The Arbolog |

On Monday Bonnie stayed home with her mom because she was sick. Kale and I decided to take advantage of the “day off” and we decided to join Ross at work, as his work that day was a trip to Whistler for one of his job sites.

I should stop here and remind everyone that I have ZERO interest in any sort of a downhill activity especially one that involves things like ice  and planks of fibreglass, and Whistler has NEVER interested me as a destination. I think it’s overpriced, clique-y, and overrated. BUT, Ross has been spending at least one day every few weeks - and as frequently as twice a week – for the past two years driving to and from Whistler. I have had a love / hate relationship with Whistler during this time – trips to Whistler mean Ross is and was frequently late picking me up – prompting a pregnant me to beg a ride or take transit, which at the time was simply unacceptable to driver me. I declared that Ross was not to make any trips to Whistler that last month of my pregnancy either, insisting that it was simply too far to be away in case I went in to early labour. But Whistler also means bread on the table, lunches paid out as expenses, and long hours billed. So as much as I would love to hate it, I realize that it also represents income.

So for two years Ross has come and gone from there, and back in the spring when Kale started getting more fun and mobile, I suggested that maybe we could tag along one day, and drop Ross at the site and continue on our way and maybe the three of us manage to grab some food on the way back together. So when I got the call Monday morning that Bonnie wasn’t feeling well, and I knew Ross was headed to Whistler that day, it seemed like a good opportunity to make good on that idea. After all, the job up there is winding down and there aren’t going to be that many more trips. So off we went.

The drive was lovely, I managed to get a bit of work done on the laptop, and we dropped Ross off at the back of a winding and mostly completed job site without incident. I don’t have much interest in the job sites themselves so we had no reason to stick around once Ross was unloaded. Kale and I headed to the mostly deserted village and wandered around looking at all the overpriced shops staffed by people with accents, and then had a nice picnic lunch in the back of the car while watching a cop pull over a tourist. I was sort of bored at this point and so decided to drive up the highway a ways to see if there was any sort of a provincial park or regional trail or something and sure enough, just north of Whistler, we saw the signs for Nairn Falls and pulled over.

Not best photo of me, but oh well.

I got Kale suited up into the backpack carrier and we headed off. It’s a nice trail – 1.5 kms one way with rolling up and down and the odd rocky bit, tree root, etc. In the back of my mind I wondered if a cougar was watching me and if I looked like a waitress bringing a little snack on my back, or if a bear was going to stop by and say hi, but other than the odd hiking couple, it was quiet and peaceful and in hardly anytime at all, we reached the falls. The top is  all fenced off (see also: plummet to your death in watery grave) , so it’s not exactly the best place to take a picture using a camera phone. But it was nice to get my feet moving and the weather was nice and it was the perfect length of hike.

We headed back toward the south side of town – that’s where Ross’ job site is – and along the way stopped at the Southside Diner for a few take out burgers for Ross and I to eat along the way home, and I drove to the job site. The contract security guards waved me through when they saw the pass hanging from the mirror, and I drove back to the pre-arranged spot. Ross was there and I changed Kale’s diaper while he loaded his gear. I guess it took us about 10 minutes to get loaded and turned around and drive back to the entry gate. And I guess one of the “mobile security units” spotted me changing Kale’s diaper and radioed ahead to the gate.

Instead of the usual waving through, the gate guard had us stop and then said to Ross “You work here.” Ross replied “Uh, yeah.” (Perhaps the car full of stinky testing gear, contractor parking pass, and dirty clothes were the first clue.) Apparently I am unable to speak for myself, as the guard then sneered  ”Does she work here?” and he motioned to me. “Uh, no,” said Ross.

That was what  my friend the security guard was hoping to hear, I guess, because he launched into a lecture about how we were on a JOB SITE and ONLY WORKERS WERE ALLOWED and it was a SECURITY RISK and how I HAD BEEN SPOTTED WALKING AROUND (the car?)  BY THEIR MOBILE UNIT and how CHILDREN WERE NOT MEANT TO BE THERE (okay, I will give him that one, but seriously, I changed Kale’s diaper in the back of the car, it’s not like we at the playground) and how THIS WAS NOT ACCEPTABLE and that WE SHOULD KNOW BETTER and as long as WE UNDERSTOOD he would do us a favour LET US GO. Because I guess he believes he has the power to arrest me?

