WonderBlog

Sigurd Part IV

Signy went to Seggeir, privately, and said, “I think you shouldn’t kill my brothers right away, but you should put them in stocks. For my sake, please don’t kill them quite yet.”

Seggeir mocked her, “You are crazy! It is far worse for your proud brothers to be put in stocked that to be merely killed. I am happy to do what you ask; they should suffer more.”

Seggeir had a big tree trunk in the forest made into stocks that would fit all ten of the brothers at once. He clapped all of them in the stocks and left them there in the woods.

At night, they were still there, helpless. A huge hungry wolf found them, and ate one of them.

In the morning, Signy’s man told her what had happened. She was horrified and filled with grief, but there was nothing she could do. Every night, the wolf came back to eat another brother. At last, only Sigmund, her twin was left.

This time, Signy sent her man to Sigmund, with some honey. She told him to smear the honey all over Sigmund’s face and to put some in his mouth. This done, he went away and left Sigmund to his fate.

Naturally, the wolf came back again for her supper. But this time she smelled the honey. She licked it all off Sigmund’s face, and was beginning to lick the honey out of the inside of his mouth. Sigmund was ready for this, and when her tongue licked into his mouth, he bit down hard and wouldn’t let go.

The wolf jerked back in pain, and kicked at the tree to get away. The tree broke, freeing Sigmund. But he still wouldn’t let go! He clung onto the struggling wolf until her tongue ripped out, and she died.

Some people say that the wolf was Seggeir’s mother, who was a witch and could turn herself into other creatures. Could be. But Sigmund took care of her!

So now he is free! He ran into the woods and stayed there. Signy sent men to find out where he was, and when she found out, she went to him.

Together, they made him a cozy home in the ground in the woods. Sigmund stayed there for quite a while.

But King Seggeir thought he had killed the whole Volsung family. But Signy turned inside herself, plotting revenge.

She had two sons by Seggeir. When the oldest was ten, she sent him to see Sigmund, to see if he could help Sigmund take his revenge on Seggeir.
Sigmund received the boy, and talked with him for a while. Then he gave him a sack of flour and asked him to make bread while he went out to gather firewood.

This was just a test for the boy.

When Sigmund came back, he asked where the bread was. The boy said, “There was something in the bag, and I didn’t want to open in.”

Sigmund lost all respect for the boy, because he had no courage. He knew that the boy would be no help avenging their family.

When he saw Signy next, he told her that. Signy said, “Kill him them. I have no more use for him.” And Sigmund did.

When he next boy was old enough, the same thing happened to him.

Signy despaired of finding the proper man to help Sigmund take revenge upon Seggeir. She was sitting in her chamber, trying to decide what to do about it, when a sorceress of great skill came in to see her.

Signy saw her opportunity: “Change shapes with me!” The sorceress agreed. After all, Signy was the queen.

So they switched shapes, and the sorceress stayed in the palace. The king never knew it wasn’t Signy.

But Signy, in the shape of the sorceress, was off to the woods to see Sigmund. I’m only telling you what happened.

Signy went up to Sigmund’s door, “Please,” she said, “I am a poor woman, cold in the woods. Please let me in and give me shelter.”

Sigmund let her in and treated her well. He never had any idea that it was his sister. He fed her dinner and looked closely at her. She seemed like a fine woman to him. You can imagine what happened next. He asked her to sleep with him, and she did.

For three nights, they were together. Then Signy left to go back to the castle. She met with the sorceress and changed shapes again. No one ever knew.

But now she had a baby. He was the child of Sigmund. She named him Sinfjotli when he was born. As he grew up, he was strong and looked all Volsung. Well, he was.

Even before he was ten, Signy sent him to Sigmund. He went through the same bake-bread-while-I-gather-firewood scenario. When Sigmund came back, the bread was all ready for him.

Sigmund asked him if he had found anything in the flour. Sinfjotli replied, “I suspect there was something, but whatever it was, I just mixed it in with the bread.”

Sigmund was delighted with this response. He said, “You might not want to eat this bread for dinner tonight. You kneaded in the most poisonous snake into the bread.”

Sigmund ate the bread, though. He was tough enough to stand any poison. Sinfjotli could only stand external poison; he couldn’t eat it.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 07:18 PM | Permalink

Once the sword was out of the tree, everyone could see it was finer and more beautiful than they had even thought. Everyone admired it.

King Seggeir really wanted the sword. He said to Sigmund, “I’ll give you three times its weight in gold for that sword.”

I think this really shows that Seggeir was an idiot. Everyone in the hall knew that the sword was special, not something you just buy. Sigmund was meant to have it, and that’s why he was the only one who could pull it out.

Sigmund turned Seggeir down, “ You could have taken the sword from where it stood, no less than I did, if it were meant for you to carry it; but now that it has come first into my hands, you will never get it, even if you should offer me all the gold you own.”

Well. Seggeir did not like that answer one bit. He thought that Sigmund was being a snotty-nose punk and that he had no right to talk that way or even THINK that way about him, the mighty King Seggeir.

But he kept a straight face. He already knew how to lie. He didn’t say much more about it. But he decided he had to leave.

This was totally rude! Wedding feasts were supposed to go on for days and days. It gave everyone a chance to celebrate, and the family a chance to say goodbye to their daughter or sister. King Seggeir tried to cover up how rude he was being by saying, “You all must visit my kingdom soon. Everybody! Bring all your friends and servants and whoever you want! In three months, okay?”

Volsung and his family agreed to come, and Seggeir left with Signy.

Now this is where is gets sad. King Volsung and all his sons got ready and came when they promised, suspecting nothing. But when their boats reached King Seggeir’s kingdom it was dark.

Signy was waiting for them. She snuck up to see them, because she had to warn them.

She told her dad, “Seggeir has been waiting for you, but he has gathered together a huge army to fight with you and kill you. You must turn around at once. Gather up your armies and come back prepared to meet with him in battle! Otherwise, you will be trapped by his lies and surprise attack!”

But Volsung seemed to have a habit of not listening to his only daughter. He made light of the situation and got all heroic and fatalistic. This is exactly what he said:

“All peoples bear witness that unborn I spoke one word and made the vow that I would flee neither fire nor iron from fear, and so I have done until now. Why should I not fulfill that vow in my old age? Maidens will not taunt my sons during games by saying that they feared their deaths, for each man must at one time die. No one may escape dying that once, and it is my counsel that we not flee, but for our own part act the bravest. I have fought a hundred times, sometimes with a larger army and sometimes with a lesser on. Both ways I have had the victory, and it will not be reported that I either fled or asked for peace.”

Stubborn Volsung! He was being very brave, but I don’t think he was being very smart. In those days, our people felt like peace was another word for coward, or “not good enough to win.” He wouldn’t go back and regroup.

Signy was completely upset; she cried and said she wanted to stay with them and not go back to the wicked Seggeir. But her father told her that her duty was with her husband, no matter what happened with the battle.

She left, crying and distraught, to go back to her husband.

Volsung and all the brothers armed themselves and got ready for the war they knew would be happening. As soon as they stepped off the boat in the morning, they walked into Seggeir’s army.

