Where are my keys?

The three biggest all time self-inflected time wasters in my life, in order of most to least offensive.

1. Not getting enough sleep, which leads to exhaustion the next day and general inefficiency.
2. Living in Massachussets.
3. Searching for keys.

Solutions:

I'll never escape #1. I'm resigned to being a night owl and feeling tired if I have to get up early. That is that.

To fix #2, I moved back to California. (Any readers from Mass, out there, don't take this the wrong way. I adore ye, the good people of Mass. I even like the drivers -- aggression beats distracted Californians any day, because at least those behaviors are predictable. What got to me were the institutions: long lines, endless bureaucracy, for what? A chance to live in a state with huge income tax, blue laws, and the audacity to tow people during snow storms 30 minutes after the snow emergency announcement? Puhlease.)

I thought I had solved #3. Until Sunday.

Since moving into my house last year, I've developed have a key ritual. Unlock door, push it open, remove key, close door, and put the key on the bookcase by the door.

Always.

Sunday, I spent the day around town. Mr. A and I went to the theater with my mom, then the superbowl at his friend's house, and finally watched a movie (When in Rome: lame!). When I got home, I realized he'd been driving the whole time and my keys were missing.

I checked both purses, I checked the car, I checked every possible pocket, scoured the house, I even looked in the trash, I tried some places again, and finally I turned to Mr. A and basically whimpered.

"Have you seen my keys? I've been looking everywhere. Do you mind helping me look?"

He was working, deadline looming, so I felt bad to interrupt him. But I was getting frantic. Work the next day, and it was late.

Mr. A did the same thing, we retraced my steps in the past 24 hours and just when he was about to open the trash bin, I found them.

In my purse. The tiny purse I'd been wearing all day. And had checked. Twice.

Huge chunky monumental key ring. Tiny purse.

Some days.

[image above, representing what my brain was doing while my body was working so hard to find the keys, via tumblr]

A night at the opera

[Behind on postings, not asking, because I've been busy in the best way possible: happily writing!! dissertation and various career related endeavors. Now digging out for a bit, and even happier that this is how I get to spend my break.]

Back to Friday:

Gentle reader.

Sit back and listen to a tale of two lovers separated by the cruelest of circumstances. Discover how the kindness of a stranger brought them together and then fate again intervened to tear them asunder. Witness the anguish of a mother watching her daughter's heart break at the thought of being torn from the bosom of her beloved. At last, smile in relief when a twist of ingenuity allows the two lovebirds to be reunited and, after some comical hijinks, to die of tuberculosis. The end.

Minus the TB, that's not the plot of a famous opera but of how our evening unfolded at the opera.
Mr. A, my mumsie and I went to see La Boheme.

I had bought our tickets in early December, which was very late: Almost everything was sold out, for every performance. We had a few choices: Upgrade to the next level, where tickets were $70 a pop. Skip it. Or sit separately. We opted for the latter.
But instead of settling for that, Mr. A and I tried neverthless to wrangle two empty seats next to one another. (Mom was happy and cozy at the end of a row, so we didn't search for three.)
First Mr. A found a friendly usher, who he told us he'll zero in on any pair of empty seats right after the doors close and escort us there.
That usher disappeared.

Next, I spotted another usher and asked the same thing.

"I can't do that. You need to take your seats before the doors close."

"Ok!" I said obediently and backed away. Then, turning to Mr. A: "Where's your guy? We need to stick with him."

Usher 2 may have heard, or he was simply being vigilant, because he asked us to sit down.

"It's ok, thanks," I said. "Another usher is helping us now."

He backed off. We waited 15 minutes for the doors to close, and lo and behold, pairs of empty seats emerged here and there. Usher 1 led us to the best pair and we sat.

The rest of the night (we got displaced when latecomers arrived, sat apart for a few acts and finally moved down a floor after spotting some open seats there) is not really worth reporting in greater detail. Other than to say that the opera rocked.

But this is just a reminder of two tenets of asking.

1) Persist. If there's something you really want, why not try again?