It took every single ounce of my being not to inform the self important security guard that unless they were searching every car as it went in andout, they had no right to speak to me about SITE RULES because DUDE IT’S YOUR DAMN FAULT YOU DIDN’T STOP ME AT THE GATE IN THE FIRST PLACE. The parking pass hanging from our rear view mirror is for the car – not the person. If they want to make it so that only certain PERSONS can enter, then they need to issue photo identification, not hang tags that are visible from their stool in the security house at the gate. GET UP OFF YOUR ARSE. A security guard’s job is to OBSERVE and REPORT, not lecture me. Not tell me what the rules are. I wanted to shout “OBSERVE AND REPORT DOES NOT INCLUDE SMUG LECTURES, ASSHAT.” I did refrain, primarly because I shoved burger in my cakehole to prevent myself from doing anything stupid. This is, after all, Ross’  job site and like I said, this is what puts food on our table.

So this sealed it for me. Whistler, you can kiss my bum. I’ve never really been interested in vacationing there, I am not interested in the recreational activities it offers (including the drugs and clamydia, thanks), and I am definitely not interested in that big huge expensive corporate activity that’s going on there next February – that one can shove it where the sun doesn’t shine, especially.

The Jen Arbo List of Things I Boycott is pretty small, but when something goes on it, I stick to it. It  includes Future Shop due to a cosmic customer service FAIL, and so on our way back from Whistler, I tweeted to show my righteous indignation:

Somehow the word "tweet" isn't angry enough.

That last one was posted the day after. My rage was so great that I stewed on it all night and in a fit of creative outburst I wrote a haiku. A few of my Twitter followers asked me what had happened. I let the whole thing go as soon as I pressed “submit” on that haiku, but the requests prompted this ranty blog post. I realize the guy was just doing his job but it was pretty obvious he was getting some serious satisfaction from giving us a lecture. Security guards are leeches. 9 times of 10 they don’t even complete half of their job description properly (Step One: Observe, Step Two: Report, Rinse, Repeat). These are the people who get off on domination and get off on being the ones calling the shots, and who make mountains out of molehills. I realize their task in life is NOT to act as ambassadors for entire towns, but it is  the gas station attendant on your way out of town, or the server at the local chain restaurant, or the security guard that you talk to at the place you are visiting that leaves the most indelible mark on your memory of a place,not the beautiful waterfalls or the lovely drive, or the amazing burgers.  Whistler will forever be  sour in my mind.

I’ve been concentrating really hard these days on minding my own manners, because I firmly believe that Kale will do as we do rather than as we say, so I want to get a check on my manners now, while there is still a bit of room for adjustment. I’d like to think I am quite mindful of manners (except swearing – seriously, why am I unable to stop swearing?) and I have been making a point lately to say please and thank you, to offer help if I can, to open doors, and generally be a polite and mindful person. I figure if Kale always grows up with a polite Mama, then it will see natural to be that way too.

So, I am sure none of you will be surprised when I say that I’m discovering how impolite people are when out and about.

I hold doors open for a lot of people – me, with a stroller and a baby who social decorum actually indicates that I should be having the door held open for, but whatever, that’s a whole other rant - and I am amazed at the amount of times that the expected response of “thank you” is not forthcoming. I continually find myself acting like the politeness police and saying “you’re welcome” slightly too loud at their departing back, hoping that maybe a bit of passive-agressive shaming will remind them that what I did was a courteous thing, and the correct response is to acknowledge it and thank me for it, and HEY, why not pay it forward and open a door for someone else?

I have a theory about how people act in public. I think that people keep to themselves in public to the point of rudeness as a means of emotional protection. That, by opening their mouths and saying “thank you” when appropriate opens some sort of social door they don’t want to go through. Like, if you say “thank you” to a person, suddenly you are going to find yourself in a conversation about the weather, for instance, and people are just too busy and too caught up in their little bubbles to want to do that. By saying thank you and acting in a courteous manner and holding doors open for other people, you are acknowledging that something outside of you exists! And while logically we all get it that there are other people, we are simply too caught up in ourselves to want to admit that other people are out and about doing stuff too! And other people are busy, JUST LIKE ME TOO!  Imagine!

I was told once that people keep to themselves because they don’t want to allow themselves to become the victim of a crime. In fact, my guess is that saying “thank you” and acknowledging a person is LESS likely to make you a victim. Criminals don’t want to be remembered, right? So looking someone in the eyes and sharing a social exchange is, in my opinion, going to lessen your chances of becoming victimized.

So what have we all learned today? Good manners = less crime.

Pass. It. On.

Seriously.

I’m cheating a little bit and re-posting something I wrote over at Tenth to the Fraser the other day. Fresh, exciting content soon, I promise. 

About two years ago, I was car-addicted. I owned a vehicle – an old piece of junk GMC Tracker – and I drove everywhere, even just a few blocks. I wouldn’t go places if I couldn’t drive there. My husband took transit to school, or carpooled with me and when he graduated and secured employment in the construction industry, one of the requirements was a vehicle to visit job sites. My old clunker of a Tracker, although fairly fuel efficient and highly manouverable, simply didn’t have enough room to carry all of the testing equipment Ross would need onsite. So we sold my Tracker and purchased a used but still built in this decade “sporty” station wagon.