Wow, they fought like the best, hacking and slashing their way through the ranks of the enemy. They had gone through the ranks eight times and were turning around to do it again, when Volsung fell. The brothers looked around, and realized that their father was down and the rest of their ranks were all down except for themselves, the ten sons of Volsung.

The odds were too great. Seggeir’s men captured them, and took them away bound in chains.

Signy heard about it pretty quickly. She was full of grief that her father was dead, but since her brothers were still alive, she wanted to do anything she could think of to help them.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 07:17 PM | Permalink

Volsung grew up and was really good at everything people wanted him to do. He could hunt, and he could fight. When he was old enough, Hrimnir sent his daughter Hjold to marry him.

Hjold was the one who had dropped the apple for Odin on Hrimnir's lap. She was a very special lady, not for just anybody. But Hrimnir could tell that Volsung was the right kind of man for her. They were married, and were incredibly close. They loved each other very much and told each other everything.

He had all kinds of treasure, and he had built a big hall to be his palace. The hall had a lot of marvelous things in it, but one of the most amazing was the big tree that grew in the middle of the hall. It was huge, with a strong trunk and branches that spread all throughout the roof. The tree would blossom beautifully; you can imagine how much they loved this tree and how proud they were. They called the tree Barnstock.

Volsung didn't have the same only-child problems his grandfather and father had. He and Hjold had 11 kids, 10 boys and 1 girl. First off, they had twins. That was where the daughter came in; the twins were a boy and a girl named Sigmund and Signy. They really were the rulers of the roost among the kids. Everyone knew they were the handsomest and the best at whatever. They were really good friends too.

After they had grown up, a neighboring king took interest in Signy. His name was Siggeir, and he was a very popular king. To Volsung and his sons, Siggeir seemed to be everything they could want for Signy. But Signy didn't like him.

Back in those days, women didn't really get to pick their own husband. Especially royalty. I mean, it's like that now, too. Political alliances and all kinds of other considerations got it the way. Maybe that's was Volsung was thinking about when he decided to let SIggeir marry Signy.

She was trying to be a good girl, and obey her father. She told him that she didn't want to marry Siggeir, but that she would do what he said.

Naturally, Volsung said marry him.

But at the wedding supper, the strangest thing happened! This old man, in a shabby hooded cloak and no shoes walked into the hall carrying a sword. Weirdest of all, he only had ONE EYE. Volsung's family and all the guests were so amazed, they completed forgot their manners and just stared at him.

This one-eyed man walked straight up to Barnstock and stabbed the sword into the tree all the way to the hilt. He announced, "He who draws the sword out of the trunk shall receive it from me as a gift, and he himself shall prove that he has never carried a better sword than this one."

Then, he turned around, and walked straight out of the room. That is all they heard from him.

As you can imagine, everyone was stunned!

But as soon as they came to themselves, there was a mad dash for the sword. All the men tried to pull it out. Every last one of them, regardless of rank, pulled and tugged and kicked and yanked at the sword, trying to get it out of the tree.

Everyone could see that it was a really good sword. Plus, they all wanted to prove that they were the ones worthy of the challenge.
Finally, after everyone else had had a shot, Sigmund steps up and pulls out the sword.

As easy as that!

I'll tell you more next time...

Posted by Murphy Horner at 07:16 PM | Permalink

Every family has its stories. Maybe some of them are stories older siblings tell on younger siblings. My brother likes to tell the story of how I loved to shove rice krispies up my nose when I was in my high chair.
My mom likes to tell the story of how she fell in love with my dad. It was on their second date, and they were at the zoo. She said, “I don’t think I should say this so soon…But I think I am in love with you.”
My dad answered, “Me too.”

My dad has a story about his grandmother. Everyone knows this story. My frontierswoman grandmother, who was barely 5 feet tall, was outside one day with the baby. She was doing her regular chores, and then she noticed that there was a WOLF coming towards her child. Nobody was going to mess with her baby! She grabbed an axe and killed the wolf all by herself.

Imagine that!

It’s entered the family legends. There are lots of them. And it’s interesting, because no one that tells the story now was alive when the wolf was killed. But that’s okay, because it’s our family history.

I just read a little piece of my family history. It’s called Sigurd the Dragon Slayer. Yeah, I’ll call it family history, why not? My family comes from Nordic stock. We are every one of us Celtic-Anglo-Saxon-Germanic, big, tall, fair-haired and PALE. The original folks who told the story of Sigurd were Scandinavian, or Goths. I’m sure we were related somehow.

So I will claim kin, and tell you one of the family legends. It’s time you all heard it.

I have to start with a little background on Sigurd. He was supposed to be descended from Odin. But I have a few doubts about it. There might be some skeletons in the “descended from the gods” closet; I’ll let you hear the evidence and decide.

But even if he wasn’t Odin’s great-grandson, he still was quite a hero.

There was a man named Sigi, and HE was the son of Odin, so they say. Now, he had a servant or slave, what they called a thrall back then, named Bredi. Bredi was one of the best of men, really a great guy. He was strong and brave, far more than anyone expected a servant to be. Once, Sigi and Bredi were out hunting for deer. Sigi tried to capture and kill this stag, but he missed. Bredi kept chasing it though, and he caught it.

When Sigi caught up to Bredi, and saw that he’d caught the deer, he was jealous and mad. He lost it, and said, “how dare you, a slave, catch a deer when I cannot!”

He killed Bredi.

Now, back then, if you killed someone and admitted it, it was okay. I mean, they didn’t want people to go around KILLING each other, but if you owned up to it, they would let you make it right. They would let you off easier; you had to pay a man-price called “Were Gild” according to the value of the person. There were set amounts for how much the lives of different classes of people were worth. A slave was worth less than a king--I do remember that.

But Sigi was a coward. He hid Bredi in a snowdrift and took off.

Big no-no. If he were found out, he would be considered a murderer, and would have to be dealt with as such.

Sigi took the long route home. When he got there, people asked where Bredi was. He tried to act innocent. Bredi wandered off, he told them. He acted like he was surprised Bredi wasn’t back yet.

But they smelled a fish. That didn’t sound right to the people, and they went looking for Bredi. Maybe they had already figured out Sigi’s character. I guess it doesn’t mean much to have Odin as your daddy—you can still be a lying good-for-nothing.

They found Bredi in the snowdrift. After that, Bredi was the word they used for snowdrift, and even glacier.

But it also meant that Sigi was in trouble. He ran. He knew that they would consider him a “wolf in hallowed places” if he stayed amongst them. He couldn’t be trusted.

Odin stepped in again. I guess he was trying to help out his son. They went traveling, and as the story goes, they took a trip so long it was amazing. I don’t know anything about where they went or what they did, but the next thing you know, Sigi is married to somebody. He seemed to think she was quite a catch, and for all I know she was. But I never caught her name. He had built himself up all kinds of treasure and gotten himself made king of somewhere. So this lady was his queen.

