My First Day
It’s early Saturday morning in mid February, cold enough for a sweater, but not a winter coat. Typical Colorado weather. For the front range anyway, which refers to the string of populous cities from Pueblo north to the Wyoming border. It’s also my first day as a directory assistance operator for cell phone users. Five days ago, I was absolutely sure I could do this job. No sweat. Having emerged from what the company euphemistically calls ‘a week of training’, the only thing I’m sure about is that I should go home now.
I'm lurking on the outer perimeter of the call center, which is a sea of light-grey-on-medium-grey, very utilitarian, broken here and there by what looks like bobbing, disembodied heads. A low mumble of twenty voices punctuate the clickety-clack of two hundred fingers typing on old, sticky keyboards. I'm sure you’ve seen those headset wearing operators on tv, the ones who are ‘always standing by?’ That’s a very pretty picture alright, but call centers don’t look anywhere that nice. Or clean. They’re generally on the low-rent side of town.
On the far wall I notice two large digital boards. One has three columns of green numbers. I have no idea what the numbers mean. The other shows six different time zones. Why do I need to know what time it is in Hawaii? We’re only answering calls from six states; Colorado, Utah, Wyoming, Montana, New Mexico and Arizona. Aren’t we?
Glancing around, I don’t see anyone who’d recognize me. Whew, good. I can just walk out and nobody’ll be the wiser. I begin to back up.
Suddenly, an older female with short blonde-grey hair pops up from a cubicle. She’s clutching a sheaf of papers in her hand, looking at me and smiling. I’m not sure which I notice first, her decaying teeth, or her acrylic nails, which are 3" long and a eye-popping shade of neon pink.
“Hi,” she grins as she approaches me. “I’m Claude, one of the supervisors. Is this your first day?”
I smile nervously. Should I say yes? Can I weasel and tell her I’m just here delivering donuts? I hesitate, but I’m not a good liar. Finally, I just nod.
“Great! What’s your name?” I tell her. She looks down the sheet and jots a note. Now that she’s next to me, I expect her breath to smell like her teeth look. They don't, thank goodness.
“Well, looks like you’re it, buckeroo. Nobody else has shown up. Let’s get you a headset.” She strides over to a metal cabinet, opens a drawer, pulls out a black bag and unzips it. “Here you go.” I stand there frozen. I begin my but-but-but protest. Claude just clucks like a mother hen.
“Nonsense. You’ve done customer service before?” I nod and she snorts. “Training-shmaining. You don’t need a week of training to do this crap. It’s easy.”
She shows me how to turn the computer on. I adjust the headset.
“This,” she intones, wrapping those clawlike nails around a little black box, “is how you control the volume and the mute button. See how they work?” She dials the volume switch up and down, and then presses a small button and grins. “You'll find that this Mute button is Your Friend.”
“Now, remember you recorded greetings in training? One for each of the major carriers?” I nod dumbly. It’s all I can manage. “Well,” she continues, “as each call comes in, the right one will play and say hello to the customer for you. We call ‘em ‘VRUs’. Stands for Voice Recording Unit - don’t ask me why." She shrugs. "So. You ready?”
Gawd, no. But, I take a deep breath, dial my operator number into the phone’s keypad. And here it comes. My first call.
“Welcome to Verizon Wireless 411. May I help you?” It’s the greeting I recorded three days ago. It sounds so chipper.
“Yeah!” a deep voice booms. I jump in surprise. Claude barks out a not-so-quiet laugh as she turns the volume down. “I need Majj-O’s!”
“Majj-O’s?” I repeat bewilderedly.
“Yeah!” The man bellows back goodnaturedly. “Majj-O’s!”
Claude hits the mute button. “One word replies won’t work, Remember, talk in complete sentences.” She adds, “Ask him if he means MajhiANo’s.” I nod, still bewildered. What’s a MajhiANos?
“Do you mean MajhiANo’s, sir?”
