Performance Anxiety: $2 off?

March 14. Day 257.

There's a certain pressure that comes with being The Daily Asker, rather than simply Roxy. Not that I am ever simply Roxy, for I am -- just as you are, gentle reader, or as any atom or galaxy we can conceive of is -- far from simple. But you get my drift.

Being a blogger with a mission comes with certain unexpected complications.

Like performance anxiety.

Usually I'm fairly brazen (growing more so with every question, I fear), but once in a while I do get cold feet. Usually, this happens when I'm with friends who know what I'm up to. Maybe they can see the question forming in my lips, my eyes scanning the room or street for opportunities. And they want in on the excitement.

"What are you going to ask for?"

"Are you going to ask for something cool today?"

That's when I start to worry. Cool? I don't know! Is my cool your cool?

Besides, it can be a challenge to ask convincingly when someone is watching. How do I utter the words? Do I sound natural? What if I approach my target like a sylphic lioness eyeing her prey from the shadows of the sausage tree -- and the fox says, "Nah, not today. No can do. Can you talk with my manager?"

Not fun.

Which brings us to Saturday. I was in LA, visiting a grad school friend who's now a hotshot prof at a local institution of higher learning. Not only is she a rising star in academia -- she's also negotiating a better package at her school by doing all sorts of cool tricks I can't quite disclose (since it's a small world). But let's just say, she's gooood.

After our dinner, we strolled around Venice Beach and ended up in Equator Books, a booktique that had quite a few nice selections. Cecile, for that her self-appointed pseudonym, found a copy of The Confessions of Nat Turner.

"I've been wanting to read this!" she exclaimed.

It was $20.

I hadn't asked for anything yet, but this store didn't seem like the place to try. The prices were higher than standard for used books, the editions were hardbacks or otherwise classy, and the general vibe was "non-negotiable."

Should I try and risk failing in front of a friend? A friend who's been curious about this project, but never seen me ask "live"? On the flips side, what did I have to lose, really?

She handed me the book.

"Hi, I was wondering if we could get this for $18."

"$18? Why specifically that figure? Is that all the cash you have on you?"

"No, it's for another reason, but I can't tell why you yet. I can only explain once you say yes or no."

"Ok, then yes," he replied with a smile. "That's fine." I think I made him curious.

Then Cecile jumped in -- "She has this blog, she was on NPR, she's The Daily Asker!"

After he rang it up, I asked for his card, and it turns out he was the owner.

As for my rationale: I made my request very specific -- $18, rather than "discount?" -- because people so far seem inclined to grant requests that are focused, not vague. Plus, $18 was 10% off, so I figured he'd be inclined to say yes. I was tempted to ask for $15, but 25% seemed like a big discount for one item. So I played it safe, asked for a more modest discount -- and got my "yes." That's worth something, too!

Gained: $2

What are the sands of time?

March 13. Day 256.

After a dinner of mediocre pseudo-Chinese, this was my cookie's message: Your patience has the ability to test even the sands of time.

"I like my fortune! Check it out!" I told Mr. A. and handed it to him. For once, I had a message that sounded cool. Not "Your tomorrow will be brightened by a new sun" or "Attention should be paid to your health." The sands of time? My patience has abilities? Excellent.

"I want to think it's true," I continued.

"What does it mean?" he asked.

"It means I'm patient. More patient than time. I mean, its sands. Right?"

Suddenly, Doubt tapped Certainty on the shoulder, and when she turned around, he grabbed her by the neck and shoved her down a deep ravine. Or something. Bye bye, Certainty.

The sands of time? What kind of metaphor is that? Sand, as in desert -- time is a vast desert, and my patience will not starve. Shifting, sifting, sinking. Dali.

Or the sands of the beach. Rock in to sand, sand into dust, dust into... dust? If I believe the Bible, rather than that it simply disintegrates or becomes laundry lint somewhere in Cape Town.

I googled the expression "sands of time," but the phrase has been co-opted by a video game.

Time to ask...

"Excuse me," I inquired at the table next to ours. "I just got this fortune and I'm trying to figure it out."

The two girls didn't seem very excited to be interrupted. "It means you're patient," one told me. The other said nothing. "What do you think?" the first asked her companion, who replied with an annoyed look.

"What about the sands part?" I prodded, goaded on by their enthusiasm.

"It's like, what do you call those things?" She pantomimed turning over a-- a--

"An hourglass?" I offered.

"Yes."

"Cool, that makes sense. Thanks! Enjoy your dinner."

I took my query to the streets. On the way to Pinkberry, we spotted a couple that seemed like they were on an early date. You know the type -- best behavior, but not over the top.

"Excuse me. Do you know what this means? It's my fortune, and I can't figure it out." They smiled and looked intrigued when I handed them the slip. People on early dates enjoy diversions like weirdos coming up to them and asking strange questions. It gives them something to laugh about later, after they've slept together for the first time in a cabin in Utah and then run out of gas on the drive home during a blizzard, so they wait for AAA for six hours and start reminiscing. I mean, studies show.

The woman took my prompt and went with it.