Sigi and his queen had a son; they named him Rerir. He was a good boy, by the standards of the day. He managed to fight hard, like the princes are supposed to do, get gold and a kingdom, and he married a worthy woman. I never caught her name either, but I do know they really loved each other, and were very happy.

The only problem was that they were having some trouble conceiving. They prayed to their gods, long and loud, because they really wanted to have a child. Well, Rerir was Odin’s grandson after all. Freya, Odin’s wife, heard their cries. Like a good wife, she reminded Odin to take care of the problem.

I don’t know what Freya thought of Odin’s relationship with Sigi. I mean, really. I am pretty darn sure Odin was fooling around when Sigi was “in process.” But Freya was nice about Rerir’s problem. She thought Rerir was a very good man, a warrior and all kinds of other good things. So she spoke to Odin about it.

Odin decided to enlist the help of a Valkyrie wish-maiden. I really don’t know that much about this woman, but she’s important later. The wish-maiden was the stepdaughter or something to the Giant Hremnir. Apparently, they needed Hremnir help with this.

Odin gave the wish-maiden an apple, a special apple. The wish maiden changed into a crow (a crow!) and kind of nonchalantly flew over to Hremnir with this special apple. She’s sitting up over Hremnir while he’s on the ceremonial mound outside his house. Hremnir is surveying his domain from the mound, and the wish-maiden-turned-crow drops the apple in his lap.

Hremnir is no fool, whatever you may have heard about giants. He sees the apple and knows right away what’s up. But I guess he’s okay with it, because he takes it and goes to see Rerir’s queen.

Now, this is the part of the story that makes me raise my eyebrows. They SAY that they just “shared the apple,” but that sounds a little euphemistic to me. I don’t KNOW what happened, and I am not saying what happened or what didn’t, but you can be the judge.

All we know for sure is that afterwards the queen was pregnant, and they were overjoyed. That special apple did the trick.

But back then kings were always off warring. It was part of the job, I guess, they had to keep up with the killing, or they would lose respect I guess. King and Peace didn’t really belong in the same sentence, at least not they way they made it sound. So, Rerir had to leave and go battle somebody while his queen was still pregnant.

Only this time, he actually gets killed. While he is in his old-style lingering death throes, the queen manages to get her pregnant body down to the battlefield and say goodbye.

“Isn’t there anything I can do? Let’s get you patched up, “ she says.

But Rerir is a hero in all senses of the word. “There is no point. If I knew that I was never going to die, that would be one thing. But this is something that comes to everyone. It is my time to die.”

The queen was beside herself with grief. She stayed with Rerir on the battlefield, as he passed away. He told her not to be too sad, that she was carrying a son and he would also be a great hero. Finally, he died.

Now, the queen was having some trouble with her pregnancy. She was apparently pretty strong and healthy, but the baby did not want to come out. She was pregnant for 6 years. You can imagine this was not an optimal situation. The child kept growing within her. Finally, she realized that she was going to die because of the child. She told a doctor that he should open her up and take the child, because she was going to die anyway. The child came out, and he was a boy.

He was huge! He had been growing all along inside her, but he was a big boy for being six. His whole life, he was larger than other men who were considered big.

But he was able to kiss his mother before she died. She named him Volsung.

He became a famous hero, and all his children were named after him. In fact, a famous poem, called the Volsungasaga was written about him and his family.

Yes, my family! We should be proud.

I’ll tell you more about him tomorrow. We haven’t gotten to the part about Sigurd yet.

Just wait.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 07:14 PM | Permalink

..."in the multitude of middle-aged men who go about their vocations in a daily course determined for them much the the same way as the tie of their cravats, there is always a good number who once meant to shape their own deeds and alter the world a little. The story of their coming to be shapen after the average and fit to be packed by the gross, is hardly ever told even in their consciousness; for perhaps their ardour in generous unpaid toil cooled as imperceptibly as the ardour of other youthful loves, till one day their earlier self walked like a ghost in its old home and made the new furniture ghastly. Nothing in the world more subtle than the process of their gradual change! In the beginning they inhaled it unknowningly: you and I may have sent some of our breath towards infecting them, when we uttered our conforming falsities or drew our silly conclusions..."
George Eliot, from Middlemarch

I haven't finished Middlemarch yet, but that passage stopped me cold. Eliot wrote it 130 years ago, and how true it remains! We all know those people "fit to be packed by the gross", and I for one fear daily becoming one.

But the path lays so simply and easily in front of me, of us. The path from the bed to the closet full of work clothes, the path from the door to cubicle, then back to the prepackaged, demographically designed entertainment and commercial marketing

What disturbs me so much about the demographically designed entertainment is how ACCURATE they are! yes, I AM entertained by the same things that so many others of my age/sex/ethnicity/economic strata are!

And what better proof that I am fit to be packed by the gross?!?

I have, in the past, combat this by being scornful and suspicious of anything popular. If too many people liked something, I should not. Very simple. I can't be like everyone else then.

Levi's, Disneyland, popular film, music, television, all these things were to be dismissed, or if not, became guilty pleasures. Perhaps I could intellectualize a movie, if I liked it too much. "You see, Mulan is struggling with her gender identity and trying to come to terms with her own conception of herself!"

The major problem with this approach to life is it's essential FALSENESS. It is reactionary rather than reasoned or real. It did not take into account the merit of the thing.

If I refused to like things that were popular, and tried to embrace things that were alternative, edgy, or avant garde for no better reason than because they were DIFFERENT, I am not seeking a higher path.

I realized that I must look closely at the thing in question. Be engaged in my life; and to evaluate and try to understand what I engage it. This is responsibility at work. THIS is greater individuality.

And yet, the earlier way was better defined. It is frightening to leave behind easy labels.

I was QUITE nervous to visit Disneyland. My boyfriend would not accept my dismissal of it being evil. He said, "you have not been there since you were five. How do you know it's evil?"

So. I have been to Disneyland, and I guess it is not evil. It is a tool, and it can be USED for evil in the wrong hands. That's all I will say about it for now.

Naturally, I do not have to live my life in Disneyland. I live my life between the lines from the bed to the closet and the door to the cubicle. In between the lines, and on the margins, I look for ways to creatively express my individuality. There are flashes of poetry on the meeting notes I have on the table, and I can find time to read Eliot on the bus.

But I strive to remain engaged. Does it have to be this way? In between and on the margins might be a little shabby for my individuality.

Is there another path? Surely, there are other ways to live. Millions of people have lived their lives in millions of other ways.

I have heard a story about a man who put into his margins what I have made the lines.

Sam Hamill, who I only know about because books from his publishing house have been nominated for an award, drew his own lines. He decided a life dedicated to poetry would be his. I am awestruck. He created a publishing house for poetry.

Poetry, that difficult and indescribably beautiful artform that humankind has been turning and returning to since words were formed:difficult, because we must let go of pre-established equational connections and form our minds to new synaptic leaps.

Hamill chose poetry over a pension. He decided that renewing his mind was more important than stability.

I am amazed, astounded and envious.

I heard on the radio (I have searched, but I can't find it again...suffice it to say, it was an NPR station) the story of how he started Copper Canyon Press. He found an old 1907 printing press! He set the type by hand!

