.
I know that when a bomb goes off in a shopping center in Jberg that the shrapnel doesn't ask you what you believe of what color you are. I know that when I was living in London, the bombs the IRA set off in Victoria Station while I was on my way to school didn't ask me if I supported the mission of the IRA. (I did support the mission, not the methods). Life is complicated and things escalate very quickly when you are dealing with people's freedom or land or ability to feed their families.
That doesn't excuse what you said or how you acted to a person that was attempting to have a conversation with you as a potential ally.
Pulling the race or class card, on either side, is fucked up. When you told my boyfriend that you "had the money and attorneys to keep them off your "private" beach for 50 years", you confirmed every worst stereotype about people like you.
Intelligent minds can disagree - I firmly believe that. When you were questioned and got scared or mad or indignant and reacted the way you did, you ceased being an intelligent person, at least for that moment.
Here is the deal - Hawaii was not an idyllic place pre-contact by England. It was a classist society in which commoners could be killed for not knowing their place in society. It was, at times, a very violent society. Contact didn't make it much better, it just changed the class structure. Ensuing immigration and inter-marriage made it a pretty unique place, but still not a perfect one. There was one key principle that we all accepted as members of this society, however. It was that the land belonged to all of the people. Particularly to access fishing and gathering grounds and to the beach.
I understand that a lot of transplants, like you, may not have understood this before you came or have gleaned it since you have been here. But that access is something we hold sacred. When you bought a tract of land, cloaked it under the guise of a non profit corporation and put a gate on it, you violated that trust.
You can, and should, expect to be challenged on that. Just as you can expect additional eyes on your neighborhood. I looked up the tax records on your little street and found that almost all of the property owners were trusts (set up to avoid probate and estate taxes in the event of death) and/or NON PROFIT foundations and businesses. I have spent more than half of my career in non profits and I can assure you that I never worked in a $5 million office. Likewise, the "businesses" tended to be owned by a woman in a quasi-heterosexual marriage likely in order to claim the status of "woman owned business". Ownership was assumed by me using last names and has no basis in fact as being about 60% haole and about 40% Asian.
Doing one of my may bike-bys of the access gate in question (I don't take my car because it is a piece of crap 1996 Tercel that would be a pretty clear giveaway to my current position in the economic hierarchy), one of your neighbors offered to unlock the gate for me and two other women (one was haole, like me, and the other Asian). I don't know if, as a slightly chunky woman in my mid 40's, I am incredibly unthreatening, your neighbors are hella cool, or I got a race pass, but not everyone that you, or your charming neighborhood spokesman, pretend to speak for is a total jackass.
The "news" coverage by the smarmy and bordering on unethical Chris Tanaka, appears to have "closed" the matter with a smirk and an acknowledgment that yeah, you guys forgot to get a permit for 15 years but we are sure you have enough money to pay the fine so you can all go away now so we can have a martini. Chris, that was intentionally a run on sentence. Unlike you, I actually did INVESTIGATIVE journalism when I was a junior at Kaiser High School. I pissed off the principal. I got myself suspended. I sometimes wrote crap that had no basis in reality and I called it what is was - creative writing.
So India's mom, you have lots of supporters. From the elected officials who feed from your trough to the lobbyists who HASHTAG! defend you in social media.
I know this was kind of harsh and I pray that you are a better person than I tend to think you are right now. That you were just scared or mad or having a bad day.
If you want to have an intelligent conversation with me or my man, I would welcome it. If not, I offer you this piece of advice - learn when to shut your fucking mouth.
Sincerely,
Jennifer
Thursday, April 3, 2014
And we all wore helmets
After returning to my hometown of Honolulu for a year of figuring
out what was next, I came to the same conclusion I had come to 21 years before.
Get. the. fuck. Out.
Returning home after living on the mainland, I accepted a job
because I needed the money. I should
know better, but since I was looking at a MINIMUM 50% wage cut, I figured I
could handle, since that was apparently a “cherry” position. (Mainland translation – growing up we had a
culture of “cherry” trucks and cars.
Tricked out old Toyota trucks (with the lettering scratched out so it
said “Toy” and VW bugs that somehow held 45 Samoans) so the term cherry means
neato.