“Yeah!” he concurs. This man, apparently, likes talking in exclamation points.
I look at the computer screen. It has five boxes to type in:
Name
Address
City
State
Zip Code
Category
Hmmm. I know I need more information. “What city please?”
“Denver!” Which is something I will find that they always say. To callers, no major city has suburbs.
I look at Claude. She nods at the phone. “Thank you, one moment please.”
“Thank you, one moment please,” I say to the man.
“Yeah!”
I shrug at Claude, and she begins whisper-spelling. “M-a-g-g-i-a-n-o-s. It’s a restaurant. Italian. Just opened up.” I’ve never heard of it. Shows you how often I eat out in my own town. I type Maggianos into the Name box, and the local area code (303) into the city field, since I'm not sure which location he'll want. I hit enter, and whaddya know. There's only one.
The script on the screen dictates what I have to say next. “The number you requested is 303-123-4567. Thank you and have a nice day.”
“Yeah! Thanks!” Mr. Exclamation Point pauses. “Are you connecting me?”
“Yes, sir, I am.” And I am, but the script doesn’t tell me to tell him that. Just another one of those call center don’t-ask-me-why things. I connect him.
“Oops.” says Claude, just as I release the call. “You were supposed to say ‘thank you and have a nice day.”
“I did.”
“I know but you have to say it again, at the end of every call.”
“Even if I said it already?” She nods. “Claude, that’ll make me sound like an idiot.”
She shrugs. “Yep. I know. But them’s the rules, buckeroo.”
Call #2
“This is Sprint directory assistance, how may I help you today?” Another one of my chipper greetings.
This one’s easy. They want Home Depot in Lakewood. Hell, I could drive you right over there.
Call #3
"This is AT&T Information. May I help you?" I'll soon discover the good thing about these prerecorded sound bites is that it gives you a chance to take a drink in between calls.
The line is full of pops, clicks and static. “Hi.” says a breathless woman, “Yeah, I need that art place on Broadway.”
“What’s the name of it?”
Claude’s stage-whispering again. “What’s the name of the business? Never say it.” I nod.
“Oh God, I don’t know.” The caller huffs. “It’s that place! You know. The big, brick building?”
Yes, that clears it up. Thanks.
“Is it art supply place?” I prompt. “An art gallery?”
“I don’t know,” the woman caller says again. “They have frames!”
Claude’s whispering again. “It’s probably Meininger’s.”
Another place I’ve never heard of. “Could it be Meininger’s?” I ask as I type, mangling the spelling royally.
“Maybe …” the woman says hesitantly. She seems to know as much about this place as I do.
Claude clues me in on something – if you don’t know how to spell it, add a question mark. Great tip. Except it brings me back four screens full of white pages listings, all businesses, all beginning with the letter M, and all on Broadway. Broadway’s the north/south dividing line in Denver. It’s a lonnng street.
Claude keeps having to remind me to say “thank you, one moment please” every 10 seconds while I'm searching. Dead air is a big no-no. I nod. This is really my day for nodding.
“Is it next to the furniture store?” the woman asks. “If it’s next to the furniture store -- you know the one I mean -- then that’s the place.”
I know just as much about furniture stores on Broadway as I do 'art places'. But I can’t say that.
Instead, I politely read from the text on the screen, “Meininger’s is located at 499 Broadway. Is that the location you're thinking?”
“Oh, I suppose." She's exasperated now. " Just give it to me.”
"The number you requested -"
"Just CONNECT me!" she interrupts.
"Yes ma'am. Thank you and have a nice day."
I connect her and the day moves on.
But, I think this is a long enough posting for now. If anybody has any interest in hearing more tales from an outsourced call center, leave a comment and let me know. Okay?
