Blurple Memories

So, I had my first fender-bender in more than 6 years (a woman from a wealthy neighborhood yet with no insurance rear-ended me with her SUV when she apparently thought a red light meant "no, go ahead, keep going even though the car in front of you has stopped because why drive carefully when you know your insurance has lapsed?"). Ruined my Christmas break and I'm very pissy right now. But this isn't about that.

What this reminded me of was my previous car. Specifically, my "tolerance/hate" relationship with it (I can't call if love/hate). Whereas yesterday my reaction regarding my Passat was along the lines of, "Dammit, my beautiful unblemished car!!", with my Nissan, my reaction woulda been, "SIGH ... what is it this time?"

My Nissan was supposed to be a huge step into adulthood and personal independence. I was 26, and this was the first car I was buying completely on my own. My car at the time, a Dodge Shadow, was one my parents had bought while I was in college. I test drove several different brands with Trish and Brian to narrow down my choices, and guided by them, the semi-sporty Nissan 200SX became the frontrunner. We test drove one and took it to giant empty parking lot, where Trish and Brian taught me how to drive with a stick shift (I'd only driven a stick once before out of necessity, learning on the fly with Trish and Barbara in another car following me, but that's another story). The dealer only had a couple of models on the lot, and none were in the colors I wanted. So I chose the Royal Blue option in the brochure, shown in the middle of the photo below (yes, I still have the brochure almost 12 years later):

Royal Blue ... on paper
Click photo to enlarge

A few weeks later, I went back to the dealer to pick up my first-ever set of brand-new wheels. And it didn't take long for things to go south. I walked in, and there beaming at me in its shiny fresh-paint glory, was a Bright. Purple. Car:

Royal Blue...??
Click photo to enlarge

I asked if there was a mistake. No, that was the correct color, I was told. I stared at this purple beast feeling totally screwed. I'd already bought it. I'd already traded in the Dodge. And now I was gonna have to drive this purple thing?!

In retrospect, I can see there's a purple undercurrent to the brochure color, especially when compared with the royal blue shown in the previous year's catalog (yes, I still have that as well). And a two-inch swatch isn't the same as seeing it on an entire car. And as I would learn over the next few months, at night the color deepened to a dark blue with a purplish tint, almost what was in the brochure. When the lighting was just right. But during the day, there was no way to call it blue. Other than blue mixed with red to form purple. Brian and others coined the term "blurple" to describe my car. But no matter what the name, the car that was supposed to change my life wasn't what I thought it'd be.

Even discarding the daily reminder that I didn't get the car I thought I was getting, the negative experiences outweighed the positive. About 1,000 miles out of warranty, when it was just over 2 years old, the car's alternator died. The reason it died? Someone had jammed one of the plugs in wrong. And just a few months earlier, I'd taken it to the dealer because the check engine light was on, and they'd said they double-checked all the electrical connections. So their tech presumably did a poor job on my car and forced a plug back in, which caused the alternator to die prematurely. And not only was it just a couple months out of warranty when it died, but I couldn't prove that it was their fault.

Oh, and I should mention that when the car died because of the alternator, I was just outside La Grange, 65 miles away from Austin. On my way to Houston. To catch a flight. For a 3-week family trip to Indonesia and Australia. And I was stranded with a worthless car 120 miles from Houston with all my luggage and 6 hours to catch my flight.

To be fair, I was very lucky it died where it did, literally on the outskirts of La Grange within walking distance of a few stores. Had it died just 10 minutes earlier or later, I would've had a long walk ahead of me in the Texas summer sun (I didn't have a cell phone yet ... this was 1998 and I was too cheap). Thanks to one of my sister's college friends, I made it to Houston about an hour before my and my sister's flight. And I had the car towed to Trish and Brian's house, where it sat for the next month. (It was easier than towing it to my apartment, since I wouldn't even be there to make sure it arrived).

In order to take this vacation, I had to take one week unpaid. So that plus the repair and towing costs made for a very happy me when I got home.

