Monthly Archives: October 2013

Berlusconi v. Rabies

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Linoleum floors.  Stiff chairs.  Minuscule windows.  This is jury duty.  More specifically, this is the waiting lounge for jury duty.  I had eagerly anticipated this day for weeks.  You might imagine me as a Law & Order-crazed citizen, longing to put my stamp on the American justice system.  In reality, I just looked forward to sitting on my rear and doing nothing for eight hours, bound by law to do so.

I left my house that morning with a fat book that had been sitting on the shelf for a few years.  My first attempt to read it was less than successful.  So, I had given myself license to set it aside forever.  But after recently enjoying a series of movies I had not expected to like, I reconsidered.  Life is sometimes about timing, and revisiting the book during a distraction-free period could prove fruitful.  And yes, pleasurable.

The mounted television in the waiting lounge is a surprise.  But it is muted and set to CNN – where Wolf Blitzer and his cohorts will struggle every twenty minutes to find new ways to announce that our politicians can’t work together.  I had already read my dose of today’s news on the train ride in, so I could blatantly disregard the screen.

The book isn’t half bad, I decide by page four, as the prior adverse reaction gently fades.  The story is set in Barcelona, and my imagination drifts off to cobblestone streets and mid-20th century modesty.  Suddenly, I become fixated on a word that has little meaning to the story line, esdrújula.  By the way, the book is in Spanish.  What is esdrújula in French, I wonder?  I must have learned it, but I can’t drudge it up from my college French grammar remnants.  What are the French rules for accents, and most importantly, for those syllables ending in vowels?

And just like that, I can’t let the thought go.  My eyes keep moving on the page, but my brain is busy scanning the green Grammaire of my youth.  Frustrated, I close the real book in my hands and decide to take a few minutes to focus solely on testing my memory.  I don’t want to lose my place in the book, and I remember the jury instruction sheets could make good bookmarks.  I grab one of them from the floor and skim quickly, just in case there is something critical.  Parking is not compensated, take public transport; don’t disappear from the courthouse because you feel like it; juror compensation will not cover your small drip coffee bill from the courthouse cafeteria, and so on.

Hark!  Apparently there is Wi-Fi in this room.  And I have a smartphone sitting idly in my purse.  Do I really care about the French rationale for the accent on the third to last syllable?

How do you say “jury duty” in Italian?  Whatever happened to Silvio Berlusconi’s seventeen year-old Moroccan girlfriend?  Did I add couscous to my grocery list?  Oops, I think the vet sent me an appointment reminder.  Now, which pet, and which ailment am I preventing?  Must stay calm; breathe, breathe.  Why can’t I find that darn Tidbits from the Dalai Lama app?!

Contributing to the American justice system is exhausting.  But we must all do our part.  Just another seven hours and three minutes.

Socialize This

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Today I was listening to someone talk about socializing a proposal among stakeholders.  “Socialize” is a very popular word in today’s business world.  Along with “ecosystem,” “governance” and the eternal favorite of the past fifteen years, “leverage.”

It led me to “ruminate” on the word’s meaning, beyond the confines of a company conference call.  Rumination beats eating M&Ms in despair.

Socialize implies a group setting.  In the business context, it means getting feelers for how others might react, before using more official ways to address the subject.  It connotes  a cozy conversation between two or more people.  It suggests that engaging with another person (s) first is a great way to accomplish the longer-term objective.

Wonderful.

Just super for a pathological introvert.  Here is the epitome…my team has completed a rather time-consuming annual budgeting process.  I would like to celebrate their accomplishment.  Do I take them out for afternoon frolicking over ice cream, where we chit chat under the sun and watch the boats on the river?  Or, should I run to the bakery near my house, select individual treats based on each team member’s preference, and drop off the goodies in each office with little post-its?  Before business hours, of course.  Yes, the latter does sound more enticing, doesn’t it?  Because it means zero human interaction.

And now back to socializing this proposal.  I will do it.  I will be warm and friendly.  I will ask personal questions to humanize the interaction.  I will be approachable.  And I will do it all over email.

Monday Melancholy

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My heart is racing as soon as I roll my arm over to the nightstand, and pound the phone with my thumb.  Snooze, snooze, snooze, please.  I roll back and close my eyes, while my brain goes from dazed to alert and concerned in seconds.  My chest feels very heavy with an occasional tug every few minutes.  My stomach is chattering loudly.  Another week, same start.  I silently analyze the possible reasons for the discomfort.  Is it last night’s pinot noir, followed by a dark chocolate, gelato laced Napoleon?  Or the dull pain felt since realizing my pets will all pass before me?  Maybe, as the morning talk shows say, the simple lack of sleep has prodded my body into dysfunction.

There isn’t much time for quiet contemplation on a Monday morning, and so I jump out of bed for the morning ablutions.  The sick feeling accompanies me.  It hovers over my hands as I stack papers and shove them into a bag.  It is observant while I open and close the fridge, before ultimately deciding that today needs to be a fasting day of sorts.

Can it be that it is another Monday, and I am still sourcing dull outfits paired with interesting bracelets for a looming staff meeting? That is the most disconcerting thought of all.  I will sit quietly, facing the organizational chart of “committees supervising sub-committees leveraging councils,” and I will take furious notes…about my grocery list.

I grab the requisite house and car keys and rush out of the house, down the steps and into the car. The package in the passenger seat is the one my husband said he needed today; so I awkwardly squeeze back out of the car with the package in one hand and keys in the other.  I am certain I will burst into tears.

I break into a smile instead when I walk up and see my open kitchen door.  My basset labrador (yes, such a thing exists) is standing in the center of the room, tail wagging and face grinning.  My husband is there too – clearly the dog is magical, but not enough to sprout thumbs, or grow four feet taller, and tackle door handles.

Somtimes, a long dog with a fat neck is what takes the edge off.  I turn on the ignition.  Dunkin’ Donuts large French vanilla with cream does not hurt either.  Inner peace comes slowly.