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Wednesday, August 9, 2006
Water Pitcher People
I think we can all agree what customer service is supposed to be. Or, at least, what it used to be. But, let's ask the question, does it still mean what it did 20 years ago? Hardly. As a veteran with two decades in the field, I can tell you that the idea behind Customer Service has gotten lost. In this madcap 21st Century corporate world, where suits and skirts drink tall pitchers of water from the comfort of padded chairs around gleaming cherrywood tables, making decisions about jobs they've never held, the goal has become the silent exclamation of excel spreadsheets everywhere: The Bottom Line is Top Priority.
It reminds me of the movie Big, with Tom Hanks. As a 12 year old kid named Josh, trapped in an adult's body, he listens to grownups who think they know exactly what a kid wants in a toy. He's honestly puzzled. "What's a marketing report?" Their water pitcher reasoning makes no sense to him, so he raises his hand and tentatively says, "I don't get it."
I'm with Josh. I don't get it either.
Customer Service used to be handled at the local level, even in big companies. Managers came up from the ranks, having done a variety of jobs in the company, including yours. Armed with front line experience, they knew how it was to answer those phones and write those letters. It was like having an ally and a manager all rolled into one -- a nice balance.
But now the tides have turned. Corporate America's gotten the notion that people in remote conference rooms know what's best for us. The ironic part is that I have friends with those fancy business degrees, and don't get me wrong, they're good people. But all they've got is theoretical training and A Nice Piece of Paper. They have no actual experience. How could they possibly know what my job entails? And even more important than that, most of these folks tell me they could not and would not want my job. They'd rather whip up agendas, conjure magnificent spreedsheets and peruse marketing reports in between sips from their water glass. Okay, great. Somebody's got to do it and better them than me. But now, these clueless people, who've never done my job, who'd never aspire to it, are in charge of telling me how best to do my job. How strange is that? Why does Corporate America think this is such a sensible idea? It's like me opening a car repair shop and telling my mechanics with 20 years' experience, how to rebuild an engine. I may be a great manager type, but I know shit about what's under the hood. How successful do you think my little auto shop will be? Think about it. Would you bring your car to me?
I used to love being in customer service. The satisfaction of having helped people all day long is a wonderful feeling. But, oh Lord, how things have changed. For one thing, most customer service jobs are now in noisy, headache inducing call centers. Secondly, I can't help you like I want. I can only give you the pat answers you don't want to hear. And, I have to do it in record time to get you off the phone; 'cause it's all "hurry hurry! other callers are waiting!" Everything's about numbers; our average call time (ACT), number of calls answered (NOC), callers in the queue (CIQ), how much we help you (QIC). Acronyms R Us.
I feel like a soccer player frantically trying to kick your call into the net so I can yell Score! and move on to the next victim. Er, caller.
Customer service used to be considered the lifeblood of your business, your most important asset. It made or broke your business, because it gave you loyal customers, happy customers, word of mouth advertising. Now it's just considered a financial drain. Did you also know CS reps are considered to be one of the top ten most stressful jobs in the country? Yep. We come in at #4, #7 or #8, depending on who's doing the listing.
On the flip side of the coin we have the customers. Now, most of you are fine, and there are even a few we'd happily reach through the phone and hug, but you know the old adage: one bad apple in every bunch. Dealing with the public has always been an art form, but it's really become a test of patience lately, because of the instant-gratification / you-do-the-thinking-for-me mentality that's so rampant in America today.
You will never truly appreciate how stupid modern humans are until you've worked in a call center for a week. Really. We get asked the weirdest questions. We get asked out on dates, propositioned, threatened, screamed at and often treated like we're the psychic hotline. If you know anybody who works in a call center, and you're looking for a night of comedy without the high admission prices, invite 'em over for a drink. Even better, invite two or three.
Problem is, the combination of all these factors burn people out in a big hurry. The average length of employment in CS call centers is 6-12 months. Is it any wonder you get crap service and a different answer each time you call? By the time they know how to do their job and answer your questions, they're on their way out the door.