I am an idiot as anyone who ever watches me dance can attest (SHUT
UP JESS), but I guess I at least expected to be treated as a relatively
intelligent idiot in the job market. I graduated the top of my class, had
my entire tuition paid for by the state, got extra money as a Ka Leo writer and
funded the rest by living on old coleslaw I took home at the end of every
night's shift at TGIF on Ward. Please see "Confessions of a
Waitron" the best feature's story from 1993 written by (blushing) me
because I don’t like to brag.
I hated it back in Hawaii.
In Seattle, I had worked in academia and high tech and, as a director,
was able to call my own hours. Work load
demanded that I work at home at night, every night for years. One day, after working until 3 a.m. the night
before on a policy document, I decided to leave work at 4 p.m.. I had arrived at 7:15 a.m.. The next day, I showed up for work at 8 p.m.
rather than 8 a.m. and was so blurred out that I couldn’t differentiate night
or day.
My first job in Hawaii for a major local retailer lasted 3 weeks
before I literally walked out – and I don’t do that. After putting in 9 hours in the office and
4-5 hours at home at night to fix the glaring legal and compliance issues left
by my inept predecessor, I left at 3 p.m. one Thursday to hit a farmer’s market. My boss, a very traditional third generation
Japanese American who owned a large chunk of the ownership of the company, was
pissed.
You would have thought I stole the Linderberg Baby or
something. She called around looking for
me (never actually called me), put a GPS tracker on my car and then lit into me
the next day. “Where were you at
4:15?” I left? “Why?”
I was done? “What if we needed to
reach you?” You can call my cell? “Did anyone tell you that you could
leave?” No, I am exempt, I put a note on
my door and an out of office message for people to email or call me if they
needed anything? “I heard you were
talking to the employees!” Yes, of
course I am. “You can’t do that!” Why?
Look,
I am the kind of person that gets 2 years of work done in 3 months. This sitting my ass in a chair and counting
it as productivity was clearly not going to work for me. I am not Glen Miyashiro and I will never
be. Despite the constant headaches, I will always
be the nail that sticks out the furthest that gets hammered down the
hardest.
So
I walked.
I
decided to take an academic approach to job searching. I surveyed employees and employers, requested
multiple interviews and was actually told by three different companies that I
was “too haole” (too white, white people).
This kind of shit would land you in court in Washington or California,
but I knew better here and reconciled that if they were racist, they were at
least honest. I regularly used the term “haole”
which literally means “without a soul” to jackasses from the mainland who made
me ashamed to share their pigment. The
fact that I am obnoxious and loud and frequently insensitive has little to do
with melanin and more to do with the fact that I am loud and obnoxious and
often insensitive. It is one of my most
endearing qualities.
The
thing that really drove me batty, was the overwhelming drive to dumb down
anyone and everyone in school and the workplace. My step brother, another haole that worked
for Honolulu City and County was told by the head of HR that his efforts to
improve quality were great, but he needed to back off because he was making
everyone uncomfortable and feel bad. I
am not kidding and I am not surprised.
The
fucked up thing is that this culture of mediocrity hurts the Hawaiian kids the
most. The Asian kids just zip their lips
and play along and know they will be able to persevere and prosper – and they
have done AMAZINGLY well and should be commended for taking their grandparent’s
status as basically indentured servants to the managers of the business and
government world in 40-80 years. The haole
kids just say ‘fuck it’ and plan to move to the mainland. The Hawaiian kids, who tend to learn best as
a group and like to discuss answers collaboratively and not cause anyone to
lose face because they said something stupid before making a decision (this is
based on research into how kids in Hawaii learn, not the usual crap I make up
to back up my opinions), are seen as ‘dumb’ or ‘disruptive’ and they are not AT
ALL. They are doing exactly what we all
should be doing in a small community with a variety of stakeholders with a
variety of backgrounds.
But they get the
short end of the stick.
One
of my best friends from high school is an elementary school teacher. She is Portagee and her son is
Hawaiian/Chinese/Haole (the trifecta of localness, IMHO). I went to her house one day to find her
gluing pictures to construction paper. I
asked her what she was doing and she said she was completing the kids’
assignments. “How old are they?” I
asked. Seven, she said.
You
have to be fucking kidding.