Later, he moved from Colorado to Washington, because he could get free rent there.

It is not like I haven't heard of people moving around, and doing "irresponsible" things like that. I grew up with people who did not want to be packed by the gross.

Alaska. There are barely enough people to MAKE a gross there.

So, I understood the "free rent" allure. I knew family after family that moved there, bought a plot of virgin land for practically nothing, and meant to build their dream home, their special individual place for THEM and THEIR FAMILY to be unique.

So, in the three months of summer, they threw up an A-frame structure, and did their best to insulate it against the quickly approaching winter.

And for years afterwards, the pink fiberglass and bedsheets for walls became stained with use, and the path to the outhouse grew bare and hardened.

This sort of individuality was common and not admirable, in my mind. Sure, it could be called "the path less traveled." I'm sure the (non-Alaskan) parents and extended families of the people who chose this life thought their children were the only ones in the world to live this way.

Well, I was FROM Alaska and not so easily impressed. These were the people who could be packed by the gross for me.

What purpose did this lifestyle serve? "Anti-materialism" or "anti-establishment" is only a negation. What is the positive contribution?

Hamill lived in his Washington home without the "basics", in the same way as those crazy Alaskans. However, HE made a lasting contribution to the world.

I feel challenged.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 07:12 PM | Permalink

I promised to share the story I wrote for my real-world journalistic debut. It made newsprint earlier this month, in the Highland Park News:

From Italy to the Internet: Galco’s Soda Pop Stop in Highland Park
By Murphy Horner

A small revolution has been bubbling up right here in Highland Park. At a time when large corporations and everywhere-you-look name brands are squeezing out all other options, John Nese has created a new business for his store on 5702 York Boulevard. He sells soda pop, and in a big way.

Galco’s Old World Market began over 100 years ago as an Italian grocery store. John Nese runs the store after his father Louis, who can still be found on the premises keeping an eye on things. Nese is proud of what his dad had done for the store. He tells stories of how his father started the first buying co-op to get better prices for their goods.

But things began to change for the next generation. The bigger supermarkets were taking over. They used their huge buying power to cut smaller businesses out of the market. Small shops could no longer get the discounts that supermarkets enjoyed. It was becoming very difficult for locally owned grocery stores anywhere to compete.

John Nese knew he would have to get creative to keep his store open. He noticed micro brewed beers were becoming popular. He liked the idea of the microbrewers. They were small businesses creating a product that emphasized quality, just like himself. But alcoholic drinks were only for people over 21. What about all the younger people or others who did not want alcohol?

In 1995 John decided to listen to his heart and do what felt good. In Nese’s own words, “What makes you feel good? Drinking a soda!” He began stocking hard-to-find sodas in his grocery store. As he tells it, the soda manufacturers were doubtful about whether the soda would sell. But he stocked them anyway, and even bought more varieties. He also began to seek out and buy candies from small candy companies. His philosophy at the time, in his own words, was “to go find little brands…and do what makes me feel good.”

He began to look for all the little brands that were around, and buy their products. After he had stocked 150 different kinds of sodas, people began to take notice. The Los Angeles Times came to Highland Park to see this new Soda Pop Stop and write a story. Apparently the story was so interesting, it was picked up by a news syndicate and published all over America, even running internationally.

Nese’s daughter contacted KCET’s program California’s Gold, and Galco’s Soda Pop Shop received a visit from the ever-enthusiastic Huell Howser. He filmed a show about John Nese’s store, which aired in 2000. A few months after, Sunset Magazine did a story about the Highland Park store that was now becoming a phenomenon.

Now that the word is out, customers are beginning to show up from all over the place. The Saturday I was there, I spoke with Kay and Bob Trevana. They were visiting California from Bloomington, Minnesota. Having seen the Soda Pop Stop on the Food Network, they came to check it out. Kay said, “It’s kind of amazing to see that there are that many pops out there.”

This is music to John Nese’s ears. He says, “The one thing I can do is offer the customer a lot of variety.” He works hard at bringing customers variety. By his calculations, if a customer tried out a new soda from his shop every day, it would be a year and a half before they would run out of new flavors.
But where does he find all these sodas? He listens to his customers. This business makes a huge point of asking the customers what they would like to buy. The proof is lined up on the shelves, in neat glass rows. Nese said, “Like the Manhattan Special. All of these things are from customers’ suggestions.”
The story of how Nese found the Manhattan Special (www.manhattanspecial.com) line of sodas is a classic example of how he runs his business. A number of New York City transplants had been requesting this coffee-flavored soda, so Nese called up the company to place an order. The woman who answered the phone was quite surprised. She wanted to know how the Los Angelino had even tasted the soda. When Nese answered that he had not tried it, she was having a hard time taking him seriously. Nese told her that he had a stack of requests from his customers who wanted Manhattan Special, and that was good enough for him.
She reluctantly agreed to let Nese place an order, but on one condition: he had to come get it. The Manhattan Special Company had been in business since 1895, and this is how they had always done it. If he was serious, he could pick it up himself.
Nese took up the challenge, arranged for a truck to go to Manhattan Special’s door and pick up the soda. He now stocks Manhattan Special in his store, and ships orders from his website (www.sodapopstop.com). His contact with the Manhattan Special Company must have had an affect on their policy, because now they also offer to ship orders to customers from their webpage.
Nese’s goal is bigger than just offering variety. He wants to sell high quality soda pop. In his experience, quality soda is bottled in glass and made with a cane sugar recipe. He feels strongly that the current use of corn syrup as a sweetener in soda is a bad thing. He explained that corn syrup is cheaper than sugar, but the quality of the soda suffers. He has gone to great lengths to get soda made with sugar.
It is hard job. He is a small business. Most of the manufacturers he buys soda from are small. He feels that maintaining high quality product is the best way for a small business to survive in a predatory market. He says, “Make a better product and the people will buy it.” Since he is in direct contact with the people who are buying the product, he has made a point of calling the manufacturers and demanding they use cane sugar and not corn syrup. He has to go all the way to Mexico for some of his sodas.
Customers who visited the store to buy milk and sugar 50 years ago would find it very different now. John Nese and Galco’s have come a long way. There is no milk or sugar on the shelves. But a lot remains the same. There is still a helpful person behind the counter. The owner still cares about the customers. And they still sell their famous blockbuster sandwiches. An Italian deli at the rear makes meat and cheese monstrosities that keep people coming back. Customers feel pretty good when they visit John Nese’s store. And that makes John feel good.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 07:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

ARE YOU NOW OR HAVE YOU EVER BEEN

Another Radio Drama! Great stuff, that LA Theater works. This one was a "docudrama." Love that word, it sounds so fake.

Of course, it is based on the House Unamerican Activities Committee hearings. Those hearings trouble me. I have been trying to get my head around them. The paranoia about communism seems excessive in retrospect. It was hard to believe that people really took it seriously.

But they really did. People lost their jobs because they knew people who were interested in a political viewpoint.

I can hardly think how this country, based on radical political ideals, would so trample on communism.
But it happened.