"I think the sands of time represent history, like an archeological dig. Some things persist, for years and years, under the sand," she said.

"That's beautiful," I said.

"You should save that fortune. Frame it. Look back at it decades later, once you're married. If your relationship can withstand the sands of time, it can withstand anything," she suggested, as her beau listened, rapt. Mr A and I smiled, but I'm pretty sure she wasn't really talking to us.

Post-Pinkberry, just outside, a man was smoking a cig and staring at the moon. Craving an interruption, naturally.

"Hi. Can I ask you something? Do you have any idea what this means?"

He wove an answer -- archeology, philosophy, deserts and dunes, the earth, the stars -- it eludes me now. But it was perfect.

Gained: A fortune to hold on to.

Why are you letting him kick you around?

March 12. Day 255.

Newsflash: "Everything is negotiable."

This story talks about how patients can bargain down medical bills. First line: "When money is tight, everything is negotiable — including your health care bills." Damn straight!

It's a perfect link to set up what I asked for today.

I was working in a cafe when I ran into an acquaintance. She works in a different cafe, and we were always friendly when we saw each other. So I invited her to sit with me and we ended up talking. She told me about her used car, which is falling apart -- two weeks she bought it. Now her boyfriend is trying to sort everything out and return the car.

The dealer won't take it back, and will only pay for half of part of the repairs.

"Why are you letting the dealer set the terms?" I asked.

"I don't know. Because... it's too convoluted."

"Why about lemon laws?"

"I'm sure he's [boyfriend] looked into all that."

"Why don't you at least try to negotiate with him?"

"I don't think we can. He said he won't take it back."

"Well, if you wanted, maybe I could try talking -- I mean, maybe having a third party there, who could help you stop getting pushed around or --"

"It's okay. My boyfriend is taking care of it."

I really wanted to tell her about the blog -- and I've told people before, if it seemed they might be interested or I was feeling particularly blabby -- but this seemed a little preachy, especially since I'd already tried to give her advice and she wasn't interested. "I have this blog where I talk about asking and negotiating. Maybe you can find some useful info there." Nah.

As she ran her hands through her hair, this girl told me how stressed she was about the situation -- it was clear from her voice, her posture. Stress was eating her inside out. But still, she didn't ask.

I'm not criticizing her. First, I don't have the whole picture and it's possible they really are doing everything they can -- and know it.

But is also possible they're selling themselves short. Millions of people do just that, after all. People who get medical bills, confusing insurance claims, and don't ask.

They're scared. They're exhausted by work, life, the fear of futility. They don't know where to start. They don't even know they can negotiate. They don't think they're entitled. And they're not just women. They're Americans, and from every other country on this planet, mired in this opaque system of ours, or opaque systems of their own...

But what if they opened their mouths and asked. Once per billing cycle. Once per billing account. How much money could we save collectively, if everyone tackled one bill, one account and bargained it down?
Castigated excuses and rationalizations and demanded a break?

Gained: Nothing. Tried to help. Failed. Case closed.

Can I have one?

March 11. Day 254.

I can't believe just did this. Even I am shocked. But desperate times call for....

The day flew by and I asked for nothing. I spent a few hours in my new favorite haunt, a Starbucks with free parking and crappy wifi conveniently located next to a Trader Joes. A one stop shop.

But, nothing needed or wanted there, so I kept my mouth shut.

Around 7, Mr. A called from work, suggested we go out for dinner. Great! Besides seeing him -- which is the only reason I said yes, I swear -- I'd have the added opportunity to identify a need or want, and ask for something.

We went for Thai food, and then we decided to switch places for dessert. We ended up at IHOP. I still hadn't asked.

We ordered -- two fried cheesecakes with bananas, strawberries and caramel sauce -- and still, nothing.

At a certain point as we waited for our desserts, I don't know what motivated me to do this, but I turned around and glanced at the booth behind me. There was a woman, a woman with long black hair, waiting for her date to come back from the bathroom. This woman had just received a basket of mixed appetizers and a few entrees. Appetizing appetizers. And then, before it was too late, before whatever accursed boldness melted away like the butter on her pancakes... I asked.

"At the risk of sounding very rude or strange, could I please try an onion ring?"

She froze. I froze.

"I'm just curious how they are," I added, as if that could make the supreme discomfort shared by both of us somehow fritter away.

She daintily reached for the one sitting on top of the pile and handed it to me. Much easier than arguing with the crazy lady.

"Thank you," I replied, and smiled. She turned back to her food. Her hubby came back and they spoke in hushed tones in a foreign language.

Not the reaction I was hoping for. Maybe a laugh, a "Sure, they're totally addictive!" or "Only if you trade me for a bite of your dessert, hardy har!" Instead, I think she thought I was very odd indeed, or making fun of her.

Once again, tested the limits of propriety and social decorum. Sank where I never thought I'd sink before. Mortified myself, my dinner companion, and an innocent diner. But gained: a yummy onion ring!

Privacy check

March 10. Day 253.

Today's asking was short and sweet: I checked with a potential employer if she plans on respecting my privacy.