At
seven, I was making dinner for my mom and cleaning the house. By 12, I was babysitting other kids. At 16, I traveled to Europe by myself. At 17, I lived in my car when one of my mom’s
fucked up boyfriends was around. Any one
of things today will get CPS at your door.
I am not exceptional, I did what I had to do. But I learned how to figure shit out and that
has saved my life to this day.
I
don’t have kids, so I don’t have the same passion about safety and stranger
danger and paste. I guess I figure that
if we could pull it off, they could too.
I could use paste and glue and scissors at age 5, and I have the haircut
photos to prove it. I knew how to take a
trans Pacific flight alone at age 6 and got to sit the cockpit with a little eyelash
bat. I took a bus from Minneapolis to
Shreveport, LA by myself at age 7 – and I am not exceptional. Trust me, I am NOT exceptional and I still
eat paste and sniff glue. But I was
allowed to TRY.
I
sure picked a hell of a day to quit sniffing glue. (bonus points on the reference…)
My
step brother and step sister told me that they had to walk with their suitcases
2 miles through Kailua to go to their first field trip. They are about 10 years older than me, but I
am so stoked that they had to do it, alone, and figure it out. They are both amazing parents and human
beings. They let their kids screw
up. They let their kids fall down and
break things and get burned on the stove and feel the consequences of their
actions. Because THAT IS HOW WE
LEARN.
Humans
learn the most and most important lessons in painful ways. They could be physical (touch a hot stove and
it burns you) or emotional (treat a friend in need like crap and try to go to
them when you need solace), but we do, very effectively, LEARN.
You
have to learn how to make up your own games and own interests without being
programmed. I am grateful that I was
allowed to fail – as a child and as an adult.
It has taught me so much.
I
need to know I can fall down if I am playing tag. I need to know that going in at Makapuu on a
big day will cost me my swimsuit and perhaps an arm. I need to know that reporting a big violation
at work may cost me my job. And I know
that I am competent to take these risks BECAUSE I know the consequences.
So
what is the coherent thread in this rant?
Humans need to take risks. Humans
need to be able to figure things out on their own. Humans need to get hurt in order to learn
sometimes. Humans, whatever their age,
need to be able to be human.
Oh! And unlock the fucking gate at Kailuana
already, you people are getting annoying.
I hope you don’t have to learn the hard way.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Do you want fries with that?
After relocating back to
Hawaii after a 20 year career in Human Resources on the mainland, I had a hard
time finding a good job. Most of the businesses are pretty small and
don't need HR and there is some overabundance of PEOs for a market so small. Those that say they want HR really want a
clerical person to fill out the never ending State TDI and Worker's Comp Claim
forms. They want a baby-sitting, dress code citation writing, quiet,
person that likes to sit in a chair every day from exactly 8:02 a.m. until 5:02
p.m. with a break for lunch.
They DO NOT want a loud, incredibly funny person that isn't that great at paperwork but can swing a mean benefits negotiation, build an incredible culture, turn almost any employee situation around, make the workforce fun and productive and can't sit in a chair longer than 15 minutes at a time unless at a meeting. The desk stuff is what I do when I get home at night. Work time is for people, not paper.
I interviewed at a company that had a minimum wage poster up from 1993 - still up. Really. I kept that one. In general, I don’t sweat the technical violations, but every story I heard, places I interviewed and worked, were walking lawsuits.
Hawaii’s minimum wage is
currently $7.25 and I have heard too many stories from people I trust about
people being paid less or short paid or had their paychecks bounce and other
more extreme violations of the FLSA, to make me think a lot of places aren’t
even sticking to that basic standard.
But if all the small business owners are complaining that they can’t
afford $7.50, I guess I need you to explain to me why you live on any mountain,
or Hawaii Kai or Kailua or Kahala, you drive a car that costs more that the GDP
of Ghana and your kids all go to Iolani.
And, um, secret is out, we know you paid cash for that tuition.
I interviewed a few places and they all told me the same thing, "Bring proof of your eligibility to work in the US to the interview". After the 10th time I helpfully pointed out that it was illegal, that, in fact, it was right on the first page of the I9 and I showed them. This is HR 101, this is not labor negotiations or executive compensation, this isn’t hard.