2) It's a crapshoot. Asking for a phone credit? Need a fee waived? Want to sit next to your amore at the opera? Depends entirely on who you come across. (Which reinforces #1)

[image via tumblr]

Pull your lip over your head and swallow?

This is just twisted.

Has nothing to do with asking but I have to post it. A guy got sued. For taking pictures on a public street and then selling them.

"Mike Hipple took photos of Dance Steps on Broadway, a public art installation on sidewalks in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood. The photos earned him $60 and now a lawsuit from sculptor Jack Mackie."

The full story is here.

Huh???

Does anyone else find this dirty -- in a bad way!?!

Got the scoop via overlawyered.

As for asking... stay tuned. Nothing yet. I have 13.5 hours to go before the day is over. Maybe I'll ask that fool to lay off Hipple. Want to join me?

From the sculptor's website, here's his cell (206.550.1493) and email (j-m@qwestoffice.net).

Attention Daily Asker Readers: Free resume edit

Dear Carolyn, Callie, and anyone else who's interested,

If you're looking for a job and you have a resume and cover letter you're grappling with, send them my way. I'll be happy to edit them.

That's the offer I extended to the people of Craigslist, and there's no reason I wouldn't do the same for my amazing readers!!

Email your materials to thedailyasker [at] gmail and include this:

1. a very brief overview of the position you're aiming for
2. if applicable, any issues/concerns you have with your current resume/letter
3. a phone number where I can reach you (feel free to mask your address, but phone is useful if I have questions and better than email for these kinds of things)

Everything you give me is confidential. I will never use your materials, emails or name to promote my resume editing services, as a sample, as a blog post, whatever.

So what are you waiting for!?

Send them in!

[unrelated awesome image of tyroleans gettin jiggy, via ffffound]

Have I got a deal for you

Faster than you can say "Satisfaction guaranteed!" I have turned into something I never thought I'd become.

A salesperson.

As in, "I'm in sales!!!!!!"

You know the type. The guys have those awfully kempt hairstyles and tuck their polo shirts around their beer bellies. The girls are don Tiffany and, more often than not, carry around pharmaceutical samples. The worst kind gets up in your face and presumes to "read" you by correlating the visual clues you offer with the little checkboxes in his brain. "Woman. Late twenties. Said 'I love my lab' into cell phone. Thus a good bet for the puppy print flannel sheets."

With the good ones, it's like you've made a friend only at the end of the chat you're sliding a day's pay for something you didn't know you needed. Until you realize you did. And once you do realize that, you're back for more.

Both of these models are antithetical to how I've always viewed myself: authentic, straight talker, niche (versus mass market), passionate about ideas and their applications, not products and services. A discerning consumer, an occasional advocate maybe, but certainly not a -- my word! -- not a panderer.

So did I ever think I'd approach a virtual stranger and offer my services as breezily as I might tell someone they're wearing a cool shirt??? And did I ever think I could do that while preserving my integrity!??

I blame The Daily Asker.

The total mindf*ck this project has engendered over the past year and a half, combined with the pressure of looking for opportunities daily, has resulted in today's interaction:

I was at a cafe I love, where I tend to go when I have a lot of work to do. It's quiet, with quality seating and good brew.

The owner, who's usually in the back room, was waiting for his drink by the counter when they called my name. I walked up, collected my tall capp and we started talking.

He told me he's trying to expand his business, get the word out on social media, and redo his website.

"Do you have a blog?" I asked.

"Our roasters do, but I'm trying to do a lot more with that. The whole social media thing."

"That's the way to go. It's free and it can make such an impact. I have a blog, and -- actually are you looking for someone to blog for you? Or do any kind of writing? That's what I do. Professionally, I mean."

We continued talking about his marketing campaign, various changes he's planning, how and why he wants to grow. By the end of our seven minute chat, I

--mentioned some of the clients I've worked for
--learned about the cafe's past, present and future
--gotten an idea of his budget
--listened to some of his goals and upcoming milestones
--told him a bit about my marketing experience
--gushed about his coffee (and believe it me, it was sincere)
--gave him very quick feedback on some of his ideas
--told him twice I would love to help him get the word out
--suggested we meet up for coffee to take this chat to the next level: a strategy session

So here I am, with his business card in my wallet and a follow up meeting in the works.