A few weeks ago, I saw an flyer at a cafe that said, "Amateur actors needed for short movie. This will be used for psychology dissertation research. $15/hour." I don't usually reply to such signs -- in fact, I don't think I ever have before -- but I wrote an email saying I was curious to learn about the project. I also disclosed that I have zero acting experience.

Today, I got an answer with more details. It would involve learning a script and then shooting for about three hours, and it could happen anywhere. I'd be playing a psychiatric patient, and I'd have to -- get this -- ask/request/demand something of my therapist, over a webcam. The doctoral student would then show my video to a group of doctors and get their reactions. I'm not sure what her overall project is but... Wow! How perfect! I can now add another tool in this bag of negotiation tricks: psychotic supplication.

Anyway, I replied yes, sign me up, but I checked that I'd be identified as an actor (in a disclaimer or in the credits, whatev). What with Youtube, and more than a few aquaintances and friends who work in the field, I wouldn't want there to be any confusion.

Gained: Could be my big break on the little screen! Or at least a cool new experience. Bring. It. On.

Stop spamming me? And give me more work?

March 9. Day 252.

I just got off the phone with Rob Appel. He's a spammer. The theater spammer.

After sending a few emails asking him to unsubscribe me, to no avail, today his message appeared, and I decided to give him a call. Maybe all it took was some personal contact.

He didn't pick up, so I left this message:

Hello. This message is for the person sending emails from the address raoulappel@aol.com. My name is La Roxy, and I have emailed you multiple times to request that you remove me from your theater email list. You have not done that, so now I am taking the additional step of calling you. Please remove me from your email list. My email is thedailyasker@gmail.com. That's L as in leave me alone, A as in abstain, R as restraining, O as in order, X as in exasperating, Y as in yuckie, at gmail dot com. I look forward to not getting your messages again. Thank you. (only I used my actual email, and the acronyms weren't quite that mean.)

You may wonder why I don't just filter his address. That would be easy, and it's my next step. But since I'm exploring different types of requests, I think this is a perfectly valid extension of this experiment: see if a thoughtless parasite, aka spammer, responds better to a telephone inquiry than he does to email. Stay tuned for the riveting results.

Before earlier today, I asked for something that will pay off in a few months. Since my grad school stipend ends soon, until I land a full time job I need something to tide me over. So I emailed the various clients I do freelance work for and offered to pick up some new projects. This is until my exciting new career picks up -- or perhaps in parallel with it.

Gained: one more step toward gainful employment.

On giving. And, would you participate in my focus group?

March 8. Day 251.

Once in a while, I get asked, too: for advice, help, a ride.

And I enjoy saying yes. (Yeah yeah, I know, you, yes you, you know who you are, you're rolling your eyes and muttering "magnanimous my arse" because I told you no last [Tuesday/month/year]. Well... fiddle dee dee.)

Actually, being an asker, a taker, a requester -- an opportunist of sorts, really -- has changed the way I view giving. It's become slightly more nuanced in my mind. Some people give out of obligation, guilt, a sense of quid pro quo; some give out of necessity or responsibility (whether personal or global, whether socially or personally imposed), others motivated by love, affection & co, and many others -- many people who I've encountered through this project, I gather -- give because it's fun. It's empowering. It's a break from the routine and a chance to exercise one's autonomy. A chance to make someone's day. And if you can do that... why wouldn't you?!

There are overlaps between these loose categories, and I haven't given it much thought, as you can doubtless see. But all this to say, maybe starting July 1 I'll launch a new project: the daily giver. Try to give something to someone, every day for a year. Advice, $1, a book, a donut, a haircut, a break, a lecture, a loan.

Just a thought.

What do you think? If you had to generalize, would you say you prefer giving or receiving? What about: prefer asking or answering? What's easier for you?

***

And now, back to our regularly schedule programming:

Around midnight Sunday, March 8, my life changed.

I realized with a jolt what I'm going to do with my life.

I have a career path. I have a PLAN. I have a future.

And... I can't tell you what it is.

SORRY! It's just that if I write it here, possible employers may find the blog, now or later; I can't take that risk. Let's just say it involves writing and people. It puts my degree to use in an interesting way. It challenges me, and exploits what I do best. And I will be free. Not glued to a chair all day. Not working weekends unless I want to. Not stuck in committee meetings and filling out expense reports. Not working for free. But free.

It was a cumulative revelation, built on several smaller ones, and by Sunday night it was screaming for attention.

It dawned on me when a friend asked for input on his business plan for a competition. Mr. A and I listened to his proposal, which is great, and bounced some ideas back and forth.

And as that conversation unfolded, my own ideas on this path to gainful employment crystallized.

So I asked Mr. A and this friend if I could tell them about my plan, and they said they think it could work. Then I looked online for domain names and found a few available possibilities. I asked for more feedback, on potential names, and narrowed it down to two, which I'll register.

The whole plan is still just a twinkle in my eye.

And I still have the dissertation to finish.

But it's a start.

Gained: Confirmation, from a mini-focus group, that the service I intend to offer could be unique, useful and alluring. I could jump right in, or use it as a backup plan. Either way... yay!!!