Look, illegal immigration is bad, m'kay? But I just really don't see a lot of people driving up from across the border to “steal” jobs. Micronesians, the new immigrant group that is most prevalent in Hawaii, are all legally allowed to work in the US because we blew up their counties testing our nuclear bombs. Other groups have undocumented family members working at family businesses, but they really aren't going to be submitting I9s for them, much less issuing any tax documents. It is weird, this obsession with the I9.
I have heard multiple stories of people being subjected to "drug tests" by mouth swab during an interview by a RECRUITER. Are you fucking serious? You are going to let some Community College kid stick his grubby little fingers in your mouth to take a sample of your BODY in an interview? So many companies drug test you would think we were all training to be NASA flight engineers or something. Aside from being totally illegal AT THE INTERVIEW STAGE, studies have shown that companies that drug test have a LOWER productivity rate of 20% or more. Frankly, unless you are Ann Coulter, who really cares if the pool guy is baked?
I interviewed a few places and they all told me the same thing, "Bring proof of your eligibility to work in the US to the interview". After the 10th time I helpfully pointed out that it was illegal, that, in fact, it was right on the first page of the I9 and I showed them. This is HR 101, this is not labor negotiations or executive compensation, this isn’t hard.
Look, illegal immigration is bad, m'kay? But I just really don't see a lot of people driving up from across the border to “steal” jobs. Micronesians, the new immigrant group that is most prevalent in Hawaii, are all legally allowed to work in the US because we blew up their counties testing our nuclear bombs. Other groups have undocumented family members working at family businesses, but they really aren't going to be submitting I9s for them, much less issuing any tax documents. It is weird, this obsession with the I9.
I have heard multiple stories of people being subjected to "drug tests" by mouth swab during an interview by a RECRUITER. Are you fucking serious? You are going to let some Community College kid stick his grubby little fingers in your mouth to take a sample of your BODY in an interview? So many companies drug test you would think we were all training to be NASA flight engineers or something. Aside from being totally illegal AT THE INTERVIEW STAGE, studies have shown that companies that drug test have a LOWER productivity rate of 20% or more. Frankly, unless you are Ann Coulter, who really cares if the pool guy is baked?
I found some projects with several
companies that reinforced more deeply what I was seeing on interviews. Willful FLSA violations notably for assumed theft,
uniforms, breaks that weren’t taken, paychecks that couldn’t be cashed, docked
pay for exempt workers. No response to or
from government agencies unless you file a civil complaint where the fine for
violation is $30 and I am not kidding.
My favorite, however, is the little game we play with benefits. So if you work at least 20 hours per week for
4 consecutive weeks, you have to offer insurance. “You work 40 weeks until the last week and we
just didn’t have more than 15 hours available to you so I guess you have stay
on Quest (public assistance)” Sorry!. This is a major violation of ERISA and is
already being warned about on the mainland in the wake of the implementation of
the ACA. I guess you couldn’t afford to
pay your employees benefits because you had to hire a pool guy that wasn’t
smoking up all day.
I decided to supplement my
project and consulting work with a seasonal job while I was waiting for more
opportunities to come in Q1.
So I went to Craig's List and applied for several restaurant jobs and retail jobs - jobs that paid my way through college and are the staple of the Hawaiian economy. I had two restaurant interviews. I saw and heard the candidates ahead of me. Young women in short shorts and flip flops chewing gum and saying they didn't know the difference between a red and white wine. Me, with an extensive (perhaps overly extensive) knowledge of wine and pairings, demonstrated upselling, ability to speak some Japanese, dressed professionally with a resume that wasn't written in crayon but - guess who got the jobs? Kayla from Florida and Madison from Ohio who thought a CabFranc was a type of hotdog and a Meritage was a city in France, Las Vegas. Have fun girls!
Retail was next. To apply, you had to do the normal, finger numbing "virtual application" even after you have uploaded your resume. I don't get the point of this - aren't they supposed to read the information from the resume? Anyway, after you do that, you play a series of video games (I think they are video games, but I really was just a Frogger girl) depicting different scenarios and you choose the best answer!"
