April 12th, 2008

Natter

There are really too many posts about how much I love malls, but in truth, it’s *because* I don’t get to go that often that I feel compelled to kvell every time I do. Yesterday, killing time before dinner, I bought some lip balm that benefits AIDS research, which is funny because trying on lip-balm testers in stores used to be how kids thought you could get HIV. So I put on some of the tester, to prove to myself how far we’ve come. Or something. Mall symbolism gets a little murky.

Other items of mall joy: mannequins with furrowed brows! The hilarious security guard at Sephora! My new camisole, purchased for the sole purpose of compensating for tops and dresses that I buy, otherwise nice but far too low-cut. Is nipple-grazing the fashion now, or do I just have an unerring love for inappropriate shirts? Anyway, camisole=problem solved.

Gosh, this is trivial. But such is life.

Better: I’m going to see a little Victorian melodrama tonight, courtesy of the kids at Free Biscuit, still going very strong despite the fact that the blog is no longer being updated (hence no link!) Also now reading/looking at Alison Bechdel’s *Fun Home*. I really mean it about the “looking at” part–I’m getting way better at taking it all in when I read graphic novels. I used to actually skip the pictures and just look for words! Not consciously, but if there was narrative in the visuals, I’d miss it and then have to go flipping back for it. I’m picking up a lot better this time. Could help that Bechdel is both brilliant and extremely textual–she builds books and words into a lot of her images, and so those boundaries start to blur. Anyway, it’s an extremely compelling book, highly recommend if dig that sort of thing.

Sorry, I’m rainy-day groggy. Perhaps a more brilliant post tomorrow!

Taste it and tell me it’s savoury
RR

March 11th, 2008

Scene 2

Two gents walk into the grocery store. They are wearing extremely nice suits, long overcoats flapping open. One is gangly and 6’3″-ish, one is about 5’8″, but both are strikingly attractive in that so-clean-as-to-look-wet, just-shaved-in-the-parking-lot way. They are somewhere in the low end of the twenties.

A lot of time is spent selecting baskets, which they swing Mary-Had-a-Little-Lamb style every time I encounter them in the aisles. I hear them talking loudly about how much they like spareribs and which kinds are best, but they don’t seem to know what they are looking for or to be putting much in their baskets. I see the tall one bounce off a display of cakes, basket swinging, overcoat flopping.

Rarely have such ingenuously heterosexual males been spotted shopping for supplies together. They walk so far apart they block a whole aisle, which they apologize for and attempt to cluster up, but it doesn’t work. Their shoulders are too wide, they talk to loudly, where will they swing the baskets? They wind up with about four items scrupulously divided and rattling around in the bottoms.

What can have brought about this state of affairs? Outword Bound corporate training program? Brothers evicted from parental home? Some sort of double-date doomed to ptomaine poisoning?

I lose them in frozen foods and go to check out. I am at register by myself in the otherwise crowded checkout area when the tall one passes by, basket swinging, probably dinging his canned crescent rolls. He walks towards my line, stops. He sees it is the shortest line, but he doesn’t join it. He stares nervously, watching me hand over my credit card. Is he checking me out? I *am* wearing cool tights. But nevermind, he’s at the *very* low end of the twenties. Pocket creditcard and receipt, gather bags.

As I retreat from the cashier, I sense tallboy advancing. He leans over the conveyor belt and speaks quietly and urgently to the cashier. As I leave the store, I hear over the PA system: “If there is a ‘Drew’ in the store, could he please report to the customer service desk? That’s DREW, please report to…”

RR

February 23rd, 2008

Me at the Mall

I know this isn’t a popular problem to have, but I am a thwarted consumer. I love shopping and, sadly, I love the worst capitalistic aspect: malls. Even when I was a student and all my discretionary income went towards coffee, I called the mall (all malls are The Mall) The Museum of Nice Clothes and went sometimes just to savour all the *stuff*. Doesn’t need to be mine for me to appreciate it.

