Wednesday, November 9, 2011

My name is....

While on a webinar recently, the speaker asked for one of the participant’s names. His response:
“Yes my name is aaaaahhh ummmm Paul aaahhhh ummmm Smith and I’m from aaaaahhhummmm United Way of aaahhhh ummm South Carolina.”

Now, it might have just been the accent, but I was pretty sure he needed a moment before he could remember his name.

Doesn’t that seem just a bit sketchy?

Monday, November 7, 2011

Sorry “Ted”

I have a coworker who is a really nice guy. He’s sweet, he loves his work and is clearly dedicated to the work we do.

But he drives me nuts.

He and I both get in to the office very early in the morning. I do this out of necessity most days—you can get so many emails answered if you don’t have to worry about other ones coming in, not to mention how easy it is to prepare for meetings before anyone else comes in and breaks the printer.

But morning times are me times. The other day Brian woke up an hour before his alarm and needed to use the bathroom. I was pretty pissed that he had so thoughtlessly interrupted my time to get ready in the morning. That’s right, I was so angry, I begrudged someone using the bathroom.

I don’t want to talk in the morning. That’s what 9am is for. Any time before 9, is off limits for chatting.

But Ted wants to chat. What’s more, Ted wants to mumble half the story and/or start the story half way through, as if I pay close attention to all his work projects and his personal life. He says things like “Friday went so well, we had two hundred people turn out and I was there until midnight,” and while he will continue, he will never explain what was happening on Friday, unless you interrupt him to ask, but this generally starts him on a whole new track.

Its sweet, really, that he wants to share the good things that are happening in our work. But I do not want to share until 9am. Today, I realized that I was going to hell when I walked into the kitchen, saw him standing by the coffee maker and then jumped back behind the door so he wouldn’t see me.

Honestly, who hides from sweet coworkers who just want to chat?!

And now I wonder how many coworkers hide when they see me coming.

I would walk 500 miles, just to talk with you

As I’ve already posted, I’m supposed to walk 10,000 steps a day. To put it in perspective, I can work a 10 hour day and not break 3,000 steps. Getting in 10,000 takes thought and persistence. Which Hansens apparently have in spades.

I went to Chicago this weekend to celebrate an early Thanksgiving with my family (this is what happens when 2/6ths of the family don’t like to travel on holidays and 2/6ths have unpredictable work schedules). When I arrived on Friday, I only had about 4,000 steps. So I asked my dad to go for a walk before dinner. And after dinner. And before bed. And we made it! 10,000 steps, despite almost 6 hours in the car!

The next day, I alternated walks with Mom, walks with Dad and walks with parent + sister. It was really nice. Because you never just walk, you get to walk and talk. We talked about my wedding, mom’s recovery, dad’s retirement, loosing grandpa, getting ready to say goodbye to the dog, children, roller derby, sister's house, my job, mom’s job, Brian’s lactose intolerance. Really, everything.

It was wonderful. I not only achieved a goal I set for myself every day, but I got to spend more quality time with my family than I would have otherwise. I love it when we’re all together, but getting to take these walks for one on one time was a beautiful gift.

Until I got home on Sunday and spent 45 minutes pacing the living room to get my steps in. Then this seemed like bullshit.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

First Bout

I reffed my first roller derby bout on Saturday. I spent the morning pouring over the officials manual and rule book, nearly suffocating myself with nervous energy. What if I missed a call? What if I made a bad call? What if someone called me out for missing a call?!

Unfortunately, this nervous “what if” mindset turned out for the worse. In fear of making a bad call—or of having to chase a girl repeating the call—I made no calls. Well, there was a single call, but it was a technicality the player told us she was about to commit (derby strategy, I’ll explain it to y’all some other time).

After the bout ended, my fellow refs filled me with suggestions and tips. They helped me map out a plan for what to do at the next bout—including muttering minor calls to myself and chasing down whoever needs to be chased.

I wish I could say I walked away exhilarated and accomplished, but it just wasn’t the case. I love skating. I love being a part of derby. I think I can learn to love reffing. But the day didn’t end with joy. I was tired. My feet hurt. I was sad I didn’t have a better showing at my first bout. The closest to success I came was that no one hit me in the face (like what happened to one of the inside pack refs) and I didn’t run into any of the spectators (like one of the outside pack refs).

But I’ll be reffing again in November. It’s not a bout my league is playing in, so the pressure of people you know seeing you screw up is somewhat relieved, and I just might actually make a call.