It was the first time in my life I didn’t have a vehicle at my personal disposal 24 / 7. And it was a HUGE adjustment. At first, I argued with Ross about how much time we both “deserved” driving. Then, I tried bargaining with him about who got the car for what. There was no legitimate reason for me wanting to have the car sit in my workplace’s parking lot all day, but it just made me feel more… secure. Even though my workplace was on a transit line, I still wanted the car there.

When I left my employer to go on maternity leave last June, I was home, by myself, hugely pregnant, with no car. And I started walking, primarly because the baby was overdue and walking gave me something to do besides watch the Ellen Degeneres Show and consume buckets of Slurpees. And, after Kale was born in July, I continued walking every day to get out of the house and prevent the “squirrelies” from staying inside too much.

Nowadays, I walk at least an hour every day – whether it’s uptown New Westminster to pick up books from the library or groceries from the store, or over to Tipperary Park to look at the ducks with Kale, or just to get out and see how things are in my corner of the world, I make a point of walking as much as possible. And I am not ashamed to admit I love it. I never in a million years thought I’d be a “walker” but necessity is the mother of invention, right? Not only have I lost weight from the constant exercise I never got while riding my deskjob and commuting in a car like a zombie, but I really have an amazing sense of what’s going on in my neighbourhood. I wave hello to my neighbours – both residents and shopkeepers – and this spring was amazing to see all the gardens changing along my usual routes, down at street level.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s not all Suzy Sunshine. It sucks walking in the rain when you have somewhere to be. I’ve also had to do some testing of my anti-perspirant’s limits with this hot weather we are having. Uptown New Westminster can be a Stroller Brigade during the day (whoever said this city was full of old people has obviously never been at 6th and 6th on a Tuesday at 1:30 in the afternoon) and it seems there is a decided lack of sidewalk ethics when it comes to who is supposed to move over and quit hogging the sidewalk (yes, I am talking to you, herd of teenagers walking at a snail’s pace, 5 across, like a line of Red Rover), or who is supposed to take the right of way. My biggest concern, however, is not the nuances of interpersonal sidewalk relations, but rather, people in motor vehicles. I think most need a reminder about what to do when they see a pedestrian wanting to cross legally.

Motorists, go ahead and be mad at jaywalkers who stumble blindly into traffic. I do too, when driving. But if a person is trying to cross at a crosswalk not controlled with a traffic streetlight, it’s your job to yield the right of way to the pedestrian. The City of New Westminster has a number of “pedestrian-actuated crossing signals”, which are flashing amber lights at crosswalks that are turned on when a pedestrian pushes a button and go off after a short interval. These are cautionary and when motorists see these blinking amber lights, they should think to themselves “oh, a pedestrian is crossing”. And then SLOW DOWN and let the pedestrian cross!

I’m walking – not driving. And I might take upwards of 45 whole seconds to make it across the street. 45 whole seconds. Do people realize how ridiculous it is when they show outward signs of impatience as I walk across the intersection in front of their car for a whole 45 seconds? Some television commercials are longer than the time it takes me to cross. Do these people realize that tapping their steering wheel, letting off on their brakes and creeping up,or throwing their esasperated hands up in the air is only going to make me walk slower? If everyone could get out of their cars and walk around for even a week, I predict there would be a heck of a lot less accidents involving pedestrians. 

Motorists – please. You’re in, at minimum, an 800 pound metal/plastic engine-driven collection of complicated parts on wheels. I’ve got a pair of shoes and a baby and probably a shopping bag. You have airbags, seatbelts, turning indicators, OnStar, and any number of other safety devices. I have common sense and luck. Cut me some slack and pay attention to the laws! When you see a person waiting to cross, don’t gun your engine because you don’t have the 45 seconds it will take for that pedestrian to cross! Please don’t act impatient when you are stopped! And, for the love of all that is good in this world, actually STOP. I pledge to smile at you, or wave my thanks, and to not dally in the middle of the street.

I want to say a special thanks to the driver who prompted this post. To the young man in the 90s era convertible Cavalier who honked at me and asked me to “move it” while I was carrying 20 pounds of groceries and 20 pounds of baby: you, my friend, are a peach.

When Ross and I moved to our current home, we elected to ditch a traditional landline in favour of just using our two cell phones.  It worked for a long time, and it’s only because I am now at home during the day and making daytime calls that I even noticed it wasn’t working as well as it should. And by “noticed” I mean, “$225 cell phone bill since I went over my minutes oops”. We had our internet and cable through Shaw and it made sense to get a hold of them to add a digital phone line to our bill and “bundle” the services. Their current advertising is kinda entertaining, with this big mean old contract being a jerk. I had asked around to friends and the advice was really mixed, so just adding a service to an existing bill seemed easiest. 

