How to Get Your Way (Italian style)

"Let's stay in! I'll cook."

These were Mr. A's words to me on Thursday night as we mulled over dinner plans.

"Are you sure you want to cook? You're not exhausted after work?" I answered.

"No, I'd love to make something."

That sounded wonderful in theory. In practice, I had one concern.

"You're prepared to clean up? Because I already did dishes for an hour today and I'm not doing them again."

"How about we go out!"

"Great idea!"

Thus we found ourselves in line at Arrividerci, a delectable ristorante in Hillcrest, the once-hipster part of town now known for its good food.

The hostess told us it would be 20 to 25 minutes for a table. Perfect -- we weren't starving yet, and there was a used book store a block away we'd been wanting to check out.

After spending 20 minutes browsing -- and $30 on four books (I didn't ask for a discount -- recently I've been feeling so sad about the state of the book industry that I've stopped trying to get breaks there) -- we trotted back to the restaurant, nudged our way through the line and approached the counter. I scanned the waiting list and saw that every name before ours was crossed off, save for one couple. Just in time.

"We're back. Mr. A.," I told the hostess, pointing to his name on her list. "How long do you expect?"

"20 to 25 minutes."

And that's when it happened. I felt the wrath of 1,000 eye-lined bleached-and-teased divas swelling within me. And I ceded to their indomitable power.

I eyed the hostess up and down (both for effect and to make absolutely sure she was Italian), and then I let her have it.

"Excuse me, but are you joking?" [Scuza, ma ci stai prendendo in giro?]

"No."
"Because THAT is ridiculous. 25 minutes ago, you told us 25 minutes. Now it's 25 minutes again?"

"I have several reservations in front of you!"

"You knew that half an hour ago. So clearly you can't be serious. If you had told me 50 minutes the first time I asked, I would have gone somewhere else. Instead you lie to me, and to everyone waiting outside, and make your restaurant look like the best one on the block. This may be an Italian restaurant, but not even in Italy have I been treated in such a way."

"But other people have reservations now!" she gasped. (Poor woman! More how it really felt to be berating her, below...)

"I get you're busy. What I do not accept are your lies. What do you expect me to do now. Wait another half an hour? So you can lie to me again?"

People were staring. A manager rushed over. "What's going on!?" he interjected.

"They want a table. They're on the list, but I told them it's impossible, the reservations" she stammered.


"How many of you?"

"Two," I answered.

"The next table is yours. I'm terribly sorry."

"Thank you very much."

We were seated on the patio.

Mr. A was studying me with a mixture of terror and something bordering on lust. And I was going over the scene in my head. I had just mouthed off at a harried hostess. I had raised my voice, which is something I never do. I had intimidated someone into giving me my way and probably gotten a stressed employee in trouble. On the other hand, it's not that I snapped. I stood up for myself, Italian-style -- something I would never have done a few years ago, or even at the start of this Daily Asker experiment.

In Italy, as I've learned from La Divina and her friends, customer service is non-existent. There's no Twitter to whine on, there's no "consumer experience representative" to contact. There's just the crowd. Who can hear you. And who's probably just as frustrated as you are.

So they makes scenes. Highly choreographed, highly effective scenes. Always the women. Always starting with the line "Are you joking?" and always ending with a sweet apology after the results are obtained. That's exactly what La Divina did when the furniture store repeatedly failed to deliver a lamp she ordered, and when her clients made comments that she must be the secretary because she's too hot to be a decision maker. (I think it's part of the same curriculum as "how to get out of any parking ticket with pout number 27," "never call a guy on the phone or arrive on time for a date before you f*ck him" and "burn dinner every so often." Conniving or common sense? Feel free to debate, below.)


So at the end of the dinner, I approached the hostess with a smile. Before I opened my mouth she apologized. In English this time.

"I'm really sorry. It was very rude to keep you waiting."

"No, I'm the one who should apologize. That was not nice of me to get agitated like that. I was simply surprised, because I know what a great restaurant this is, and how well people are normally treated here."

"Yes, I'm really sorry. In Italy, where I've been a waitress for six years, I've never seen such scheduling difficulties. This is a bigger dining room than what I'm used to, so it can be difficult."

"You're right. You have a very stressful job, and I made it harder tonight. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. I'm glad you finally got a table."

We left a really nice tip. An American touch!

Streeeeeetch and smile

Ahhhh....

That felt good.

Six blog posts yesterday in a couple of hours...

I missed that.

Now the gears are turning. I've started jotting down all the recent requests I wanna tell you about, and I've been thinking about the stuff I plan to reach for, through asking.

More soon,

La Roxy

"Getting to Yes"

This week and next I'll be in New England for five days. The goal: attend a conference in my field, see friends and colleagues, and, most importantly, inhale the true autumn air.

But to get to that point, I first had to get the green light from my supervisor here. (I'm working part time these days.)

My strategy for getting to yes: make it very, very hard for her to say no.

I offered to get things done ahead of schedule and be available remotely for last minute/urgent problems. I explained that this was critical for my professional development. And I gave her a chance to let me know what she'd need from me, if I were to be gone for a few days.