You see Betsy swipe a $20 from the register and put it in her pocket. She asks you not to say anything. What should you do? (show video of subtly ethnic Betsy putting $20 in her pants)
A. Whip out your bag of crank and ask her if she wants more than last week?
B. Tell her you won't tell if she lets you make out with her boyfriend
C. Make a citizen's arrest
D. Call your manager
So I went to Craig's List and applied for several restaurant jobs and retail jobs - jobs that paid my way through college and are the staple of the Hawaiian economy. I had two restaurant interviews. I saw and heard the candidates ahead of me. Young women in short shorts and flip flops chewing gum and saying they didn't know the difference between a red and white wine. Me, with an extensive (perhaps overly extensive) knowledge of wine and pairings, demonstrated upselling, ability to speak some Japanese, dressed professionally with a resume that wasn't written in crayon but - guess who got the jobs? Kayla from Florida and Madison from Ohio who thought a CabFranc was a type of hotdog and a Meritage was a city in France, Las Vegas. Have fun girls!
Retail was next. To apply, you had to do the normal, finger numbing "virtual application" even after you have uploaded your resume. I don't get the point of this - aren't they supposed to read the information from the resume? Anyway, after you do that, you play a series of video games (I think they are video games, but I really was just a Frogger girl) depicting different scenarios and you choose the best answer!"
You see Betsy swipe a $20 from the register and put it in her pocket. She asks you not to say anything. What should you do? (show video of subtly ethnic Betsy putting $20 in her pants)
A. Whip out your bag of crank and ask her if she wants more than last week?
B. Tell her you won't tell if she lets you make out with her boyfriend
C. Make a citizen's arrest
D. Call your manager
I have to say I felt like Barbara
Ehrenriech in Nickel and Dimed except I really needed the money.
I have met some of the most outstanding HR
people, business leaders, service providers and employees here. I know the HR folks are trying to do the
right thing but are stuck in the never-ending loop of “the nail that sticks out
the most gets hammered down the hardest.”
I really enjoyed the holiday work I did and most of the people I have
worked with, but when the rubber hits the road, there is something very very
wrong here.
The people of Hawaii, paid for my elementary,
intermediate, high school and undergraduate education. My parents didn’t believe in shelling out
$20k a year for an education I could have gotten at the library. I supplemented by waiting tables and working
retail, taking home a pound of coleslaw that was going to get tossed for food. It would be a complete insult to the
opportunities they, the people of Hawaii, have afforded me if I didn’t point these
morally reprehensible practices out. I
have tried, I really have. I offered
free business compliance checks, a website with a do it yourself checklist,
letting people know the second I saw something illegal, letting business
leaders know about their personal financial responsibility for illegal and discriminatory
decisions they made to no avail.
Like me, you are not a
title on a business card. We are human beings with families and friends and a
desire to stay in the place we were born or the place we came to love. We keep asking, “Why does all the talent go
to the mainland?” This is why. And the inane idea that software developers
would be conscious at an 8 a.m. meeting.
Those of us from here that went to school or worked on the mainland saw
progressive cultures whose biggest honor didn’t go to the “perfect attendance
of the quarter”, it went to those that produced, not were merely present. We wanted to be rewarded for more than just
showing up. We saw companies that
offered benefits for our families that didn’t force our children or partners to
be on public assistance, care and concern for our professional development,
flexible work schedules and a legally compliant workplace, if not a
compassionate one.
I am perfectly aware that
I am completely ineligible for hire in Hawaii after this. But what about you? What about the opportunities for your
kids? What about these wages? What about your rights?
I don’t just think fair pay
and compassion for human beings is just for me, it is for us and the people
that come after us. I can, and am, planning
to get back to the mainland as soon as possible. Good riddance to loud rubbish, you might
say. But think about what we want our
lives to be, what we want our communities to be and stop taking the pennies
that are thrown to shut us up.
Officially, fuck
that.
Jennifer Keys, SPHR
Diploma, Kaiser High
School
BA, UH Manoa
Dropout, Johns Hopkins
University
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
House
With three adults and four cats, the house is turning into a total disaster. It doesn't help that I am a bit of a dumpster diver (thanks, dad!) and throw everything into the back of my truck that might be useful. Today, I netted 2 benches, but they were purple, so I went with it because they kind of match the blue fence.