You should know I paid $95.85 a month for high speed internet and basic cable television. They’d phoned a few times trying to get me to upgrade to a digital package, but with a really old TV we hardly watch (and considered getting rid of entirely) it made no sense. The Shaw customer service rep told me it would be an additional $20.95 plus tax per month on my Shaw bill. Fair enough, I figured, and I asked when they could install it. Because it is a digital phone service, before we could schedule an installation day and time, my address had to be propagated in the 911 system for enhanced 911 – meaning, in order for 911 to know my address, my address had to be linked up on their system. Fair enough, I figured. This propagation apparently would take 24-72 hours, but since I had called on a Thursday, I should not expect a call anytime before Monday. 

Monday came and went and so did Tuesday and Wednesday and magically time passed and sure enough we were on Thursday again. So I called to find out what the hold up was. I was assured that there was something wrong in “their” system (not sure if that’s the provincial 911 system or Shaw’s system) but they would put a rush on the order and I was assured I would hear back by the following day. 

I’m sure no one is shocked to find out that I didn’t hear from them Friday. I called Monday, and was told that she would put in a new work order to have my address propagated. At this point, it started getting funny. 

The following Monday, I called to cancel, regardless of where they were in the process, as it was already 2 weeks and a few days and honestly, get real. Lo and behold, my service was ready, but no one could tell me why I didn’t get the call to schedule the installation. The service rep told me “that’s in the past”, like we are in some sort of relationship and I should just get over all our previous fights because “it’s in the past”. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? So while I was fuming, and trying to decide how to tell the woman to stuff it, she started going ahead with the process and let me know that the next possible installation date was ANOTHER WEEK FROM THEN. I said “Let me get this straight. I’ve been waiting two and a bit weeks, and I’m the one making the calls, and you are now telling me I have to wait another week?” She said yes, and said “there is an evening appointment available that day, I will put you down for it. Now, here is your phone number” and rattled off a number starting with area code 778.

A note about 778 area code. BC used to be 604. Then they added 250 for basically everywhere outside the Lower Mainland, and then in 2001 they added 778. 778 is what they call an “overlay” area code, meaning new numbers that would normally fall into the 604 area code (and as of 2007, the 250 area code) are now being assigned 778 area codes. I HATE the 778 are code, if only because I resist change, and the thought of me having a cell phone with a 604 area code and a home phone with a 778 area code was just too much and became the straw that broke  the camel’s back. I told the expletive deleted customer service rep to stuff her phone service down her cake hole and hung up. 

I called Telus and because I know how to sidestep the ridiculous automated friendly robot answering machine (“agent agent agent agent agent agent”), was put through really quickly to a VERY friendly and helpful customer service rep named Julie. I gave Julie the brief rundown of how annoyed I was with Shaw and I said “Julie, I need high speed internet, the basic channels of television, and a home phone I can make local calls on. I want a 604 phone number, and I want it installed this week. What can you do for me? Can you make this happen?”

And my saviour angel Julie said “Sure! Not a problem.”

Ding Ding Ding, ladies and gentleman. “Sure” indeed. We have a freakin’ winner. 

Not only could I get my wish list fulfilled, I was also given one month of totally free service, three months of free full cable (including, like, a million canned music stations), free installation, and free equipment (the modem is ours to keep, the TV box is a rental) provided I signed up for a year contract. And remember up in paragraph 2 up there where I said that I was paying $95.85 plus I was going to pay an additional $20.95 plus tax a month for Shaw’s services? Um. Yeah. Here’s the kicker: I get MORE channels, I got it installed that Friday, I got a 604 phone number, the tech even rewired our stereo properly so I could get the TV sound through the stereo speakers and it’s $76.00 plus tax per month. NO KIDDING. 

The entire process took about 30 minutes to arrange, and I got to SMUGLY call Shaw four days later and tell them to stick their internet and cable where the sun didn’t shine. And the funny part is that when I called Shaw, they put me through to the “department that could help me” (read: the accounts retention department, I’m not a moron, could they be any more obvious) who tried to BLAME ME for wanting to discontinue services because I guess the last expletive deleted CSR I talked to had made a note that I was “extremely upset about a 778 area code”. When the accounts retention gal tried to suggest that, I snorted. “Yes, that’s it. Sure. It had NOTHING to do with the 2 and a half weeks wait to even get a 778 phone number and the $40 price difference. Go smoke another one.”

Justice is swift at Chez Arbo when it comes to our service providers and favorite stores. 

I got my first bill today. It is NEGATIVE $28.07.

So, Shaw, you can suck it. Telus, welcome back.