Not long after, I was involved in a weird accident where a car in the onramp ahead of me mysteriously stopped dead in its tracks. So I stopped too. No choice. Then the other car took off. But before I could get going again, a pickup truck hit me. This left the trunk unopenable, and I wasn't able to open the trunk again for years. (As I said, I was cheap, so instead of getting it fixed, I pocketed the money I got from the pickup driver's insurance).

On a more positive note, I avoided a major accident by sheer instinct. I was in the 2nd left turn lane. Our light turned green, so I prepared to move forward. But something in my peripheral vision on my left seemed amiss. Plus, the car to my left suddenly stopped. So I did too. The car to my right didn't. And that's when a car going 60 on the cross street ran their red light and plowed into the car on my right, which had pulled into the intersection. I felt a slight shudder when the blur of the car went in front of me, and there was a slight scrape on the front of my bumper. My guess is that the car running the red just barely swiped me before it hit the car on my right. Or maybe the scrape was just a coincidence and they never touched me. Either way, a big near miss, and not one I hold against the blurple at all.

Then there was the big accident, when a girl ran a red and plowed into the rear passenger side of my car, spinning me around.

The last straw
Click photo to enlarge

I had a green arrow, but she cried her way out of blame. After the accident, she said her light was red. She told the cop it was yellow. And his police report said hers was green. (It also said I was white). And my side wasn't helped by an overzealous friendly witness who, in trying to help confirm my blamelessness, ended up muddying the waters and inadvertently put me on the brink of being blamed. From the cop's report, the only reason I didn't end up being blamed was because he couldn't actually prove I didn't have a green arrow any more than he could prove she had a green light, since the only evidence was the conflicting stories of different people. Still, her dad's insurance company had a collection agency try to get money directly from me ... for HER accident.

But the curse of the blurple didn't stop there. My insurance adjuster was lazy at best. He almost never called me back, never gave me updates, and didn't seem to be fighting for my side against hers at all. I had to call him to get any sort of status. And after weeks of him telling me the police report wasn't in, I went to the station myself and got the report, which had been on file for awhile. Isn't that something your adjuster's supposed to do? The car itself took 2 months to fix, or about twice as long as estimated, because the body shop kept ordering the wrong parts. My insurance only paid for 1 month of a rental, so I ended up borrowing Tamara's car for a couple of weeks and relying on people to take me places the rest of the time.

The hassle of fighting not just the police report and the girl's insurance but my own uncommunicative adjuster and the slow-as-molasses body shop wore me out, and I decided that despite having the car for less than 6 years, it was time to ditch the blurple once and for all. But then I learned through Carfax that my car had been totalled. Six months earlier. In Dallas. So I had to get the state to fix that clerical error, because I couldn't sell my car if it had already been totalled. And finally, I sold the car to Bob. Which should end the story of the curse of the blurple.

Except that Bob got into an accident a couple years later (though as he said, he was making a turn where he wasn't supposed to). Fixing it was too expensive, so he sold it to a coworker. Who parked it on the street. And whose neighbor had it towed ... from a public street. And Bob's coworker decided it wasn't worth the impound fee, so he left it there.

So that was presumably the final resting place for my blurple car. I'm sure from there it was torn to bits and sold for parts and scrap. Which seems fitting for the ol' blurple beast. I haven't missed it one bit.

Called into the principal's office

A friend of mine and I were called, separately, into the principal's office and told we'd been bad. I didn't even know what I'd done wrong. Being a goodie two-shoes, I never got into trouble, so this was new for me. Turned out, some of the other kids had complained because their feelings got hurt ... all because of recess.

See, we thought that recess was our time to do as we pleased. There were no organized activities or games; this was our time to run around and play with our friends. A nice break in the school day. It seemed normal that kids would break up into smaller groups; not everyone did the same thing all at once. Some would play football, some would tackle the monkey bars, others would play on the swing sets. Sometimes we'd do things in a huge group, but not always. And apparently some kids got mad that my group of friends didn't openly invite them to do every single thing with us. We weren't shunning the other kids or being mean to them, though. We just weren't best friends with them, so we didn't hang out with them every second like we did each other.

Our principal felt that was wrong. So she singled out me and one of my friends as the ringleaders and told us to make sure that from now on, every kid in the entire class was included in every single activity all the time, not just our friends. No exceptions. Keep in mind these were not official school activities that we were running; we're talking about playtime. But the last thing the principal wanted was for any kid to feel left out, even at recess.