Call centers are also not very inspiring work environments. Picture a really large room, maybe an entire floor of an office building, filled with grey cubicles as far as the eye can see, manned by workers hunched over keyboards, tense and stressing over the seconds ticking away while you talk, who don't have time to breathe, stretch or chat with each other for 15 seconds between calls (and if they try, believe me, they get into trouble), who put you on mute so they can hurry and slurp a drink or eat the rest of their cold lunch. The noise level in the center ranges anywhere from a low drone to a rock concert din, depending on what day and time it is. Mondays are nuts. Lunch hour is crazy, and 5 o'clock quittin' time is downright fruity.
When I first went to work for a call center back in '01, I didn't know what one was. All I knew is the job required me to be a directory assistance operator. Great. I can do that. Training was a little sketchy (for some reason, that's the norm in the industry). Everybody else in training had previous call center experience, I was the only outsider to the biz. Our trainer was tired of training by the time he got to our class. So, he had us read from the manual for 5 days. We also told jokes, and took lots of breaks. By the end, only one person out of the fifteen trainees actually showed up for work the first day. Yep, that would be me. But with such iffy training, I was clueless. And terrified. I had NO idea what I was doing.
With lots of hand holding from really really great supervisors, I finally got on the phone, hands shaking, heart in my throat and BS'd my way thru the day. By the end of two weeks, I was an old pro.
Next up: humor. Meaning, a close-up of my first day. And some actual calls.
It reminds me of the movie Big, with Tom Hanks. As a 12 year old kid named Josh, trapped in an adult's body, he listens to grownups who think they know exactly what a kid wants in a toy. He's honestly puzzled. "What's a marketing report?" Their water pitcher reasoning makes no sense to him, so he raises his hand and tentatively says, "I don't get it."
I'm with Josh. I don't get it either.
Customer Service used to be handled at the local level, even in big companies. Managers came up from the ranks, having done a variety of jobs in the company, including yours. Armed with front line experience, they knew how it was to answer those phones and write those letters. It was like having an ally and a manager all rolled into one -- a nice balance.
But now the tides have turned. Corporate America's gotten the notion that people in remote conference rooms know what's best for us. The ironic part is that I have friends with those fancy business degrees, and don't get me wrong, they're good people. But all they've got is theoretical training and A Nice Piece of Paper. They have no actual experience. How could they possibly know what my job entails? And even more important than that, most of these folks tell me they could not and would not want my job. They'd rather whip up agendas, conjure magnificent spreedsheets and peruse marketing reports in between sips from their water glass. Okay, great. Somebody's got to do it and better them than me. But now, these clueless people, who've never done my job, who'd never aspire to it, are in charge of telling me how best to do my job. How strange is that? Why does Corporate America think this is such a sensible idea? It's like me opening a car repair shop and telling my mechanics with 20 years' experience, how to rebuild an engine. I may be a great manager type, but I know shit about what's under the hood. How successful do you think my little auto shop will be? Think about it. Would you bring your car to me?
I used to love being in customer service. The satisfaction of having helped people all day long is a wonderful feeling. But, oh Lord, how things have changed. For one thing, most customer service jobs are now in noisy, headache inducing call centers. Secondly, I can't help you like I want. I can only give you the pat answers you don't want to hear. And, I have to do it in record time to get you off the phone; 'cause it's all "hurry hurry! other callers are waiting!" Everything's about numbers; our average call time (ACT), number of calls answered (NOC), callers in the queue (CIQ), how much we help you (QIC). Acronyms R Us.
I feel like a soccer player frantically trying to kick your call into the net so I can yell Score! and move on to the next victim. Er, caller.
Customer service used to be considered the lifeblood of your business, your most important asset. It made or broke your business, because it gave you loyal customers, happy customers, word of mouth advertising. Now it's just considered a financial drain. Did you also know CS reps are considered to be one of the top ten most stressful jobs in the country? Yep. We come in at #4, #7 or #8, depending on who's doing the listing.