I went to town on the yard Friday night with an industrial strength weed wacker and the lawnmower and my lower back (owie). So the outside looks cool, but the inside......
The inside is getting funky, though. I have had to tape tinfoil on the edges of the furniture so Bertrand (cat) doesn't scratch what is left of the only furniture I didn't find or inherit (thanks, dad!). There are giant balls of fur everywhere and the bookcase looks like some insane person reinvented the Dewey Decimal System. That insane person, is, apparently, me.
I like books. I have carted some of them around for 25 years (most prized possessions are The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy signed by Douglas Adams and a copy of The Onion signed by Smooth B). Both of my parents have also written books which makes me feel like a dork because I should have written one by now. I guess I could schlep my travel logs into one and publish it on Amazon, but only about three people would get the humor and one of them is me. That doesn't keep me from cracking up at myself, but that might be kind of sad to the outside world. The Kookaburra story and the Pink Elephant story are total keepers, though.
Today I had to make a presentation in front of the Board of Directors and I promptly left shaking like an earthquake and began to dig through dumpsters in the U District. I love summer when the students move out and leave their leavings. Bikes, tools, furniture, the odd pillow (I didn't keep that one) and a plethora of books. I am reading a biology text book, an anthology of English lit and a CAD drawing book at the same time. The CAD book is a surefire way to fall asleep at night, which I have a really hard time doing. I actually showed up for work at 5 p.m. one Sunday thinking it was 5 a.m. on Monday and couldn't figure out where everyone was until about 10 - I don't have a window.
There is a thingey that is supposed to pull the screen door shut next to the door, two broken vacuums and a pile of icky dishes I can't bring myself to touch to put into the dishwasher. Toothpaste spit and old food make for quite a combo. There is a pile of cat litter on the floor which the cats have decided is the new litter box. I would feel badly about this if I hadn't been at a meeting earlier in the week when a woman confessed to getting hammered and peeing on the floor and covering it up with litter. It is those moments when I truly love humanity. When you own something that weird, you have conquered it. It is your bitch.
In September, I am going to NY and Costa Rica with my best friends in the world. Nothing bad could happen, right? Does Costa Rica have an extradition treaty with the US?
I went to town on the yard Friday night with an industrial strength weed wacker and the lawnmower and my lower back (owie). So the outside looks cool, but the inside......
The inside is getting funky, though. I have had to tape tinfoil on the edges of the furniture so Bertrand (cat) doesn't scratch what is left of the only furniture I didn't find or inherit (thanks, dad!). There are giant balls of fur everywhere and the bookcase looks like some insane person reinvented the Dewey Decimal System. That insane person, is, apparently, me.
I like books. I have carted some of them around for 25 years (most prized possessions are The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy signed by Douglas Adams and a copy of The Onion signed by Smooth B). Both of my parents have also written books which makes me feel like a dork because I should have written one by now. I guess I could schlep my travel logs into one and publish it on Amazon, but only about three people would get the humor and one of them is me. That doesn't keep me from cracking up at myself, but that might be kind of sad to the outside world. The Kookaburra story and the Pink Elephant story are total keepers, though.
Today I had to make a presentation in front of the Board of Directors and I promptly left shaking like an earthquake and began to dig through dumpsters in the U District. I love summer when the students move out and leave their leavings. Bikes, tools, furniture, the odd pillow (I didn't keep that one) and a plethora of books. I am reading a biology text book, an anthology of English lit and a CAD drawing book at the same time. The CAD book is a surefire way to fall asleep at night, which I have a really hard time doing. I actually showed up for work at 5 p.m. one Sunday thinking it was 5 a.m. on Monday and couldn't figure out where everyone was until about 10 - I don't have a window.
There is a thingey that is supposed to pull the screen door shut next to the door, two broken vacuums and a pile of icky dishes I can't bring myself to touch to put into the dishwasher. Toothpaste spit and old food make for quite a combo. There is a pile of cat litter on the floor which the cats have decided is the new litter box. I would feel badly about this if I hadn't been at a meeting earlier in the week when a woman confessed to getting hammered and peeing on the floor and covering it up with litter. It is those moments when I truly love humanity. When you own something that weird, you have conquered it. It is your bitch.
