Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Saturday, June 18, 2011
I won't bleed for you.
I cannot donate blood for medical reasons. I know many others who also, for various reasons, cannot or chose not to donate blood. Their reasons, and mine, are no one’s business. When blood drives are run on campus or at work, they and occasionally I are hounded by well meaning, but ignorant people. If you ask someone to donate blood and they politely decline, the correct response is to accept it, not to ask why not and try to challenge their objections.
When I was still at Pima, I watched a volunteer harass a classmate. She was walking towards me to start a study group and he got in front of her, telling (not asking, mind you, but telling) her to sign up to give blood. She politely said, “I’m sorry, I can’t.” He told her that was ridiculous. She responded, “It’s for medical reasons.” By this time, I was not happy and I walked towards them. He asked, “What medical reason?” She started to answer, but I interrupted, “It’s none of your business. Shame on you for harassing her.” I was given a death glare and asked if I had donated yet. I looked him straight in the eye and said, “No, and I am not going to donate and my reasons are none of your business.”
Now, I am in favor of blood drives. They do a lot of good and they save lives. If you can donate medically and it is not against your religion or views, then I encourage you to donate as often as you can. However, do not pressure anyone to donate or harass people because they do not or cannot do the same.
When I was still at Pima, I watched a volunteer harass a classmate. She was walking towards me to start a study group and he got in front of her, telling (not asking, mind you, but telling) her to sign up to give blood. She politely said, “I’m sorry, I can’t.” He told her that was ridiculous. She responded, “It’s for medical reasons.” By this time, I was not happy and I walked towards them. He asked, “What medical reason?” She started to answer, but I interrupted, “It’s none of your business. Shame on you for harassing her.” I was given a death glare and asked if I had donated yet. I looked him straight in the eye and said, “No, and I am not going to donate and my reasons are none of your business.”
Now, I am in favor of blood drives. They do a lot of good and they save lives. If you can donate medically and it is not against your religion or views, then I encourage you to donate as often as you can. However, do not pressure anyone to donate or harass people because they do not or cannot do the same.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Most of you know that I work at a grocery store that is part of a large chain in Arizona and owned by a national chain. I worked on Memorial Day, which I didn't mind because I can use all the hours I can get during the summer break. We were busy because apparently it makes the most sense to do all your holiday shopping on the holiday in question. For the most part, our customers were polite, well mannered, fairly sane, and reasonably intelligent. There were, of course, exceptions.
We were sampling ribs, so we had our store grill out front being used to cook said ribs. Now I am sure that most of you know that when a grill is being used, it gets hot and it would not be a good idea to play around with it. We set cones up around the grill, but seeing as we do not have, "leave the grill alone, it is hot, stupid" cones, we used the ones that simply said caution and have the falling man on them. Most of our customers were smart enough to figure out that the cones meant that we did not want them to get too close to the grill when our grillmaster was not there to physically prevent them. However, we had a customer, a grown man, decide that since the cones did not specifically say to leave the grill alone that it meant he could start investigating it. I scared him off just as he was about to put his hand on the side to see "how hot it gets when you cook it." My coworkers said I should have let him burn himself, but I hate to see anyone, even the stupid, hurt themselves.
Later in my shift, I was in the lot grabbing carts when a customer approached me. He had a look on his face that I've seen before, the "I have a problem and I want it to be your problem" look. I took a breath and smiled like a good wage slave. I then had an interesting conversation with him, I'll call him Captain Idiot...
Captain Idiot : "Hey, my car is over there, the green truck, and if I turn it off, it won't start up again. I have to run in really quick to get something. Can you keep an eye on it?"
Me: "No, I can't. We can't be responsible for it."
Captain Idiot : "Don't you have a security guard or something?"
Me: "Yes, but he can't watch it for you either. We cannot be liable..."
Captain Idiot (interrupting me): "I won't hold you guys reliable"
Me (walking away): "It doesn't matter, sir, our policy is clear on this."
Captain Idiot (shouting as he walks into the store): "Sorry you have to work on Memorial Day!"
He was in the store for half an hour and when he came back out, his piece of junk was still there, running and wasting gas.
We were sampling ribs, so we had our store grill out front being used to cook said ribs. Now I am sure that most of you know that when a grill is being used, it gets hot and it would not be a good idea to play around with it. We set cones up around the grill, but seeing as we do not have, "leave the grill alone, it is hot, stupid" cones, we used the ones that simply said caution and have the falling man on them. Most of our customers were smart enough to figure out that the cones meant that we did not want them to get too close to the grill when our grillmaster was not there to physically prevent them. However, we had a customer, a grown man, decide that since the cones did not specifically say to leave the grill alone that it meant he could start investigating it. I scared him off just as he was about to put his hand on the side to see "how hot it gets when you cook it." My coworkers said I should have let him burn himself, but I hate to see anyone, even the stupid, hurt themselves.