Now, however, I am no longer a student, but a person with a decently remunerated full-time job and I could have the occasional expensive bit of discretionary fluff. However, I almost never shop unless there’s a birthday I’m in danger of missing, because full-time jobs eat up a lot of time and then there’s this whole writing thing I do. So my clothes wear out and discretionary purchases are limited to high-end groceries (but how many artichoke hearts can a girl eat?) In many ways, I still look like a student (not if you get close to my eyes, though), because I dress, well, with deliberation, but there are some gaps.

I had a perfectly servicaeble and presentable black canvas bookbag throughout grad school, which my parents gave me to congratulate me on getting in, and which disintegrated promptly on graduation (magic book bag?) Having no time, or really, no patience, I’m not *that* busy) to procure a new one, I fell back on my purse, which is small and stylish and, for days when I needed to bring a heavy book, or a big lunch, or my gym stuff (read: every day) I would have my old book bag, which is a) emblazoned with the word “bloomie’s,” b) fuschia, and c) 21 years old.

I’ve been using this bag for *months* and it occurred to me only today that it is hideously unprofessional to be lugging to work, no matter how brilliant the books inside. So I had a minor freak-out, which justified a trip to the mall. Hurrah!

Oh, I had the full mall experience: my way was impeded by unsupervised toddlers and angry teens in do-rags, I looked at bizarre herbal products from the GMC, and bought cherry-banana fat-free, sugar-free frozen yoghurt from a charming nervous Asian girl (“She’s new,” explained the charming nervous Asian boy who was directing her in fruit apportioning. I nodded encouragingly. “I’m new, too, but I been here a week already.” “You’re both doing great,” I told them, and they beamed as I took my dessert. It was fuschia, too, and awful. When will I learn?

I bought no bag, because these are the years of bling, and I can’t do with that much shininess on a leather bag. I saw some nice things, but they all had at least big buckles and zips. For a minute, I got confused and thought I liked a pink patent leather thing, but I stopped myself. I can’t wait until my 40s to get this right. I’m going somewhere more conservative tomorrow, I think. On my way out of the big Scarborough mall, I got myself embroiled at the crosswalk and almost didn’t make it (Scarborough is like a dangerous lover–once you are in her arms, the only way out might be death).

I had a perfect time.

Carry the news
RR

February 14th, 2008

Love Like

I started writing a post about Platonic ideals a couple days ago, but what with the weight of saying something intelligent and all the varying demands on my time these days (do not leave kitchen floor covered in crumbs; pay your bills; go to work; write fiction; eat; do not ignore your friends) I’m not sure when that will be done. So, on the eve of Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d do a little easy post, on niceness.

Today, I had a magnificent customer service experience. I had bought a defective product and was sad (and nauseated; it was a defective food product*) so I looked up the customer service number on the brand website and called. The woman on the phone was tensely, nervously helpful–she wanted my first name so that she could “better address” me, and she promised to “address” all my concerns before she even knew what they were.

You can sort of guess why someone in a role like that would sound like you just kicked her dog. I mean, “customer service hot-line” reads “complaint line” to pretty much everyone, and since the number isn’t on the packaging and you have to look it up on the web, you have to be pretty plaintive to call that number. I’ve had jobs along those lines, and it was terribly terribly unfun. I’m sure there are circumstances where it is necessary to yell in order to be treated with respect, but this sort of scenario is rarely one of them. Some people just call to yell.

I, however, only wanted a refund on my snack item. When, in response to the customer server’s tense politeness, I was politely tense back (I get nervous calling strangers), her manner loosened markedly. And when she realized that I had a legit complaint (“I, oh, ew, I *assure* you that that is *highly* unusual”) things went along swimmingly. It was easy for me to arrange a refund, and pleasant. Nice.

Nice, a highly underrated quality. One of my better ones, I like to think, and the reason working in service did not destroy me utterly. It’s so *easy* to be civil to strangers, because they’ll be gone soon and won’t want anything from you again. It’s the people who are around all the time who are going to make demands, who are going to be hard to put up with.