The play was based on real transcripts from the hearings: hence the "docu"mentary part of the docudrama.

There seemed to be a real emphasis on how bad it was to inform on other people. the consequences were pretty severe for the ones named as "members of the communist party." They couldn't get work.

It reminds me of the situation now, somewhat. I wonder how Muslim groups might be thinking and feeling now. I haven't heard much about how those detained have been questioned. I suspect they too are asked to name the names of people they know. I might have to find out more about this, I am only speculating right now.

The part that made the most impact on me was the conclusion. James Earl Jones played the voice of Paul Robeson. Of course, Jones's voice is marvelous. But the words that Robeson said were marvelous. He was so proud and magnificent, and the House committee members were scornful of him, because he was African American.

It made me want to find out more about Robeson.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 07:04 PM | Permalink

Guilt “On the Waterfront”

Rented “On the Waterfront” this weekend. I had seen part of it on TV years and years ago, and always meant to go back and see the whole thing.

It’s funny to see Brando so young. And Eve Saint Marie, she is so beautiful.

I thought the ideology behind the movie was very interesting. It was from the 50s, and it was set in a poor neighborhood. The men trying to work on the docks were “ethnic”, which was how things were in the 50s. They don’t seem SO long ago, but class differentiation was much more distinct then.

The 60s made a difference.

These men and their families talked about getting “food on the table.” One recurring motif is how a dead man’s jacket is given to someone else who needs it. Jackets, clothing, basic needs were not taken for granted.

They were poor and hard-working. They also had no prospects for anything better. Edie’s (played by Saint Marie) father tells her that he worked and slaved and saved so that she could get out of there. She had been sent to a convent to study. She was sheltered, but she had seen enough to be grateful for it.

The men kept complaining about unloading bananas.

Bananas, now, are the cheapest fruit in the store. Not so in the 50s. I doubt that the average dockworker ever had the opportunity to eat a banana.

They were struggling to get potatoes. It was hard.

But the point of the story was union corruption. That’s a tricky topic. Unions were created to stop corporate or “boss” corruption. But then, Unions became corrupt, and they began to exploit the workers. Almost like, where the bosses left off, the unions took up.

But it was hard to get unions going! They establishment of unions took a lot of work.

Also, I realized as I was watching it, Unions were considered socialist…Red..Communist! So how was this movie part of the whole McCarthy environment of the time?

Come to find out, the director Elia Kazan was brought before the House Unamerican Activities Committee. Twice. He Named Names on the second visit.

There were a lot of people that were blacklisted because of him. He didn’t feel too good about that.

The scene from the movie, where the priest stands over the dead body of the one man who had courage to name names about the corrupt union bosses springs to mind.

It was very preachy. The clergyman gave a very rousing sermon about what was right, and how you HAD to speak out to stop the bad guys. The laborers were throwing things at him, even, and he kept going.

He was SO righteous!

And all throughout the movie, the theme of informing and being a “stool pigeon” or a “canary” was repeated and repeated.

He even had real pigeons playing a prominent role.

One thing I noticed from the movie, too, was the lack of a real answer. Sure, they broke the back of the union boss. But what then? None of those guys were really capable of taking over. The viewer didn’t really have a sense that everything would be “happily ever after.”

You can see how Kazan had re-cast his own story, making himself a hero informant, making the world safe against unscrupulous bosses. I’m sure it scratched a sore itch for him, making this kind of movie.

But it didn’t really show any answers. Right then, I don’t think people had any.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 07:03 PM | Permalink

It's monday, and I stayed up late last night catching up on all my house chores.

So I am very groggy this morning.

I am considering whether or not ambition is evil.

One of the reasons I am thinking aobut this is because an old friend of mine recently started working at an Indian Casino.
Times are hard; he is a uber computer geek, but he can't find work. So he got what he could.
He said, "it's amazing to think about. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to, but many of the workers here are completely pleased to have the job, and say things about how stable it is, and how great it is."

It occurred to me that Indian culture is not expansionist. They are not like McDonald's and Starbucks, they don't necessisarily feel the need for more more bigger bigger all the time.
You might call that lack of ambition.
Or you might call it enjoying what life has to offer.
Food, clothing, the ability to appreciate your family and friends-that's really something.

What does ambition get you?
More money, less time to spend it.
Maybe not even more money. Depends on your ambition. I've known enough start-ups to know it doesn't always bring more money.

The angel of light (aka Lucifer) had ambition. Didn't do him much good.

Don't get me wrong. My ambition to do more and learn more has served me well, it's brought me a lot of good things.

But when is enough enough?
How much do I need? When should I stop?

In the Garden of Eden, what use was ambition? Maybe Adam and Eve spend a hard day working on the hedges...So that they could appreciate them the next day? That means they took the next day off.

It is easy on a monday to think that having to get up and work all day is evil.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 07:02 PM | Permalink

I don't know how profound I am going to be, but I just felt like blogging.

This week, I have put my foot down and GONE HOME as early as I can. I still put in 8,9,10 hour days, but I am really trying to avoid the 12 hour days.

THEREFORE:
I am experiencing life without sleep deprivation. I recommend it.
Previously, things which I knew where simple tasks had seemed insurmountable.
I knew something was wrong, and I had to figure out a way to get back to normal.

Sleep was a very big part of the solution.

So, all week I have been quite cheerful and productive.

BTW of nothing, I just noticed that I have someone FROM RUSSIA! who has visited my site.
Hello hello and welcome!

Russia's academy of science is where my visitor came from.

I've had a lot of international visitors (how do they find me? I have no idea!)
but never anyone from that special country.

Since we all lived there for years (some of us more than others) my dad has been really digging in and trying to learn the GRAMMAR.

scary stuff.

He had his birthday yesterday (happy birthday again, dad!) and was amusing himself with the fact that he is now 64, just like the Beatles song.
He and mom sang the song together. I think that's marvelous.

I'd get him a beatles CD, but I am almost sure he would never listen to it. He would much prefer a documentary video.

Anyway, Dad and I decided we should practice our Russian skills and become pen pals. That way we could practice writing and reading, and have something fun in the mailbox every once in a while.

I am going to have to find my RUS_ENG dictionary. I think one is in the bookshelf, but the good one is missing.

Well, like I said, not profound, but I am feeling pleased with life and thought I would burble on my blog for a while.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 07:01 PM | Permalink

Checked out "Long Day's Journey into Night" from the library. There were a lot of different drama recordings to choose from, but I picked that one because it had a reputation of being really good. Eugene O'Neill is a reknowned playwright, and this play gets mentioned all over the place in anthologies, etc.

I thought it was something I should experience.

So. I listened to it. I was looking forward to posting about a brilliant play, and giving my opinion of it.

It is not a fun play. I really didn't know what to expect, but it was not a comedy.

The whole story revolves around the mother in the family, who has a drug addiction. But as the play progresses, you find out that everybody is some kind of addict.

Their interactions are filled with justifications followed by wallowing in self-loathing. Then they are all so full of regrets and warning for everyone else.