Later in my shift, I was in the lot grabbing carts when a customer approached me. He had a look on his face that I've seen before, the "I have a problem and I want it to be your problem" look. I took a breath and smiled like a good wage slave. I then had an interesting conversation with him, I'll call him Captain Idiot...
Captain Idiot : "Hey, my car is over there, the green truck, and if I turn it off, it won't start up again. I have to run in really quick to get something. Can you keep an eye on it?"
Me: "No, I can't. We can't be responsible for it."
Captain Idiot : "Don't you have a security guard or something?"
Me: "Yes, but he can't watch it for you either. We cannot be liable..."
Captain Idiot (interrupting me): "I won't hold you guys reliable"
Me (walking away): "It doesn't matter, sir, our policy is clear on this."
Captain Idiot (shouting as he walks into the store): "Sorry you have to work on Memorial Day!"
He was in the store for half an hour and when he came back out, his piece of junk was still there, running and wasting gas.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Pick A Hand
I am ambidextrous. There is only about 5% of the world’s population who are considered ambi (no, I do not want to spell out ambidextrous a bunch of times), and most of these “ambi” people are converted lefties or right-handed people who have made a conscious effort to learn to use their non-dominant hand.* Around 10% of people in the United States are left handed by comparison.**
I am a natural ambi, I was not a lefty switched to righty or a righty who “picked up” left-handed skills. I have been this way since birth. My mother once told me that even as a baby, I would alternate hands with no preference for either. I was a rare find, an almost mythical beast. My mother was content to let me have no dominant hand, having already had a lefty and two righties.
In kindergarten, I met the first obstacle to my neither-handedness. My otherwise nice teacher did not believe ambidexterity truly existed. To her, it was like big foot or the perfect swimsuit for any woman over a size 6. She thought that I was just being obstinate when I would alternate hands midway through a writing lesson. Through gritted teeth told me, “choose a hand already.” I looked around and noticed most of the kids were using their right hands, so I chose to use my right one for writing. It was the first time I made a conscious decision to favor one hand over the other. When I got older, I taught myself to write with my left, but it will probably never be as good as my right.
Because I am an ambi, I don’t pay much attention to which hand I am using to eat unless I am sitting next to Jamila. She is a natural lefty. If I am sitting on her left, I will make a willful effort to use my left hand. It upsets her when she is placed to the right of a right handed person as she knows they will end up bumping into each other multiple times. She often had that trouble when she was in Head Start.
Having her in Head Start caused many headaches. First, they placed her in the Spanish speaking section. She speaks maybe three words (non food) of Spanish now, and she spoke less of it then. Secondly, the “teacher” (teacher is in quotation marks because that is what her title was, but I considered her as much a teacher as I consider the Flintstones to be a historically accurate cartoon) would “correct” her when she would do anything with her left hand.
Despite my daily complaints, this continued for weeks. I had enough the day I showed up early and she was crying because her “teacher” yelled at her, in Spanish, for knocking over another student’s glass when she was eating. I was not happy. I got down to Jamila’s level and I told her that she had done nothing wrong, that the adults had made a mistake by putting her in the middle instead of on the end. Then I voiced my displeasure to this “teacher” and her supervisor. After the stunned looks started to fade from their faces and the supervisor started to give me a weak apology, I let them know that my left-handed, English speaking daughter would not be returning and left without looking back. It was one of my momma bear moments. I am not a woman to be trifled with if I am in momma bear mode.
*I read this on some website that I am pretty sure was scientific or something, but I don’t remember the website name because I visit a *lot* of websites and I read a *lot* of stuff.
**I am pretty sure that I read this in “Left Handed Kids, Why are They So Different”- the 1997 edition, so it may be outdated information. I only remember the book because of how wrong it was in so many ways.
I am a natural ambi, I was not a lefty switched to righty or a righty who “picked up” left-handed skills. I have been this way since birth. My mother once told me that even as a baby, I would alternate hands with no preference for either. I was a rare find, an almost mythical beast. My mother was content to let me have no dominant hand, having already had a lefty and two righties.