On the flip side of the coin we have the customers. Now, most of you are fine, and there are even a few we'd happily reach through the phone and hug, but you know the old adage: one bad apple in every bunch. Dealing with the public has always been an art form, but it's really become a test of patience lately, because of the instant-gratification / you-do-the-thinking-for-me mentality that's so rampant in America today.
You will never truly appreciate how stupid modern humans are until you've worked in a call center for a week. Really. We get asked the weirdest questions. We get asked out on dates, propositioned, threatened, screamed at and often treated like we're the psychic hotline. If you know anybody who works in a call center, and you're looking for a night of comedy without the high admission prices, invite 'em over for a drink. Even better, invite two or three.
Problem is, the combination of all these factors burn people out in a big hurry. The average length of employment in CS call centers is 6-12 months. Is it any wonder you get crap service and a different answer each time you call? By the time they know how to do their job and answer your questions, they're on their way out the door.
Call centers are also not very inspiring work environments. Picture a really large room, maybe an entire floor of an office building, filled with grey cubicles as far as the eye can see, manned by workers hunched over keyboards, tense and stressing over the seconds ticking away while you talk, who don't have time to breathe, stretch or chat with each other for 15 seconds between calls (and if they try, believe me, they get into trouble), who put you on mute so they can hurry and slurp a drink or eat the rest of their cold lunch. The noise level in the center ranges anywhere from a low drone to a rock concert din, depending on what day and time it is. Mondays are nuts. Lunch hour is crazy, and 5 o'clock quittin' time is downright fruity.
When I first went to work for a call center back in '01, I didn't know what one was. All I knew is the job required me to be a directory assistance operator. Great. I can do that. Training was a little sketchy (for some reason, that's the norm in the industry). Everybody else in training had previous call center experience, I was the only outsider to the biz. Our trainer was tired of training by the time he got to our class. So, he had us read from the manual for 5 days. We also told jokes, and took lots of breaks. By the end, only one person out of the fifteen trainees actually showed up for work the first day. Yep, that would be me. But with such iffy training, I was clueless. And terrified. I had NO idea what I was doing.
With lots of hand holding from really really great supervisors, I finally got on the phone, hands shaking, heart in my throat and BS'd my way thru the day. By the end of two weeks, I was an old pro.
Next up: humor. Meaning, a close-up of my first day. And some actual calls.
Tuesday, August 8, 2006
Being a Drone for the Government (and other places)
I quit my job last week.
And no, I don't have a new one. I'm not even looking yet.
In this economy, you're probably thinking well, that was a nuts thing to do. Maybe. But, staying would be even nuttier. My sanity was sorely slipping. When I described to friends and family what this place was like, they'd say, OMG, why are you staying at all?
Money, I would tell them. I was getting top dollar for my customer service skills.
I've had 3 jobs since 2001, all of them drone-like and completely uncreative. Nothing fulfilling about any of them. The first was at a call center. If you like being a robot, this is the job for you. You get to say the exact same thing, over and over and over, for 700-900 calls per day. And, tsk tsk, no varying the script! They listen, they write you up, they fire people for daring to add a single word. Like "and."
The second was for the state government, namely the drivers' license office. When they interviewed me, they said, "We know we have an uncaring image. We want to change that -- so, we need people like you." There's no fool like an old fool. I believed them. What a fun career this turned out to be! Just look at the perks: Not only do you get paid less than the average office clerk, but you also get laughable benefits. Add in the thrill of paycheck-docking and recorded hearings for making a mistake, and the excitement of getting pulled into court and legally prosecuted 5 years down the road for any work you do today! But wait! There's more! If you're helpful, like me, and you say to some poor soul who's missing one simple thing, and has been waiting 3 long, boring hours, "How far do you live? Tell you what, just run home, get the document, come right back and see me." Yessiree Bob, I got talked to, my wrist slapped, and finally written up for doing such things. Nooo being helpful on the job.