I made it so easy for her to say yes that if she said no, that would not be the kind of place I'd want to work anymore. In which case I would quit. (Please note that I'm not being cavalier -- I value this job, but my first priority right now is to be a grad student and to consider my career post graduation; so any job that would stop my academic or professional progress would have "quit" written all over it. In obnoxious fuschia, no less.)

Lo and behold, she said yes.

Asking for time off from work is no big deal, right? Millions of people do it every day, around the globe. Unless they're French or Italian, in which that time off arrives on their doorstep every year wrapped in a big silver bow and sprinkled with lavender scented cocoa powder. Because those happy f*ckers really know how to legislate vacation time.

In any case.

For me, this asking was significant because it contrasts dramatically an experience I had in 2007. I was interning at Big Powerful Corporation, living by my lonesome in Boston. Mr. A had moved to California at that point, to the same city where my family lives (i.e. San Diego).

So it made sense to spend Thanksgiving with them.

I inquired if I could have the Friday after Thanksgiving off, so I could travel to be with my family.

My boss said no.

Not only did he say no. He made me understand that I was being impertinent for assuming someone else could be on call that day, in case there was work to be done, when I was the newbie. He berated me for being selfish and clueless. I continue to understand that reasoning; after all, it was a very hierarchical organization, and it's the kind of business where you can't fall asleep at the wheel or just shut down for a day. On the other hand, there were alternatives -- the most reasonable being that I would work remotely that Friday. And I disagree with his method of declining my request.

Well, La Roxy of 2007 just nodded and sat back down at her desk.

And then she moaned about it in a long phone call to Mr. A.

He ended up coming to visit instead.

Happy ending?

Doubly so.

We had a charming holiday. And I learned a few things about asking in the corporate world. If you're going to request an exception or exemption like unscheduled time off, make it easy for the other party to say yes. Never accept a judgment from on high without at least trying to make a case. And unless you have mouths to feed or your livelihood depends on it (which, I realize, is the vast majority of cases out there), value your spine more than a potential rec letter...

Will you be my friend?

A while back, if you'll recall, I was on a jury.

It was a case involving

--the sexy version: Fraud! Conspiracy! Grand Theft! Burglary! Counterfeiting! Computer Forensics! and a Fugitive in Utah!

--the spam version: a bunch of scam artists returning merchandise to WalMart using fake receipts.

After the trial (which I wrote about here), it occurred to me that one person there had made an impression: The prosecutor. He seemed smart and witty, and I decided it would be nice to keep in touch. Normally I would have asked for a business card, but I didn't think to do that at the courthouse.

So, a few days later, prepared for the very real possibility that he would decide I was a stalker or worse, a sycophantic trial law fanatic, I decided to ask. For his friendship. Over Facebook.

My query went something like this:

"Is it against the law for a former juror to friend a lawyer post trial on Facebook? If so, please disregard this message."

He replied that it was A-ok.

That is the story of how I befriended a cutthroat district attorney, the kind of person whose path I would never otherwise cross (I hope). Since then, Mr. A and I have had dinner with him, he's hung out with my friends at a wine tasting, I've discovered he is indeed someone I'm happy to have met, and it makes me think how fun and random life can be if you let it.

On salary negotiations during a down economy

A few months ago I started a part time job. That's one reason I've been so absent here.

After the department head made the offer, I researched salaries in the field. I went into the negotiation prepared, calm, confident. I made rational and compelling arguments for why I was worth an extra 10 percent. And I still didn't get what I wanted. In fact, the employer didn't budge one dollar. With the current economy, recent layoffs and furloughs, there was no room in the budget, I was told. I did get some measly benefits, which are good in name only since as a part-timer I only qualify for the lowest rung (and, consequently, still pay for insurance out of pocket).

I still took the job.

Should I be ashamed?

Maybe, maybe not, but I certainly felt disappointed. In myself.

A few weeks later came the second blow. Once again, I requested a raise from a freelance employer, stating what I thought were some good reasons. The answer, again, was that there's no flexibility in the budget. We concluded that conversation on a positive note -- him saying sorry he can't, me saying I look forward to revisiting the topic in a few months, and both of us reiterating that it's great to work together.

All this has left me wondering why I'm not a skilled negotiator even after more than a year of practicing. Or is this solely due to the economy? For within the past few months, over emails and phone calls, readers of this blog have shared their own stories with me about trying to negotiate salaries and failing. They've all taken the job offers, even without meeting their target salaries.

I don't know what to make of this: are we selling ourselves short? Are we, as young and eager women, making mistakes by accepting these jobs? I'd love to ask Linda Babcock and Sara Laschever, authors of Women Don't Ask: How does the down economy change the negotiation game?

Or, are we simply lucky to find employment at all these days?

Only time, and a sustained drop in unemployment, will tell.

Right now I do know two things. They say that the only way to get a raise as a freelancer is to start working for a new employer. And sure enough, a few weeks after those negotiations bombed, I got a call from a new client, offering almost double what I made at the old job.

Second, the accumulation of unsuccessful negotiation attempts only makes me more determined to get it right. So far, for me at least, the jobs with salaries I've tried negotiating were sort of practice runs -- part time, short term, or freelance. I very much hope that when the time comes to determine a salary with significant impact -- for a full time, long term position -- I will have enough practice, and the economy will be strong enough to meet my entirely reasonable demand of just compensation.