In kindergarten, I met the first obstacle to my neither-handedness. My otherwise nice teacher did not believe ambidexterity truly existed. To her, it was like big foot or the perfect swimsuit for any woman over a size 6. She thought that I was just being obstinate when I would alternate hands midway through a writing lesson. Through gritted teeth told me, “choose a hand already.” I looked around and noticed most of the kids were using their right hands, so I chose to use my right one for writing. It was the first time I made a conscious decision to favor one hand over the other. When I got older, I taught myself to write with my left, but it will probably never be as good as my right.
Because I am an ambi, I don’t pay much attention to which hand I am using to eat unless I am sitting next to Jamila. She is a natural lefty. If I am sitting on her left, I will make a willful effort to use my left hand. It upsets her when she is placed to the right of a right handed person as she knows they will end up bumping into each other multiple times. She often had that trouble when she was in Head Start.
Having her in Head Start caused many headaches. First, they placed her in the Spanish speaking section. She speaks maybe three words (non food) of Spanish now, and she spoke less of it then. Secondly, the “teacher” (teacher is in quotation marks because that is what her title was, but I considered her as much a teacher as I consider the Flintstones to be a historically accurate cartoon) would “correct” her when she would do anything with her left hand.
Despite my daily complaints, this continued for weeks. I had enough the day I showed up early and she was crying because her “teacher” yelled at her, in Spanish, for knocking over another student’s glass when she was eating. I was not happy. I got down to Jamila’s level and I told her that she had done nothing wrong, that the adults had made a mistake by putting her in the middle instead of on the end. Then I voiced my displeasure to this “teacher” and her supervisor. After the stunned looks started to fade from their faces and the supervisor started to give me a weak apology, I let them know that my left-handed, English speaking daughter would not be returning and left without looking back. It was one of my momma bear moments. I am not a woman to be trifled with if I am in momma bear mode.
*I read this on some website that I am pretty sure was scientific or something, but I don’t remember the website name because I visit a *lot* of websites and I read a *lot* of stuff.
**I am pretty sure that I read this in “Left Handed Kids, Why are They So Different”- the 1997 edition, so it may be outdated information. I only remember the book because of how wrong it was in so many ways.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Random Thoughts
Just some random early morning thoughts -
In Rappiccini's Daughter, could the garden be a fallen Eden, Beatrice would be Adam, Gustavo would be Eve, Doctor Rappiccini would be the Creator, and Professor Baglioni would be the serpent.
I have several teachers recommend that I read Sharon Olds's poetry after reading mine. I have read her stuff, while she has an interesting style, I don't really enjoy reading her stuff.
I will never understand why people will walk further to leave a cart in the wrong place than they would have walked if they had left it in the cart corral.
David Spade's character on Rules of Engagement (I only watch it occasionally and only because it has Patrick (the Tick) Warburton) is not funny.
Carrot cake should not be called cake and if you serve it and call it cake, I will call you a liar.
I really want wall to wall bookcases.
In Rappiccini's Daughter, could the garden be a fallen Eden, Beatrice would be Adam, Gustavo would be Eve, Doctor Rappiccini would be the Creator, and Professor Baglioni would be the serpent.
I have several teachers recommend that I read Sharon Olds's poetry after reading mine. I have read her stuff, while she has an interesting style, I don't really enjoy reading her stuff.
I will never understand why people will walk further to leave a cart in the wrong place than they would have walked if they had left it in the cart corral.
David Spade's character on Rules of Engagement (I only watch it occasionally and only because it has Patrick (the Tick) Warburton) is not funny.
Carrot cake should not be called cake and if you serve it and call it cake, I will call you a liar.
I really want wall to wall bookcases.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
How I Use Class Time
During class time, I have a bad habit of doodling or writing random little snippets of things. On Monday, listening to my ENGL 373B professor give yet another sex laden lecture this time focused on Whitman, I wrote, "Literature is his heroin." I kind of liked that so I wrote a (extremely) short poem with that as the first line. I still don't like the ending, but I'd figured I'd post it since it's been so long since I've added anything.
Professor S.
Literature is his heroin
Injects it into the minds of his students
The 72 year old dealer doles out Swift
Just a little taste of Whitman
Shooting up a bit of Defoe
A hit of Dickinson
Sex from the chandeliers with Kubla Kahn
Emerson cut with Keats
Freebasing the Shelleys
The only hope for this addiction - television rehab
Professor S.
Literature is his heroin
Injects it into the minds of his students
The 72 year old dealer doles out Swift
Just a little taste of Whitman
Shooting up a bit of Defoe
A hit of Dickinson
Sex from the chandeliers with Kubla Kahn
Emerson cut with Keats
Freebasing the Shelleys
The only hope for this addiction - television rehab
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