This, from a person who was, until relatively recently, totally shy when it came to networking. Don't impose. Don't look ambitious or they might think you're spineless. Above all, don't ask for help, time or attention unless it's an emergency.

WOOHOO!!

[image via michaelkiffmeyer]

Beat your own rate, rental car company?

That was Monday.

As I write this Tuesday night, no asking yet. I've been writing all day. Took a mid-afternoon break for a much needed nutella mascarpone crepe and then buckled down again. Or tried to, since I got very little done in the afternoon and instead, my mind wandered. (This is the kind of sentence I'm loath to write, because people -- loving but enthusiastic people like mommies -- read it and start worrying. And then they start asking. When is your dissertation going to be done? I thought you were going to graduate in the fall!? I mean last year? I mean in 2007? Isn't it supposed to take five years? Why didn't you finish with your friend did back in November? How's her job search going? Why couldn't you concentrate today? What's the matter? At least tell me how many pages you wrote today. Why is that an evil question? Are you sure you don't want to be a professor? Really, honey? Then at least tell me why you can't concentrate? If you relaxed and cleared your mind you'd get a lot more done.

So I avoid such sentences at all costs, and I especially avoid calling attention to them by explaining them at length at the top of my blog posts...)

Maybe this antsiness is a sign I need to shake things up.

Drive to Vegas tonight and ask for a comped room. I could. Nowhere to be tomorrow but wherever I am.

Ask the Colonel's ancestors for half of his 13 secret herbs and spices.

Ask five people in the produce section of the nearest 24-hour supermarket what their least favorite household chore is. Just because.

Ask a travel agent about one-way flights to Fiji.

But wait a minute.

I did ask for something. Something simple, but valid nonetheless. I tried to obtain a discounted rental car rate.

I will need to drive to an airport in Texas on an upcoming trip, and after zeroing in on some reasonable prices online I called to see if the phone agent could do one better.

She could not: the phone rates were more than double those online.

Next, I asked if there was a reason why their website showed a price, but the moment I clicked "make reservation," it jumped up by $30.

"You can never tell what the final price is going to be just by looking at the price that's listed. That can change for any number of reasons. Right up until you pay," she explained.

"Wow, it's almost like you're playing a game," I said, my tone friendly. "It's like a treasure hunt. Will you or won't you get the price you were quoted?"

"Yes! Exactly! It's more like the lottery. You can try, but you're never sure what the outcome will be."

"Thank you! I was in the mood for a distraction. I guess I'll spend some time on your website clicking submit and waiting to see if I hit the jackpot."

"Good luck!"

Either she didn't get my irony, or I didn't get hers.

And so I paid. The full internet rate, which wasn't half bad.

As for least favorite household chore, suddenly I'm curious. What's yours? Mine: tugging and tucking the fitted sheet around the mattress. Bleh.

Let me edit your resume, internet denizen?

Every few months, I post a note in the Craigslist "writing services offered" section. It goes something like this:

Looking for a job?

I can edit your resume and cover letter for free.

No strings, no obligation.

Pro resume writers, I'm not trying to put you out of business. But in this difficult economic climate, I've decided to reach out to people who can't afford professional services or who want an extra set of eyes to look over their materials.

You can send me your documents directly or email me first to find out about my experience or request a reference.

Suerte!

That's not the exact text (since I change it a bit every time), but I think you get the idea.

So far, one person has replied: a woman who, I am thrilled to report, found a job about 2 months after I revised her materials!! She was intelligent and capable, but she was totally underselling herself. I don't think she saw herself in her target position until her updated resume reminded her who she was, what she'd accomplished, and what her objectives where. As soon as she got her confidence back, BOOM. Hired.

As they say in Gujarat... DANG!

I posted such a note again today, and I'm curious to see if anyone will reply. I'm a little surprised only one person has responded in more than six months of occasional posts.

I just hope people don't think I'm some sketchy plagiarist or something.

Hmm.

Will you vouch for me if they ask for references? ;)

[image via fadetheory]