Typical junkie behavior. I find it repulsive. I find it irritating, annoying and icky. So why would a whole drama showcasing junkiness be such a hit?

I can only think that, when the play came out, not many people had experience with junkies, and so they were fascinated.

I've had experience with junkies. My former father-in-law was an addict. It was quite exhausting, to keep up with his whereabouts and moods. Everyone in the family had to be massively elastic and jumpy to keep up with whatever he was going to do next.

And the astounding feats of justification and self-recrimination that his wife and son did. I never knew him as anything but an addict, so I was free to categorize him. They knew what he had been before, and were always judging his current behaviour as how close or far it was from his "real" self.

Crazy.

And now, one of my dearest friends just discovered her fiancee is a crackhead. She was describing how he reacted when she discovered him, and the lengths he had gone to hide the habit and lie to her.

I remembered my father-in-law. I remembered "Long Day's Journey Into Night."

Self-deception. The easy way out...Thinking "It's not really a lie...I will have quit the stuff before she finds out about it"

Then just a little more. And the NEED for it.

There are more people that can relate to this play than perhaps I realize.

Maybe it's a mirror, too. It makes me wonder what I'm lying to myself about. It's so so easy.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 06:59 PM | Permalink

This is Portrait of an Artist story, arranged for easy reference:

Prologue
The Story
Epilogue

Posted by Murphy Horner at 06:58 PM | Permalink

Of all the icky things, I discovered my cat has fleas.

My life here in LA has been accompanied with a precipitation of insects. First, before I even moved into my apartment, I got bit by some mosquito-like creature that made my face and finger (doggone thing bit on on the KNUCKLE) swell to unattractive and painful proportions.

Then there were the ants, in the hot weather. Ants were getting into EVERYTHING.

The sugar bowl!

And then the day came when Skellig stared at me with intense aggrieved accusation.

The ants were eating HIS food.

And now fleas. I have no idea where the fleas came from. The house has new carpet, so I don’t think they were lurking there. Skellig lives inside, only making dashes for freedom every once in a while across my concrete patio.

Nevertheless, Fleas are here.

I discovered one while petting my cat. It was very very icky. Especially when I realized that those bites on my legs were not mosquito bites, but had crawled on me in the night.

I was so grossed out, I didn’t want to go to bed. But it was late, and there was nothing I could do.

I had to wait until the next day.

So, I bought TWO rolls of quarters in anticipation of all the laundry I would have to do. I washed all my bedding and sprayed the bed.

I sprayed the couch.

See, I went to the hoity toity pet shop around the corner after I voted last night.

I would rather have gone to a plain jane pet store, but I don't know where one is...This one is called Catts and Doggs.

They have health food and holistic solutions for animals.

They also have Advantage, that flea neck poison stuff. Which I bought. And they had natural oils flea shampoo. Which I bought. And they had natural holistic carpet spray. Which I bought.

I also bought catnip, since I felt sorry for my pathetic cat. And they had soap bubbles which were non-toxic and SMELLED like catnip. Those will probably be quite a hit. I'll have to get back to that after I try them.

So I walk out of the store 80 bucks poorer.

And I go home to spray and wash everything.

I sprayed the bed before I put the clean sheets on it again.

And I sprayed the couch.

And then I bathed the cat.

Let me tell you, bathing a cat is WAY easier when you have those solid slidey doors on your bathtub. Unlike the bathrubs that have curtains, he had no hope of escape. He just gave up struggling and yowled.

He was trying to have as little to do with the water as possible, by kind of standing up against the door. This made it easier to wash his tummy. I have not usually been able to do that.

But the essential oil flea shampoo worked really good. He is a shiny shiny cat, now.

After he finished licking himself, I decided to apply the flea poison on the designated spot, behind his head. I didn’t want it bleeding into the wet fur and getting licked. It was enough to have to launder everything because of fleas, I didn’t want to launder everything because of cat barf, too.

Fleas are such a nuisance. They are so annoying and insignificant. That makes them even more annoying. They are not WORTH all this hassle.

I hope that we will soon see the end of them.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 06:53 PM | Permalink

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A VIDEO CONFERENCE ADMINISTRATOR

EPILOGUE

The radio was giving me a report about the stock market, and my eyes blinked awake. I looked at the clock. 4:30 a.m.—right on time. I lay in bed a moment longer, waking up.

My clothes were hanging on my doorknob, chosen the night before. I had showered before I went to bed, so I could slip right into my clean and pressed business casuals.

I fixed my hair and brushed my teeth, looking closely in the mirror at the red capillaries in my eyes. Almost ready.

The laptop and books I meant to read during this long day were packed and ready by the door. My lunch and breakfast were waiting in the fridge; I put them in my backpack. I stopped to pet my cat, who purred instantly when I touched his soft fur. Poor lonely kitty. I should pet him more, he is so grateful lately for it.

Slip on my warm coat, the weather is getting colder. I double-check: cell phone, security badge, bus fare. Yes, they are all exactly where I put them the night before. Grab my keys and walk out the door, ten minutes before the bus is scheduled to arrive.

The bus stop is right in front of my building. There is even a nice bench to rest there, but it is damp from the early morning dew. 5:10 is a misty moist time of day. I stand and wait.

Very few people are on the bus at this time of morning; the driver smiles at me as he answers my “good morning.” He is one of my favorite drivers, because he will remember my stop even when I forget. I would like to ask his name, but he seems bashful and that makes me bashful too. Instead I smile sincerely at him and take my seat.

The bus is dimly lit, so I do not read the book I have brought with me. I choose to watch the road go by. Soon enough we are traveling through Chinatown with its Dragon gate and interesting signs.

The new philharmonic hall is approaching; when we turn there I must stay awake. I will be getting off soon. I am alert enough this time to ring the bell and step off at my stop.

A full-bearded street person holding a shopping cart full of used suitcases watches me as I walk down to my building. “Good Morning Beautiful! How are you today?”

I decide to answer. “Tired,” I say. He responds loudly with sympathetic but undecipherable syllables. I smile to myself.

5:45 and all is in readiness. I stop at my desk to check for any messages. None of any consequence. Up to the 16th floor, where the video bridge operator is already connecting my video conference.

By the time I reach the room, it is connected, and Dave the NY person is in the room already. We set everything up and exchange pleasantries. Dave is a very easy-going guy, and we wait for the people from the other sites to appear. It is still quite early, but they all arrive and we test and check. Then we sit for a while longer, talking sports and making sure everything is stable.

Dave reads us the sports from the newspaper he brought with him. David from San Francisco says that it was very peaceful to walk up the street that early in the morning. Philip in Newport Beach looks so peaceful I think he is trying to fall back to sleep.

But everything is set; everything is working perfectly. Everything continues to work perfectly, so we disperse for the moment.

I set my laptop up at the abandoned receptionist’s desk just outside the conference room. I have my books, and I have my coffee mug. I take my mug and my bran muffin to the coffee room. I get some tea and warm my muffin.

Back in the conference room my manager, back from his trip at last, has stopped in to check things out. Things are perfect, so he has an impromptu staff meeting with all of us. We talk about projects and catch up a little on the different things we’ve been doing.