(sigh)
The third and final job was at a call center answering phones for a federal government entity. Argh! Double trouble! WHAT was I thinking? (money, yes I know. [banging head against wall] repeat after me: not worth it, not worth it, not WORTH it!) Now, ladies and gents, I get to be a Telephone Drone working for Drone Central -- complete with outdated software, cheap equipment and screaming customers. GAH. Calgon, take me away!
I can't tell you what fed agency I answered calls for (sensitive security clearance and non-disclosure agreement and all that jazz), and that's a shame. I could really tell you some stories. Or wait ... maybe I will. In disguised form. My next blog is going to be about "being on the other end of customer service" anyway. You would not believe what it's like being on this end of the phone.
I used to write for a living, did I tell you? Yes, a published freelancer, that's me. And that's what I want to do again. Words are my passion. Writing is my life. I've been out of it for oh, 6 years. Thanks to those who read my current drivel, as sad as it may be at the moment. It'll get better. You're letting me practice scraping the rust off and I appreciate that.
So. Three cheers I say, to all the bloggers/writers out there! Three cheers to the undying, creative human spirit! Don't give up!
And no, I don't have a new one. I'm not even looking yet.
In this economy, you're probably thinking well, that was a nuts thing to do. Maybe. But, staying would be even nuttier. My sanity was sorely slipping. When I described to friends and family what this place was like, they'd say, OMG, why are you staying at all?
Money, I would tell them. I was getting top dollar for my customer service skills.
I've had 3 jobs since 2001, all of them drone-like and completely uncreative. Nothing fulfilling about any of them. The first was at a call center. If you like being a robot, this is the job for you. You get to say the exact same thing, over and over and over, for 700-900 calls per day. And, tsk tsk, no varying the script! They listen, they write you up, they fire people for daring to add a single word. Like "and."
The second was for the state government, namely the drivers' license office. When they interviewed me, they said, "We know we have an uncaring image. We want to change that -- so, we need people like you." There's no fool like an old fool. I believed them. What a fun career this turned out to be! Just look at the perks: Not only do you get paid less than the average office clerk, but you also get laughable benefits. Add in the thrill of paycheck-docking and recorded hearings for making a mistake, and the excitement of getting pulled into court and legally prosecuted 5 years down the road for any work you do today! But wait! There's more! If you're helpful, like me, and you say to some poor soul who's missing one simple thing, and has been waiting 3 long, boring hours, "How far do you live? Tell you what, just run home, get the document, come right back and see me." Yessiree Bob, I got talked to, my wrist slapped, and finally written up for doing such things. Nooo being helpful on the job.
(sigh)
The third and final job was at a call center answering phones for a federal government entity. Argh! Double trouble! WHAT was I thinking? (money, yes I know. [banging head against wall] repeat after me: not worth it, not worth it, not WORTH it!) Now, ladies and gents, I get to be a Telephone Drone working for Drone Central -- complete with outdated software, cheap equipment and screaming customers. GAH. Calgon, take me away!
I can't tell you what fed agency I answered calls for (sensitive security clearance and non-disclosure agreement and all that jazz), and that's a shame. I could really tell you some stories. Or wait ... maybe I will. In disguised form. My next blog is going to be about "being on the other end of customer service" anyway. You would not believe what it's like being on this end of the phone.
I used to write for a living, did I tell you? Yes, a published freelancer, that's me. And that's what I want to do again. Words are my passion. Writing is my life. I've been out of it for oh, 6 years. Thanks to those who read my current drivel, as sad as it may be at the moment. It'll get better. You're letting me practice scraping the rust off and I appreciate that.
So. Three cheers I say, to all the bloggers/writers out there! Three cheers to the undying, creative human spirit! Don't give up!
