“So how do you build rapport with groups you have to work with on a regular basis?”

He stared at me for a few seconds, then turned his gaze to the window. “It’s all about credibility. Today I’ll tell you the sky is blue. Tomorrow I’ll tell you the sky is blue. The next day I’ll tell you the sky is blue. Then you trust me. I’ve established credibility with you.”

I stared back at him. Thankfully the words only played in my head, and not out of my mouth. “No, you’ve either stated the obvious, or more likely, if you’re in San Francisco, are oblivious to the weather.”

“You should come to our anniversary party tomorrow night…”

It sounded like fun. I had heard of their website, back when I worked in tech. I had seen them at awards shows. They seemed like fun people. They seemed like they would have a fun party.

“So, like, when everyone walks in, their picture gets taken, and then it’s posted to the web, and it can be rated, hot or not, real time, and we’ll scroll people’s pictures and their scores on the wall, live time. Isn’t that awesome?”

I looked at him in disbelief. Awesome? So not. That was, without a doubt, my absolute worst nightmare. To have someone take a random picture of me, unsuspecting, post it to the web, and then have anyone and their brother rate me? Oh, please no.

But yes. It did happen. Tonight. And as my picture scrolled, 10 feet high, against the barren wall, I noticed (though I tried not to) my score. And smiled. I guess I was hot after all.

Setting:
Interviewing an internal candidate for a job opening.

Characters:
Her, just graduated form college, with our company for about 5 months.
Me, HR Rep, in the workforce for about 15 years.

Scene:
Me: Tell me about a major accomplishment and your role in it.
Her: In college, my advertising club worked on a project for a contest sponsored by Yahoo! We identified an underulitized market, 13-17 year old teens, and came up with a strategy to get them to use more of Yahoo’s services.
Me: Which services did you focus on?
Her: Well, Yahoo! has an instant messaging service, kind of like AOL AIM.

She paused here. I motioned for her to continue, to go on. “It’s a computer service…” I looked at her, about to tell her that I know what it is (how could anyone not???) and she floored me with this comment:

“Maybe your kids know what it is.”

What??? She thinks I have 13-17 year old children. She thinks I don’t know what instant message is? Such a career limiting move.

When Emily sent me the class description, my immediate thought was, “We must do this. Either it’s going to be so wonderfully awful that we’ll laugh about it or it will be so dreadfully fun that we’ll laugh about it. Either way, laughter is guaranteed to ensue.”

The line snaked down the sidewalk, all women, of all varieties. Shy, quiet, girl-next-door fresh faced brunettes. Tragically hip women sporting velour sweats and kohl rimmed eyes. Older women with smart short hair cuts and sensible shoes. Tattooed women with multiple piercings and visually shocking hair. Hippy girlfriends with long unruly locks curling down their peasant bloused backs. And us.

The doors opened a few moments before 11 and we climbed the stairs to the dance studio on the 2nd floor. Once in, Miss Indigo Blue, in red bandana covering her pigtails, obscene rhinestones gracing her earlobes, instructed us to get bare foot and spread out. Her sweet voice and spunky demeanor put us all at ease. She began by teaching us bumps and hip rolls. “Bigger! Bigger!” she encouraged, “Make your butt fill the room!”

Next came the art of the shimmy. “Society’s constantly holding us in. A bra to keep your boobs in place. Being told to tighten your butt. Not here. In burlesque if you’ve got it, shake it.” And she instructed us, step by step, how to make our breasts reverberate, no matter what the size.

Next came tutelage in the sexy walk, both with high heels and without. “Step, pause. I want to see big hips. Huge. Knock over a glass of water on the table with those hips. Bigger! Bigger!” she admonished us. We walked across the room in 3 lines, bumping, twisting, undulating, and surprisingly, comfortable. There was no tension in the air, no uncomfortable, these women from all different walks of life smiling and laughing as we sashayed past each other, embracing our inner burlesque diva.

As a joke, Stas set my cell phone ringer to meow. I abhor ring tones. I don’t want a song to play every time someone calls me; I don’t want an obnoxious racket. I rarely hear my phone when it rings; I’m much less likely to realize I’ve got a call if I don’t hear a traditional ring, ring, ring. I haven’t figured out how to change the ring tone, so for now I’m stuck with a cat in my bag.

While riding BART, I received a call. As I unzipped my purse, the annoying meowing got louder and louder. As I fumbled to open my flip phone, I noticed the passengers near me glancing around and questioning, “Do you hear a cat?” “I didn’t realize animals were allowed on BART.” “Where’s that coming from?”

That settled it. I’m not changing my ring tone. Because now, even when I don’t hear my phone, I’ll know I’ve got a call when people start looking for the cat.

I recently had the opportunity to drive hours through central California with nothing but the radio to entertain me. In one particularly remote area, my channel selection was limited to 4 choices: country, country, country, or country. I chose country. One song captured my attention, not just for its catchy tune, but also because of its delightful lyrics:

She’ll start by kicking out of her shoes
Lose an earring in her drink
Leave her jacket in the bathroom stall
Drop a contact down the sink

Them pantyhose ain’t gonna last too long
If the dj puts Bon Jovi on
She might come home in a tablecloth
Yea, tequila makes her clothes fall off.
Yea, tequila makes her clothes fall off.