The rest of the guys from the other rooms come back, and my manager has left. We talk some more and everything is still perfect.

Finally, some participants begin to trickle into NY—all other sites are empty. The NY attorneys are all chitchatting and gossiping about clients and colleagues. At last, the meeting monarch says the three magic words: “Let’s get started.”

No one is present in my location, so I listen in to hear him make an announcement asking people to avoid placing their phones on hold during the conference.

Moments later, a participant arrives in my room. I set him up and tell him I will be around the corner. He is pleasant, polite and appreciative. He wonders, “What happened to the doors?”

“They took them off for refinishing.”

“Oh,” he shrugs. I leave him happily situated.

At my makeshift desk, I start to clean off the hard drive and organize my personal files. I have a book, and I read a little bit.

After I finish my first cup of tea, I get another.

My cell phone is silent. After many hours pass, I use my personal cell phone to call my brother.

I flip through digital photographs on my hard drive.

The conference takes a break, and my conference participant has been joined by another participant. He asks me how to mute and unmute the microphones on the speakerphone.

More hours pass. I have deleted a lot of old files on my computer, and composed messages to old friends that will be sent when I next log in to the Internet.

Right on schedule, the meeting ends. The participants say their goodbyes and leave. My pleasant attorney thanks me.

Even NY is clearing out, so I give the okay to disconnect the video call. I call all the support staff on each location to congratulate them and let them know it’s over. They already knew.

It is finished.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 06:51 PM | Permalink

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A VIDEO CONFERENCE ADMINISTRATOR

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A VIDEO CONFERENCE ADMINISTRATOR
THE STORY

I was getting requests for a conference happening on the 24th. I had at least three requests for a conference that were all happening at the same time. Since the requests sounded like a continuation of a conversation that I had not heard the beginning nor the end of, I thought: “I bet this is the same conference! I will find out who is really in charge of this one!”

I discover the identity of Miss Organizer, the central person arranging the meeting, and I called her. She seemed very nice, I told her that I was the video conference administrator, and that everything would go fine. She seemed pleased.

In fact, she was so pleased, that she sent out an email to everyone saying that she had talked with me, and that the video conference was in good hands.
I was pleased.

But after the fiasco meeting with the new CEO, he sent out an email to everyone--apparently attorneys like to produce lots of documents--saying that video conferencing was incredibly unreliable, and should not be used for anything important. He mentioned me personally, asking who my manager was, and said that the Chief of Staff should be in charge of making sure this whole video conference idiocy worked, because it probably wouldn’t.

This hurt. Video conferencing should not be used for anything IMPORTANT! Well, I wasn’t forcing anyone to use it, but I always did my very best to make it work for them when they asked for it.

In the meantime, I had found out what was wrong with NY. A major cable, sending network to the whole building, had been damaged. ALL of the network was impaired.

And I had called little miss assistant right after the call and said as politely as I could muster, “WHY THE HELL IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT’S HOLY DID YOU NOT GIVE ME THE 800 NUMBER BEFOREHAND SO THAT I COULD DIAL IN?”

That’s a paraphrase.

She was very apologetic, told me that ten minutes after the start of the call some guy had asked for an 800 number. She had to quickly create one and send it out to all the other people already in the call.

Well. He sounded like a rude, thoughtless, last-minute person. That was typical. What can you do? I let her off the hook, and got back to my business.

But before I can get very far, the Chief of Staff comes steaming around the corner of my cube. “I need to talk to you right now,” she said.

I go to her office, ready to explain. “It’s really unfortunate that this conference went badly.” I told her about the network cable, and about not having the 800 number.

“Well, everyone else had the number!”

My jaw dropped. “I asked the assistant for the number three times!”

“Well, everyone else had it. Maybe you didn’t ask the right questions.”

My jaw hit the floor. What other question would be the right question?!?

“Well this meeting on the 24th had better go perfectly. It has been made clear to me that my continued employment here is on the line. We need to have a meeting about this with everyone tomorrow to talk about what we are going to do.”

“What will we do if NY can’t get its network back online? Do we need some document from the phone company saying the line is damaged?”

“Oh the attorneys won’t look at it. They will just say we are making excuses.”

Making excuses!? What are we supposed to do, go knit them some optical fiber so that they can have their precious video connection?

It was hard to pay attention after the didn’t-ask-the-right-question and the making-excuses arguments. What gall! How unfair! How mean and irrational!

I went back to my cube to prod the NY phone company about fixing the cable, but I was steaming!

Steaming, steaming, all afternoon, all night and all next morning. I do not like to be unfairly accused. I was practically ready to find new employment.

I read Dilbert to make myself feel better, and then I griped to my co-worker. She said, “You don’t have to take that! Don’t let her get away with saying you did something wrong when you didn’t!”

Yeah! I can take back the night! Just say no, stand up for myself etc.

I felt all better and empowered. Hmph! I’m doing the best I can, and better than most.

All right then. Back to the conference of the 24th. Got to get NY working again. That is where the speaker is. After a million phone calls back and forth, the phone company finally gets them online, thank God.

We had the meeting with the Chief of Staff and everyone, deciding on a procedure. In fact, it was a procedure we already had from before I came around.

1. All sites will do an hour-long test run of the call the day before.

2. All sites will do a three hour test run of the call before the conference starts.

3. All sites will set up for the call an hour before the call is supposed to start, and leave it on for the whole call.

4. All sites will have a person waiting outside the conference room on standby.

Wow. That’s quite a strict set up. We had one telecom guy who had been in NY for two weeks already, and the COS asked him to stay another day to babysit the conference. He said okay. My other co-worker was sent to another site. I was going to be here in LA.

The Chief of Staff wanted backup plans and contingencies covered. “We won’t use the sound that is part of the video conference! We should mute all the video conference equipment, and only use the phone for the sound!”

Yes. Okay. Whatever you want. It will look weird and sound bad, but it will probably be more stable. Whatever makes you feel secure.

Every time the Chief of Staff sees me, she says, “You’re gonna help me keep my job, aren’t you?”

She sees me several times a day.

But at least she wasn’t making random and irrational accusations about my competency.

I chose to smile and say, “Everything will work fine.”

But this is making me doubt the sky is blue, already. I am thinking and thinking about every single part of the conference. I started thinking about the phone conference. What did I know about it? What would I do if it went wrong?

They would blame me anyway.

So I had to do some archeological work and find out whom to call about our telephone conference service. We uncovered her number in a Mesozoic stratum of post-it notes and I gave her a call.

What a nice woman! She was so sympathetic and helpful. We talked for forever, really, and she told me all kinds of things. She said, “You know, if you want, you can have a higher level of service on your conference call. You could have an operator assistant on the line to help callers with any problem and improve sound issues, etc.”

Well! That sounded nice. But the conference was only 2 days away, and I wasn’t sure that a change at such a short notice was a good idea. But maybe I should let the meeting organizer decide.

I was supposed to call her anyway. We had determined, in that first friendly phone call, before all the uppity-mucks got involved, that we should speak again 2 days before the conference. I called her at my pre-arranged phone appointment--she wasn’t there. I left a message on her cell phone.