In September, I am going to NY and Costa Rica with my best friends in the world. Nothing bad could happen, right? Does Costa Rica have an extradition treaty with the US?
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Pretty
Sometimes I like to think about all the crazy things that happen
in HR - the investigations into drugs, sex at work, violence, stalking, theft.
I think about the people I fired and if it was just. Often it
wasn't. I had one job for 2 years where I fired about 6 people a week,
mostly for dumb things like being late too many times or taking too long on a
phone call or taking too long to use the bathroom.
Of course, there
are the people I wish I could have fired - the cruel, the bullies, the plant
barfers. And like the people that are always walking around at different
events naked, they are never the ones you want to see naked. Or employed.
After 18 years
of doing this, I like to think I understand people and their motivations,
but I have been very very wrong several times, been fooled and driven by
misplaced compassion.
There was a woman who was 8 months pregnant and her husband was
stationed in Iraq. She came to me one
day crying with her supervisor because she said she was being stalked by
another employee. She recounted how they
hadn’t met, but began talking on the phone and emailing each other. She was lonely and he was showing her
attention. Then he showed her his
photo. Gorgeous dark brown hair, green
eyes, a mouth I shouldn’t have thoughts about on a 20 year old kid.
They arranged to meet for coffee and she never showed. He began texting her, asking where she was,
why didn’t she want to meet him. She
said she knew it was wrong. She showed
me the texts, some were flirty, but not violent or overtly sexual – but she was
terrified. Shaking.
She showed me another text where he said enough creepy things that
I was sure we needed to get rid of this guy, to protect a vulnerable employee
and to protect the company. No way was I
going to have a pregnant Iraq vet’s wife hurt or threatened by another employee.
In stalking cases, I generally call in the police – so the victim
can file a report and the police can decide if they want to arrest the suspect
or just scare him or her (yep, there are lots of hers). I did that in this case, had approval from
legal, documented all of my sources – I was just waiting for IT to pull the
rest of the emails so I could make sure I wasn’t missing anything.
I had him in the room next to me sitting with his supervisor,
terrified. He wasn’t the guy in the
photo, he was a chubby, kind of smelly, unattractive guy. He admitted he had sent the other photo to
her so she would go out with him. When I
read the emails, they were awful – very sexually inappropriate and all
generated from her. He responded, it
wasn’t like he wasn’t interested, and he was inappropriate, but nothing
compared to her.
When I spoke to him about what on earth had happened, he admitted
the flirting and that they had planned to meet, but when he showed up and
texted her that he was waiting at the front door, she had taken one look at him
and run. His texts were little more than
asking if she was OK and why she hadn’t shown up.
I was pissed. I had the cops there, all the pieces ready,
and I asked her why she had lied to me.
She said, “he was ugly”.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Home
Two days ago I was Auntie Jen (eh, anti Jen, where you
put da kim chee?). Body surfing, hiking
the Pali, picking mountain apples, mango and lychee, having tree climbing contents
with 8 year olds in Kailua, collecting beach glass with old friends at silver
stairs, playing with baby monk seals (OK, I didn’t play with them, but I saw
one!) – you know, the usual stuff one does when one goes home when home is O’ahu. Today, I am scooping cat litter and going
through emails in Seattle’s famous June Gloom.
For years, my friends on the mainland have teased me about
my determination to say Hawaiian words correctly. It isn’t Hawieee, it is Hawai’i with a
glottal stop. It isn’t Kaa-vah, it is Ka’a’a’va. And most importantly, it isn’t carey-o-key,
it is Karaoke or “car a oh keh”. It is usually the worst when I come back to
Seattle after localing out and my accent is the strongest. So today is pretty much make-fun-of-Jen-day. Which
should maybe be a national holiday or something. Then I could go back to bed, which I need to
do because I got about 5 hours of sleep last night and a combined total of 5
hours while I was at home. The other
home. The warm one.
Sleep dep is nothing new in Jenlandia, but it reached epic
levels over the holiday weekend. Whether
it was sand blowing in my eyes during my attempt at napping on Lanikai or
various nieces, nephews and calabash cousins refusing to let me go to bed while
they were on sugar highs, friends calling from the mainland blissfully unaware
they were calling me at 4 a.m. Island Time or just the ever present fear that a
large roach would try to crawl into bed with me at my dad’s house plus I couldn’t
get to sleep until about 2 a.m. this morning and got up for work at 5:30 – I am
officially cracked out.
