Office Politics

I work for a company that can only be called "conservative." Many people have called it many other things, but for our purposes, let's just leave it at "conservative." If you have ever read my blog, or my Twitter feed, or been within a 50 mile radius of me (even if I am just flying in a plane over your general area) you know that I am anything BUT conservative. I am a Godless, commie, bleeding heart, tax and spend, any other negative epithet you want to throw at me liberal.  

Still, I like my job. My job seems to like me.

I figure discussing politics in the workplace is never a good idea no matter where you work. I figure that my co-workers, many of whom I am sure disagree with me ideologically, are polite enough not to bring it up, so I am as well. I figure no one agrees 100% with everything their company does. I figure where I work is only a part of who I am, not the sum total. I figure anyone who knows me, will know that. 

People who randomly call my office? They obviously don't. Take for example the call I took this morning:

          CALLER: I'm sick of you trying to push your conservative agenda on me. 
          ME: Excuse me?  
          CALLER: Oh, don't try to pretend. You right wing, Christian conservative bigot! 
          ME: Sir, do you have something specific you want me to address? 
          CALLER: Specific? How about the fact you think you can step all over people's rights!
          ME: I don't think that in the least, Sir. I voted for Obama. I give money to the ACLU. To Planned Parenthood. To the NAACP. 
           CALLER: You have no right!
           ME: Sir, I don't know what right you are talking about. How can I help you? 
           CALLER: By not trying to silence liberal views. That's what Hitler did.
           ME: Sir, I'm sorry you feel that way. Try reading my blog. There are some liberal views for you. And the Hitler card? REALLY? 
           CALLER: You just don't get it. 
           ME: I don't know what you want me to get. 
           CALLER: You and all your Romney supporting buddies. Only worried about your money. 
           ME: Silence. I wouldn't vote for Romney if I were strapped to an ant hill covered in honey. And money? Honey, I got none. 
           CALLER: I hope you're happy. 
           ME: Alright. Have a nice day.  

That isn't the first call like that I've taken. It won't be the last. I know there are some who think I am being untrue to myself, and my beliefs by not speaking up, by not asserting myself. Maybe I am. Or, maybe I just know the time and place to do it. 

And I know it's not my office. 

No matter how many names I am called. 

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Pack Rat

What a difference a month makes!

Meg is growing up so fast. She starts school in two weeks. Her vocabulary is exploding. She sleeps in her own "big girl" bed. Potty training is done. Her tastes are turning from Disney Princesses (disturbing) to Alvin and the Chipmunks (annoying).

Oh, and she is turning into Navin R. Johnson.

You know, the Steve Martin character from '"The Jerk."

I'm not saying this because she was born a poor black child. I mean, the black part, yes, but her circumstances really don't qualify for less than "lower middle class."

I'm not saying this because she has a fascination with the phone book. Hell, I don't think she would know a phone book if it came up and bit her. We, like most Americans now take the phone book(s) straight from the porch to the recycling bin, stopping maybe to take off the crappy magnet on the front. Meg may eventually get excited about a school directory, but definitely not a phone book.

So, what is it about Meg that makes her so "Navinesque?"

She has to take everything with her.


Every morning, as Meg leaves the house, she picks up things she just can't do without. Why can't she do without them? Because she saw them as she was leaving the house.

Duh.

It started slowly at first.

A stuffed animal.

A blanket.

An extra pair of shoes.

A coloring book.

Then, before we knew it, Meg was heading out the door with two dolls, every stuffed bunny in the house, two pairs of princess high heels, three pacifiers, a box of fruit snacks, a DVD of "Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang" and a child sized plastic chair.

I like to think the chair is an homage to the movie.

This morning was a bit better, but her Dad still couldn't get her out without her musical stuffed seahorse, a kazoo, a magnifying glass, and several strands of Mardi Grad beads.

Now, I know some of think Meg must be taking these things with her because she wants to take a long the comforts of home as she heads out into the big, cold, cruel.

Yeah, no. We don't drop her off at the Greyhound station.

That "big, cold cruel world" is her grandmother's house -- otherwise known as the kid Hilton. Oh, and when she's not there she's with my aunt, otherwise known as the kid Hyatt. Seriously, what she is doing is like packing up the lamps at the Motel 6 so she has something to amuse herself while she's waiting for room service.

Maybe it's our fault. Ryan and I are notorious over packers. On our recent week long trip to Big Sur  we took three suitcases. No, we probably didn't need our scuba gear, but we were on the coast, and it is 2012, and you can't be too careful. Also, I packed all of those ziplock bags because you don't know what you might encounter outside of Utah. After all, in California they sell wine in the grocery store. 

Whatever the origin, I am hoping this "Jerk" phase leads to bigger and better things. A love of Cyrano perhaps, a love of art collecting, a devotion to bluegrass music, or maybe even several SNL hosting gigs. Hopefully not a love of movies that bring Bonnie Hunt from a feminist comic icon to a schlocky punch line.

And if none of those things happen?

Well, at least she isn't emulating "Smokey and the Bandit."

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