Boy: “Hey, Lori, what’s up?” came the lazy, muted voice over my cell phone.
Me: “Who is this?”
B: “Man, I knew you’d be like that.”
M: “Who are you trying to reach?”
B: “Lori. That’s messed up. I knew you’d do this.”
M: “What’s your name?”
B: “James. We hooked up at the club.”
M: “What club?”
B: unintelligible name
M: “James, I can’t understand you. Speak up. What do I look like?”
B: “You’re a short Filipino girl.”
M: “And how old am I?”
B: “23.”
M: “James, I’m a 40 year old white woman.”
B: “WHAT?”
M: “My purse was stolen the other night. I think you hooked up with the girl that stole my purse.”
B: “That’s seriously messed up.”
M: “I know. Sorry about that. But I don’t think I’m the one you want to talk to. I just replaced my phone today, so the phone she stole won’t work anymore.”
B: “That’s seriously wrong. I can help you find her.”
M: “How? You think her name is Lori and you think this is her phone number.”
B: “No, man, I was at your place this morning. We hooked up.”
M: “No, you were at her place. I was by myself this morning. Where does she live?”
B: “Downtown. I don’t know the street names, but I could find it again. I think.”
M: “James, any help you could give me to identify her, I would greatly appreciate. Thanks.”
B: “Later.”

While on a first date on Thursday evening, my purse was stolen. Not just my wallet, but my entire purse. Keys, cell phone, wallet, the works. When I realized this, my first thought was, “How am I going to get into my apartment?” I borrowed my date’s phone and called Emily at home, who has a spare set of my keys. It being very late, and her not recognizing the number, she didn’t answer, assuming it was a wrong number. I called her cell phone. It being late, she had it on vibrate, and did not hear it.

I turned to my date. “You could drive me home and I could site on the stairs and simply wait for someone to enter the building then follow them in. Then once I was in the building I could try to figure out how to break into my apartment.” Even as I said it, I realized how absurd it sounded. His look confirmed that.

“Just stay at my place,” he offered. I grimaced. “I normally don’t go home with guys on the first date.” He gave me another look. “This is kind of an unusual circumstance.” He laughed as he said, “And I won’t think any less of you in the morning.” I graciously accepted his offer.

The next morning, his cell phone rang before 7 am. It was Emily, having just gotten the messages I had desperately left the night before. She had my keys in hand, ready to meet me. We agreed to meet at her gym, which wasn’t too far from where I was staying. As he parked in front of the gym, Emily hopped in the car with my keys, laughing. “You’ll never believe what just happened,” she challenged me. “What?” I curiously asked. “I was leaving my house, with your keys in hand, I pulled the door closed and realized I had locked myself out!” We burst into giggles. The plan was for me to go to my home, then call a locksmith to meet her at her home after she finished her workout. Perfect plan.

I connected to the internet, then Googled “locksmith san francisco.” I noticed half of the numbers listed were out of order or disconnected – not a good sign. After several attempts, I got someone live on the line, gave her Emily’s address, cross streets, and summary of the situation.
Customer Service Chick: Please provide a phone number where Emily can be reached.
Me: Emily’s phone is in the house, the house of which Emily is locked out.
CSC: I can’t send a locksmith out unless I have a phone number where Emily can be reached.
M: Emily will be sitting outside; her phones are in the house; there is no phone outside. I can give you a phone number, but she won’t answer.
CSC: What’s the phone number of the laundromat?
M: What laundromat?
CSC: The laundromat where Emily can wait by a phone until the locksmith arrives.
M: But she’s in front of her house now. She’s not going anywhere. There’s no way I can get a message to her to tell her to go to the laundromat. She has no access to a phone.
CSC: I can’t send a locksmith out without a phone number where she will answer.
M: But she has no phone. She’s not going anywhere, she just needs a locksmith to open her door for her.
CSC: No phone number, no locksmith.

I hang up, amazed. I call another locksmith and explain the situation.
Me: Are you available now to work on her locks?
Locksmith: Yes – I can get there in 15-20 minutes.
M: Great. Do you need a phone number where she can be reached?
LS: You said she was locked out of her house – she wouldn’t be able to answer the phone, so why would I want a phone number?
M: Good point. Thank you.

And 15 minutes later, I am happily in my apartment getting ready for work; Emily is happily in her house getting ready for work. Happy Friday.

Little did I know that my usually uneventful trip from SFO to DEN would be so fact filled. The pilot enjoyed pointing out geographical points of interest throughout the 2 hour trip. Sample here:

“To your right you’ll witness the Sierra mountains with a few snow capped peaks, a lovely sight to see.”

“We’re now flying over Yosemite Valley. Look to the right and try to find its most unique formation, Half Dome. It’s called that because it looks like a dome was sheared clear in half.”

“Now to our left you’ll see the Great Salt Flats. That’s where many speed records are set. Also take a look at the Great Salt Lake. No not that one. The one farther away, mostly white. Highest salt content in the world.”

“Now we’re crossing over Promontory. That’s where the Golden Spike was placed, joining the first transcontinental railroad in the world in the year 1869.”

“Look down to your right and you’ll see where the Colorado River meets the San Juan River. We’re also passing over Arches National Monument, and there’s Lake Powell, and now you can see the Canyon Lands. There all quite unique formations, very fun to see. If you get the chance, you should drive out here – it’s well worth it.”

But if I drove, I wouldn’t get the fabulous geography lesson…

Stunning.