I love going to Hawaii and I love it for about four
days. After that, my patience is
shot. I was actually asked to leave the
state by the Governor because I was too hyper and it was taking away from the
Island Ambience. That is the official
reason anyway. The real reason is in
sealed records somewhere. Everyone
complains about Seattle drivers, but that is probably only because they haven’t
driven in Hawaii or they haven’t driven in Hawaii and know where in the hell
they are going. I recall being asked on
more than one occasion for directions by tourists, “can you help us? We are looking for our car/a restaurant/our
hotel and it is on a street that starts with a K”. Oh my, we only have 13 letters in the
Hawaiian alphabet and K is pretty prominent, so I believe you are screwed,
sir.
I have a few rituals every time I go home – I walk up to the
top of our hill (about 40 minutes straight up), I drive around the island and
stop in Haleiwa to visit my cousins, I go over to Kailua and body surf or swim
at the beach with my friend Teresa and her son and I go to the far end of
Kapiolani Park and walk the boardwalk that is getting even more precarious with
time that is propped on the edge of the water by the Gold Coast near Sans Souci
beach. Driving around the island is
gorgeous, but always a giant pain in the ass.
This time I had some friends visiting from Seattle and New York, so I
was kind of on hyper mainland adrenaline anyway, so when the min van in front
of me started going 20 mph in the 35 mph speed zone, I actually passed them on
a corner in Hauula which is incredibly dangerous, but I was close to going
insane. I almost got in a fight at the
park because cars were just idling waiting for someone to leave so they could
park and I had the audacity to try to pull around them because I was actually
planning to drive my car somewhere. A
pickup cut me off (so I could wait until the 5 cars ahead of me parked?) and my
friend from NY flipped them off. I told
him, “Do NOT flip anyone off here. I am
probably related to them and if I am not, they are going to kick my ass”. There was undeniable proof of the phenomenon
I call the “Hawaiian break check” which is the tendency of people driving on H1
(the Interstate - tee hee!) to randomly slam on their breaks for no apparent
reason. It is endearing. Not really.
The other thing is that I generally stay with my family. They can’t seem to fathom, after 27 years of
being a vegetarian, what on earth I am going to eat. They usually get really obsessed with it and
start calling me the week prior asking me if there are special things they
should pick up. When we go to restaurants,
my dad always looks over the menu and reads me the things that might be
vegetarian. As much as I appreciate it,
I am 41 years old and not a scrawny elfin woman – I believe I can figure out
what to eat. We nearly had a fight over what
to get on a pizza when my step brother and his family came over. After about 30 minutes of going over what
toppings to get, I finally screamed, “I don’t fucking care, I will just pull
the meat off, but I don’t want to discuss pizza toppings anymore – this isn’t
hard!” They also seem to think that
since I work in biotech, I am a computer help desk person. I actually do employment and immigration law,
but am fairly handy technically. It is
usually because they can’t recall where they stashed their photos from their
last trip to South Dakota or Ohio.
Did I mention Ohio?
Not yet? Really? Because I looked at the photos from their
trip three times. Every time someone new
would come over, they would run the slide show again. Some of the pictures were nice, but they were
generally of places they had eaten or a bridge or something. Once was fine, but after the third viewing, I
kind of wanted to jump off the lanai and take my chances on the rocks below the
house.
I do love going home, though. The food is amazing – in just one walk up the
hill I found mountain apple, mangos, lychee, strawberry guava – all fallen to
the ground and some edible – squished and fermenting like a bad batch of spotee. Three
days in a row I had kim chee fried rice and papaya and li hing pineapple for
breakfast. It is a surprisingly yummy
combination. This time, four days wasn’t
enough and I didn’t get to have any haupia or long rice. In the cab home last night, I was answering
emails on my phone and I kept expecting the car to start heading right, up the
hill, to my house in Honolulu. Every time
I looked up, it was just flat, wet I5.
There are, however, no roaches at my house in Seattle. And cats.
Lots and lots of cats. It is good
to be home.
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