Susan's Scribblings the Blog

I’m an old lady with quite a few bum days behind me, but this past month has to be right up there with the most lengthy and depressing I have ever experienced.

It started right in with my workload on the first workday of the month, with phones ringing off the hook and all hands on deck to try and work through them. It was bad enough that, if our workers’ kids and pets could answer phone calls, we would have loved to have them onboard. Even though our services are available 24 hours, it seems people have mental blinders on and never call when it’s quieter, like on weekends or during off-peak hours. The holiday, start of school and the end of summer alternative job requirements (like taking your laptop to the shore) all came together for a perfect storm.

This need for every person on the phones resulted in the email forum becoming backed up with questions, comments and vitriol all morning, so I handled them in the afternoon, putting in extra hours which I would make up by leaving early on Friday. It was a fortunate alternative to overtime pay, since I was ready to crawl into a coffin by noon that day anyway.

Everybody was getting back into their fall, winter and spring routines, so extracurricular activities, or anything resembling recreation, was put on hold for most parents. I had volunteered to handle some optional after-work tasks, which I can do because I don’t have kids. Those activities are normally fun distractions, but this month brought as few participants than I had ever seen when other folks ran them. I blame it on September; otherwise I would have to believe that nobody likes to attend when I lead.

The cemetery was quiet–meaning no living folks were present–when I went to visit my parents with flowers on their anniversary. The birds were silent, and the geese were merrily pooping while filling up on more grass to poop out some time later. That entire day went by without contact with another living human being. In fact, there were a lot of days like that in September.

One of my own personal group meetings brought three people out to join me, for whom I am most grateful. It seems nobody keeps a perpetual calendar notice on their cellphones, so folks forgot. We still had a great discussion, and we nearly closed down the place (their hours are only until 9:00 PM).

Television was pre-new season, so nothing much was on to provide me with any background noise while I worked. I think I turned it on half a dozen times in the past month. I stopped watching the news because it stirs too much emotion, gave up on “Jeopardy” and “Wheel of Fortune” because they had become less challenging and more of a nuisance. There is a series of music channels available, but the visuals with their trivia and fun facts about the featured artists are distracting while I’m trying to work. My satellite service wants to charge me for delivery to a radio, which I would also need to buy. No thank you.

Went to the lab to bleed into a tube or four, and the results showed a few high numbers, but the doctor told me I’m fine. Doctor knows best. The sleep study I underwent resulted in a referral (more on that to come, once that happens). I had a chance to jump the line into an earlier appointment, but it’s for the first of October, which will be just as busy as the first of September after the holiday weekend, so I turned that chance down. My job needs me. Or I need my job. Or both.

Meanwhile, as I look into the possibility of joining a gym, I realize that physical fit farms are way scarier than they’re made out to be. The fit folks rip into the people who are trying to get in shape, which discourages people from getting into shape just so the fit folks can rip into them. The people who use the equipment don’t always treat the devices as they should. People sweat, they don’t put any underwear between their nethers and the surfaces they sit on in just their stretchy workout clothes, because that would not look fashionable. It’s a godforsaken germ paradise waiting for a fresh body to populate upon.

The other day I needed to explain to somebody how a year works, and they argued with me about it. You see, the individual was, like most cheap-minded people these days, looking to snag a discount just like they got between 2020 and 2023. Who cares if the place goes out of business, as long as one of their last acts was to give you a discount that put a heavier financial burden on the very industry you are actually supposed to be paying money to so they can be reliable when you need them. Anyway, the person was soon to attain a milestone, which would avail them of a discount. By soon, I mean they were in year nine of a ten-year anniversary. The person, however, was determined to convince me that year nine counts as year ten. I had to explain to an elder–whom I as a Boomer was raised to respect–that a person is not one year old at birth; one must go through 365 days to attain the age of one year, and so they must complete year ten to be eligible for the discount. Of course, the clapback was then, “So, you’re admitting that you are refusing to help me.” Where is Scott Seiss the “Ikea guy,” whose snarky customer service videos are a funny look into what some employees wish they could say? I could use his advice. I don’t know if the person is going to throw a few decades of loyalty down the drain because they can’t wait one year more or not, but I did my best to encourage the person to stick it out because I’m told the perks are worth it. But hey, let me bear the burden of watching you shoot yourself in the foot.

I guess that’s my problem: I care too much. I show up and suit up and take the absentees and abuse and quiet in stride because that is my lot in life. This month did weigh a bit heavier than usual, just because it was so devoid of positivity.

Maybe October will be better.