I am not feeling *terribly* hostile towards V-Day this year, but romantic love already gets a *lot* of attention in our society. I don’t know that it needs this particular day. And I don’t think customer service reps are any less worthy of a day than secretaries and nurses, both of whom have Days, and significantly more so than, say, bosses.

People feel free to be rude to store clerks and phone reps because there are no repercussions–it’s a five minute relationship and the outcome is unlikely to improve if you turn on the charm. But the *interaction* will. That’s the thing–I’m not necessarily advocating politeness for it’s own sake here, though if that’s the only argument that will work on you, take it. It’s that you end up with the exact same groceries whether you smile at the clerk and say, “Thanks, have a nice day,” or keep your iPod in and don’t make eye-contact. But there’s no hope for a return smile or friendly comment if you do the latter, and who needs fewer of those things? On my best days I try not to squander any interaction–the bus driver is never going to change my life, but if I say thank you as I get off, he or she will usually call some variant of, “You’re welcome, have a good day!” which are words you just can’t hear too often.

The customer service rep on the phone asked me if there were any further problems she could help me with, and I told her that my only problem had been that I’d spent the money and had no snack item, and now that she was sending me the refund, I could buy a new snack. I thanked her. She thanked me. This all took about three minutes, and was lovely.

I imagine lots of people are going to be do fun Valentinesy things tomorrow, and me too, but one thing that might be nice is to be nice to *everyone* tomorrow, not just the ones we love best.

I’m backed out on the car
RR

December 15th, 2007

Good and Bad News

Well, it is good news to me, as well as surprising, to discover that 28% of Canadians are currently boycotting Walmart (in a marketing text I read for work; sorry I can’t offer a link). I was feeling really pleased to be a part of a group so much larger than I’d have thought. I haven’t been able to shop there, despite my delight in inexpenisve consumer durables, since I read Barbara Ehrenreich’s gently terrifying bookNickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America, about minimum-wage jobs and the lives lived by their workers.

Anyway, I felt good and solidarity-like for about 12 minutes, before I realized Walmart is doing just fine. More than a quarter of the country is pointedly not shopping there, and the store is thriving.

It’s maybe that “pointedly” above that was the problem–is the 28% really comprised of people who would’ve shopped there anyway? As I tell this news to my friends, friends who are mainly young people who rent their homes, have a lot of education, low-level professional jobs and no children, I have found that almost all of us fall within the 28%, but what would we have been buying if we did shop there? Walmarts aren’t easily available to the downtown-dwelling, non-car-driving population; the year before my boycott, I remember what I bought there distinctly, because I went only once. A friend’s father drove us as there as a special favour, and I bought a coffeemaker and yoga pants, for a grand total of about $50. For the year. Pre-boycott.

My brother points out that people will take on the strong stand when the costs to their personal happiness and inconveniences are minimal, and this is sadly true. I still don’t buy much organic food because it is so expensive, even though I do believe it is better for the environement. The sad truth is, I haven’t much buying power.

Then yesterday, I was at a party, whinging about this to a group of the converted, one of whom pointed out that it’s only by talking about these issues that a relatively powerless demographic can gain some power. My nickels and dimes don’t add up to much, but I can tell people who have more to spend, or just so many little people that our collective power adds up to something. So I’m telling you this–not that you should boycott Walmart, but that you might want to if you read about their treatment of their employees and think about these issues the way I do. So…that’s it, I’ve told you. And I think that’s for the good.

Other good news is that Polident, the denture-cleaning people, now make one of those effervescing pellets for retainers. The bad news is that I wear a retainer, but you knew that. Now it is a sparkling clean retainer.

But, ok, ok, the *really* good news is that The Journey Anthology was reviewed in The Globe and Mail‘s Books section this morning, and they said amazing things about my short story, “Chilly Girl.” Also the other stories in the collection, all of which blow me away, and the whole thing was quite joyous to read (my protagonist gets called someone else’s name, but that’s pretty minor. Quibbles!!)

And the other good news is that, despite living under a rock, I have numerous lovely friends who call and email when something nice happens. Otherwise I might never have known.