Does that sound reasonable? Before you answer and start debating how best to raise and teach a child in an often cruel world, replace the following words in the above scenario:

• kids --> coworkers
• school --> work
• class --> department
  
• principal --> manager
• recess/games --> lunch
  

Because when I was called into her office to be given that lecture, I wasn't in elementary school.

I was at work, and I was 24. My "co-ringleader" was 29.

That's right. We were given a talking-to by our manager because we weren't inviting everyone to go out to lunch with us every single time.

Lunch. Our free time. Our life outside of work. Grown men and women. And we were being told that we could never go to lunch with only the people we wanted to. We had to invite Every. Damn. Person. In. The. Department.

The worst part is, some of us didn't even realize just how fucked up that was for a workplace policy. This was my first job right out of college, and one of the first for most of my friends. We were still used to a scholastic environment more than an office one. Still used to having a principal more than a manager. It took the eyes of my friends' spouses or my friends outside work to clue us in that, uh hello, we're all adults here, and no manager has the right to tell us who we can and can't eat lunch with outside of work.

Still, to keep the peace, we acquiesced ... sort of. We'd occasionally make a big show of inviting everyone in the department to lunch -- which, by the way, we'd always done regularly. The "problem" wasn't that we never invited everyone to lunch ... we just didn't do so enough, by our manager's estimation.

However, we realized that no one could complain if anyone left the office alone for lunch. So when we wanted to have lunch with a more private group, we'd sneak out of the office one by one. We'd work out the schedule on the phone or email. So, for example, Trish would leave first using one stairwell. CMC would leave a couple minutes later, going down a different stairwell. I'd leave a few more minutes after her and take the elevator. By that time, Trish would have gotten her car from the garage and pulled up to the front, where CMC and I would hurriedly get in and hope no one saw us.

That's right, we had to fake going to lunch alone in order to go to lunch with just our friends. I again remind you, this was an actual workplace with actual (alleged) adults. I mean, I know people often go to great lengths to conceal affairs ... but friendships that everyone knows about?! Yet that's what we felt we had to do.

I was reminded of this story today while having lunch with Barbara and a visiting CMC and her husband (who was one of the ones whose pointed out our workplace dysfunction for what it was). It still boggles my mind that this could have happened at any workplace. I wouldn't expect this to happen even in a high school. Elementary school, maybe. But only maybe. I know our manager's intentions were good, but to this day, I still can't believe that I was once called onto the carpet by my manager because I was going to lunch with my friends.

It's the little things

I went to Best Buy during lunch today. And it felt good.

All I did was browse. Leisurely strolled through the aisles, feeling neither the pressure to buy something nor the pangs of want. And even better, I felt no rush to cut my lunch hour short.

It's been a long time since I went to a Best Buy or Fry's for no good reason. Since the IBM layoff, my trips to stores like that have been rare, in part to prevent me from torturing myself. I'd only go to get Christmas gifts for family or boring supplies like blank DVDs. I missed my occasional window shopping trips, thinking about things I might buy ... even though I almost never followed through. But I guess there's a hopeful quality to window shopping even if you rarely buy something. And I've really missed that.

Strangely, I've also missed running errands over lunch. Or rather, feeling free to do so. Even though I was lucky enough that neither of my contract jobs were with clock watchers, I still felt the need to minimize my lunch hours. I didn't want to abuse their leniency, and after all, I was technically an hourly employee. So the less time I spent "at lunch," the faster I could justify to myself getting out of there and heading home. I'd still make time to meet friends for lunch, but usually, unless someone else initiated lunch plans, I'd stay at my desk and eat as fast as possible.

And so today, on the second day of my new full-time permanent non-contract can I get a hallelujah job, with nothing to do while waiting for IT to give me a laptop, I went to Best Buy during lunch for no reason other than to kill some time. And while feeling free to do that is a tiny, silly thing that has no relevance in the grand scheme of things ... I sure enjoyed the hell out of it.