Midlife Turnaround
Well, here I am, back from the depths of .... somewhere. I don't want to use any negative terms here (I've been falling into that too easily, as Chillymama can attest. Why does the woman put up with me?) - so we'll just call it a chasm. I'm not all the way out yet, still climbing up the sides, but dammit, I've got a toehold now. Which is ten toes more than I had before.
A couple of thanks, besides to Chilly and my other buds (you know who you are), go out to two special inspirations: the article "What I Love About Menopause" by Marcelle Pick OB/GYN on the nicely unusual, homey-feeling Women to Women web site, and to Sue Shellenbarger, author of "The Breaking Point: How Midlife Crisis is Transforming Today's Women." I read the book last night, and it was good. Not a fantabulous book, mind you, but good. About 30-40% of it is that "research has shown that 16% of women blah-blah-blah and 22% of men blah-blah-blah" mind-numbing statistical stuff I can only take in limited quanties. The remaining 60% concentrated on stories of midlife craziness, told by fifty different women who have lived to tell.
And that's the part that enlightened me. The living to tell part. 'Cause for a long while there, I wasn't at all sure anyone ever made it out of this stage alive.
A couple of weeks ago, in mid-July, I did a crazy, wonderful midlife thing. I hopped on a plane (a very tiny one -- my! jets have been downsized since the last time I flew -- 1979?) and headed home to the midwest for a visit. Now I know many of you are asking, the midwest? Why? The reason I know, is that many of my own friends were asking the same. Well, the short answer is, Colorado has become the new California. Sad but true. And yours truly is from the midwest. Wisconsin, specifically. I miss the friendly people, I miss the water, I miss the more laid-back life. I'm not a city girl. Never have been.
Anyway, I loved it! Humidity and all. It was so green, it almost hurt my eyes. The people were friendly. Most everyone smiled at me. Geez, whatta change!
And if I wasn't afraid I'd freeze my tushie off so far north, La Crosse, WI would be my bullseye of choice. Right now, I'm being a little more cautious and looking at the more southern locale of Rockford, IL. Any midwesterners out there that would like to comment? Clue me in? (Set me straight? a few of my friends silently mutter. The girl's lost her mind.)
Perhaps. :-)
A couple of thanks, besides to Chilly and my other buds (you know who you are), go out to two special inspirations: the article "What I Love About Menopause" by Marcelle Pick OB/GYN on the nicely unusual, homey-feeling Women to Women web site, and to Sue Shellenbarger, author of "The Breaking Point: How Midlife Crisis is Transforming Today's Women." I read the book last night, and it was good. Not a fantabulous book, mind you, but good. About 30-40% of it is that "research has shown that 16% of women blah-blah-blah and 22% of men blah-blah-blah" mind-numbing statistical stuff I can only take in limited quanties. The remaining 60% concentrated on stories of midlife craziness, told by fifty different women who have lived to tell.
And that's the part that enlightened me. The living to tell part. 'Cause for a long while there, I wasn't at all sure anyone ever made it out of this stage alive.
A couple of weeks ago, in mid-July, I did a crazy, wonderful midlife thing. I hopped on a plane (a very tiny one -- my! jets have been downsized since the last time I flew -- 1979?) and headed home to the midwest for a visit. Now I know many of you are asking, the midwest? Why? The reason I know, is that many of my own friends were asking the same. Well, the short answer is, Colorado has become the new California. Sad but true. And yours truly is from the midwest. Wisconsin, specifically. I miss the friendly people, I miss the water, I miss the more laid-back life. I'm not a city girl. Never have been.
Anyway, I loved it! Humidity and all. It was so green, it almost hurt my eyes. The people were friendly. Most everyone smiled at me. Geez, whatta change!
And if I wasn't afraid I'd freeze my tushie off so far north, La Crosse, WI would be my bullseye of choice. Right now, I'm being a little more cautious and looking at the more southern locale of Rockford, IL. Any midwesterners out there that would like to comment? Clue me in? (Set me straight? a few of my friends silently mutter. The girl's lost her mind.)
Perhaps. :-)
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