Let’s get wrecked on Rolling Rock
RR

December 8th, 2007

Can-Lit Tip

It’s going to be a Can-Lit Christmas here at Rose-coloured, and while not exclusively, I have mainly been accumulating books for the holidays, which in addition to being entertaining and edifying, are also easy to wrap rectangles! Hurrah!

I’m also attempting a semi-non-corporate holiday here, not because I am completely convinced of the evils of big companies (I do enjoy shiny, as we all know) but because when possible, I’d rather my cash go somewhere that I think will do something awesome with it, and most likely needs it. I won’t be naming names but the companies that I’m ambivalent about are not really feeling the bite of my semi-boycott–if I don’t shop there, other people will. On the other hand, when I buy a book at Book City or This Ain’t the Rosedale Library I feel like it might actually matter. Which is a good feeling.

Much as I love the look and feel, breadth and range, and care that I see in small bookstores, they can’t stock everything. In our want-what-I-want-when-I-want-it lifestyle (ok, in mine) it can start to seem quixotic to stomp to 4 bookstores in the cold when you actually know what you want is at the mall. And while shopping online is the answer to many lifestyle issues, as far as I know the online bookstores are all big corporate. (if there’s a little indie site somewhere in Canada, please tell me!)

You’ve probably understood the point of this post from paragraph one, or some years before, but to me it was a revelation that came last month: you can order books directly from the publisher!! If the book’s print, it’ll be in stock, and the publisher actually makes more money on that particular sale because they don’t have to give a cut to the store/site/distributer/whatever.

Ok, yes, I’ve been working in publishing for more than five years, but let’s emphasize that it wasn’t marketing/sales, ok? Thanks!

I can see not wanting to do this if you only want a single book from each publishing house, but multiple books in total, and want the economies of scale that come from the online superstores (ie. free shipping). But some houses have pretty good deals about this stuff, too, especially around the holidays, and many (I’m sure not all) are as quick and easy as an online superstore.

So here’s what you do–find out what publishing house puts out your book, or distributes it in Canada (most, though not all, imported books will come into the country through some sort of a arrangement with a Canadian house–no need to order books from abroad unless a) they haven’t been picked up here for whatever reason, b) they’re cheaper elsewhere, c) you particularly like a cover from another country. If you don’t know, Google your book (or, sigh, search it on one of the Canadian bookstore sites) and it’ll tell you.

Then google the house or find it on The Association of Canadian Publishers website, and follow their ordering system. It’s a couple extra steps, but it might be worthwile, if you feel so inclined.

Happy reading and, oh, happy Hannukkah (everyone spells this holiday differently! How do you spell it?)

RR

December 4th, 2007

You could say it’s my own damn fault

…for being cheap enough to buy the bottom-of-the-line coffeemaker, or being clumsy enough to smash the carafe by hitting it with a hot tray of corn muffins, or being weak enough to get addicted to caffeine, but I still think it’s stupid and unfair that Westinghouse doesn’t sell a replacement carafe for the cheapest coffeemaker on the market. Unfair to the cheap and clumsy and caffeine-addicted, I guess. Anyway, I now have a coffeemaker I could give you free of charge, never been used, as long as you can provide your own carafe. Hit me up, yo!

Who taught you to live like that?
RR

September 3rd, 2007

Weekend Summation

–What blue blue skies!
–Tequila Bookroom has a rooftop patio that is gorgeous. Did you know that? I didn’t know that.
–I bought patent leather shoes. They are very shiny.
–Kim(berly) came to visit and she has been in the sun so much this summer that she is blonder than ever. Lemon blond, Barbie blond, it’s insane. And she is also well and charming as ever, and the visiting cat adores her.
–Oh my goodness, the weather was so gorgeous–sunny and warm, but with a coolish breeze and at any hour the sun seems to be on a tilt. I guess this is what they mean by Indian Summer. Is that expression still acceptable, political-correctness-wise?
–I also bought a $98 sweater for $24. That makes it easier to accept that sweater-weather is coming.
—High School Musical: the Concert lacks exposition.
–Long weekends are nice.
–What are we celebrating on Labour Day again?

Get your head in the game!
RR