The way it should work

Okay, I didn't get around to posting the other day. Here's the scoop:

Back in April, Andrew told me about some job opportunities at a software company a friend of his worked at. This was just a couple of weeks after I'd started my new contract-to-perm job. I sent along my resume, tweaked it upon request, and then never heard back from them. I was surprised they never contacted me again, because fact is, I'm good at my job. I actually have confidence in that area. If I could date with the attitude I have when I'm in an interview, I'd be set. But I digress. Things were going well in the contract job, so in a way, not hearing back was easier for me. I wouldn't have to decide whether to jump ship or not. (Notice my arrogance in assuming I'd get an offer if I interviewed).

Seven months later, we got the news that our department was being dismantled. I found myself suddenly jobless again. I asked Andrew to check with his friend again, but given that they'd passed on me before, I held out no hopes for that possibility, even after he found out they had a job opening. I sent my resume on, though unlike in April, this time I expected nothing.

I approached this layoff with a new strategy. Actually, an old strategy made new again. Full-blown pessimism. The first two times I was unemployed, I started with some negative or mixed feelings -- but well short of raging pessimism -- and soon found myself enjoying the layoff times. After the big layoff in 2005, once I came to accept the situation, I looked at it as a chance to find the perfect job for myself, to do something I loved. And except for a setback after my house was struck by lightning, I loved the first 7 months of that unemployment. And then things went south in a hurry as the job hunt dragged on way longer than I'd anticipated.

The second layoff times followed a similar pattern on a shorter time scale. When my contract went in limbo a year ago, I was upset that I was losing income week by week. But I quickly ended up really enjoying my free time in December and the early part of this year. I had a blast and was glad to no longer feel isolated at that job. But then in February and March, my happiness took another nosedive as the job search stretched on again.

So this time, I decided to embrace my pessimistic side with a giant bear hug from the outset. No enjoying my layoff period this time. Besides dreading a repeat of the bad final months of my previous unemployments, I was angry about suddenly putting everything on hold again. There wasn't going to be a fun start to this unemployment even if I'd wanted there to be. I started working on the assumption that I'd have no income again until weeks after the holiday season ended. And after a week passed with no word from Andrew's friend's company, I knew my pessimism was justified.

Which is of course when I got a phone call to set up an interview with them.

And so, even before I left my contract-to-no-longer-perm job, I'd had one interview. One that went really well. And it was for a permanent position. And they hoped to have a decision before Thanksgiving!

But the day before Thanksgiving came and went without the anticipated phone call. Same story the Monday after. Barbara reminded me that things are always hectic the day after a long weekend, but while I knew she was right, I wanted to hold on to the pessimism. No sense getting my hopes up. When Anita asked for an update, I said it looks like I'm in for a long slog. And though the arrogant side of me was still thinking I should still get an offer, the pessimistic side was saying "don't get your hopes up."

Yet another side wanted to take unrelated actions in a silly and superstitious attempt to "make" things happen. (I'm not really superstitious, but I don't know how else to describe this). And so, I restarted The Layoff Times. I stopped going out and otherwise clamped down on expenses. I bought cans of Spaghettios so that I could eat cheaply. Anything I could think of to steel myself for months of unemployment ... but also to cut short the unemployment, because if I took the trouble to do those things, maybe it would become moot very soon?

I got a verbal offer less than a day after I restarted The Layoff Times.

Obviously, my actions had no bearing on that timing, and it's simply that the Monday after a holiday is too hectic to get all hiring approvals done, just as Barbara said. But still, it made me feel better to prepare for the "long slog."

Last Wednesday, I signed the paperwork. So, one week from today, I should be starting my new full-time permanent job. Sure, I could have continued daily updates on The Layoff Times, but why bother for just a couple of weeks?

In any event, this is how I expected the job hunt to go in the past. I start looking, I get interviews, I get a job -- all in a relatively short amount of time. Weeks, maybe a couple of months, but not longer than that. Even better when I can interview before the current job is over.

This should end up being a 4-week unemployment, which is certainly far better than I was fearing. And while this has me debating whether pessimism or hope is better in the long run, I'll leave such heady issues for another time and enjoy the last week of my 2 1/2 year quest to get a permanent job again...