Now the later it got, the harder it would be to make a change. I really needed a confirmation of whether it was a go or not. I figured I should at least schedule the call and get the proper 800 number in case Miss Organizer called back and wanted the number. Just as I was finishing up with the nice conference woman, getting the number, etc, the Chief of Staff appears at my cube.

She is foaming at the mouth and having a seizure. Metaphorically. “I need to speak with you in THE NEXT TEN MINUTES! It’s VERY IMPORTANT!”

I almost have a seizure just looking at her, but before I can say anything (Remember, I’m still on the phone) she tears off to her office.

I quickly hand up with my new conferencing friend, and run to her office.
“Miss Organizer just called me about changing the 800 number! WHAT IS GOING ON!?!?”

Oh. Well, I explained to her very quickly, as calmly as I could, that I had called the conference service to see what could be done to have a good call, they had told me about this higher level of service they could offer. I thought that, in pursuit of her staying employed, I would call Miss Organizer and ask her if she wanted to do this. I understood that it was not desirable to change the 800 number at the late date, so I wanted to talk it over with her.

The COS visibly calms down and begins reassuring me that she is not mad at me. As I watch her in fear and wonder she says, “Don’t worry. I am not angry with you. Believe me, you would know if I were.”

This does not calm my fears.

We called Miss Organizer and have a big conference about what this was all about.

Miss Organizer seemed very calm when she was talking with both of us. “What do you think? What do you think we ought to try and do?” The COS was pretty adamant with her, saying NO forcefully to changing the number.

Miss Organizer brought up something else unrelated. “I think San Francisco might want to join in. But I think they really don’t want to. I think they might just want to go on the phone.”

I said, “Yes, I think they should just join on the phone, especially if they are not certain about being part of the video conference.”

I settled THAT, at least. Taking charge, follow the example of the Chief of Staff. She told me afterwards, “Miss Organizer is a very insecure person. She never wants to make a decision.”

Hmm….

Time is drawing closer, and we are going to have to begin the first of our tests. Miss Organizer has promised to be there to let us know things about where people will be sitting, etc., so we can mike them properly.

I’m sitting in my video room, and our connections are up. All sites have the staff in place, everything is fine. But where is Miss Organizer? It’s been a half hour; she should be here to confirm that everything is how she wants it.

I have to chase her down. She appears finally, 45 minutes late. This time, she seems as shy and uncertain as a 12-year-old meeting her great aunts for the first time. “Oh, this seems nice. Is that how this is going to go? I think it will be okay.”

I ask her some direct questions about where the speaker will be, and where the camera should be, how she wants the room set up. “Umm…I think this is fine. What do you think?”

I refrained from saying what I was thinking: “Who made you in charge?”

An hour into the test, when it should be concluded, she says, “I think we might want to have San Francisco be part of the video call. I mean, I think they said something about it. But maybe they would like to join in.”

Telecom is a black and white environment. Yes or no: “Do you want me to bring San Francisco into the call?”

“Yeah, if you could, I mean…That would probably be a good idea.”

I mute my microphone so she doesn’t hear my exasperation, and I start to “probably” call San Francisco so they can “maybe” join the conference.

Oh. Need I even say it? All participating sites on the West Coast will have to be at work at 6 a.m. to set up for this meeting. Yes, SF is on the West Coast. I’m having to call after business hours to tell staff to be at work 6 a.m. the next day.

Convenience for the staff was never a consideration.

So, we get the very good-natured SF support guy in the room, things are testing fine. He’s gulping back any complaints and saying that he will be there at 6 a.m.

It’s an hour and a half into the test. Miss Organizer says, “Oh, I think SF doesn’t need to be in the call. I think they said they’d rather listen in. Let’s not do them, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, ready to agree to anything. Let’s give them what they want. They can easily come in on the phone conference. We will NOT have SF included in the video call.

But there is one last little thing on Miss Organizer’s mind. “Are we gonna go through with this video conference? I don’t want to take the responsibility of making the final decision.”

Well, no one is shocked by that squirm out of a direct responsibility.

“I will take that responsibility,” I say. “The test went flawlessly, we can go ahead with the call.”

“Okay…” she says, in a trailing voice.

As I am leaving, I notice something. Normally, there are two doors to this conference room. Today, there are two empty doorways. Where are the doors?

I’ll have to find out.

But first, I go down to see the Chief of Staff, because I fear for her blood pressure. I wanted to tell her that everything went well. She’s not in her office, so I go make arrangements for someone else to cover the OTHER video conferences happening the next day. Amazingly, the entire firm did not stop to prostrate themselves in honor of this conference.

On the way back, the Chief of Staff snatches me out of the hall: “Quick!” she says. “I need to know how the test went. Miss Organizer has called me to make the final decision about whether to go ahead with the video conference.”

Didn’t I see this same patch of water go under the bridge earlier?

“The test was flawless, “ I say.

“That’s all I need to know.”

Back at my cube, I remember the missing doors. I call around and discover that they have been removed for refinishing. They will not be back for a week.

I am tired. What should I do? There is nothing to be done, the doors are gone and we can’t bring them back. But I must tell the Chief of Staff, because if it were a problem and I didn’t tell her, who knows what would happen.

I peek around her door with trepidation. She sees me: “What do you need?”

“Um…You know the conference room for the meeting tomorrow?”

She looks expectant.

“The doors are gone. Both of them have been taken to be refinished.”

She just stared at me in shock for a moment. Then she laid her head on the desk and muffled peals of laughter burst out.

“That is really something that I cannot do anything about,” she gasps in between her shrieks. Both of us just laugh. Of all the ridiculous things!

I finally make it to my bus at the end of the day, but my cell phone rings. It’s San Francisco. “Hey, the managing partner really wants to know if he can be part of the video conference. Only, he doesn’t want the other sites to see him. He wants to see them, though. Can we do that?”

“No, we can’t do that.”

No, no no! We can’t do that, and even if we could, we wouldn’t. Because you are rude and you are very tardy in asking, and you are inconsiderate of the people you are asking help from. Also, because we haven’t put your site through the arbitrary and meaningless set of tests that make all the ignorant people who are in charge feel better about it being stable.

NO!

“Are you sure? Because they really want it.”

It was four staticky and desperate phone conversations later, at 8 p.m. in my home that we finally determined San Francisco really wanted to be in the video call, and that we really would let them.

I debated whether I would be remiss by not calling the Chief of Staff and Miss Organizer and letting them know about this change. Then I put it out of my mind. There is a point when enough is enough.

I had to be awake at 4:30 a.m. so I went to bed.

I dreamed that my bus didn’t come, and that I had to drive to work to get to the meeting on time. I got lost, and as I was running in between the skyscrapers, I realized I wasn’t dressed for work, and that I would have to go back to my car to get the right clothes. I was working out in my head how long it would take me to do that, and how I could make it to the office in enough time, but I still wasn’t sure where the building was at, and where I was.

Posted by Murphy Horner at 06:50 PM | Permalink