Is this discrimination?

Not sure if this is humiliating or just plain stupid.

After three hours at my new job I was let go. Before coming in I was told to to purchase specific clothes to wear at work. I was told to bring ID and a social security card (preferably my own I would surmise) I was told I was to come in and job shadow/train for a few days. And then, after three hours, I was told I was not going to make it at their store. How does one fail at job shadowing/training?  Seriously. How does one manage that?

Obviously we were not a good fit. It happens. Sometimes people simply do not click.

I wrote about what was to be my next adventure in my last blog: a job at the gourmet food shop in the tourist town where King and I currently live. I mentioned how the operations manager didn't want to hire me (because I am a former reporter and might sell their trade secrets to the highest bidder) but that she told the store manager to "do whatever you want."

After that warm welcome I knew going in I would have a lot to prove. I realized on my first (and only) day when I saw I was scheduled to work just one day that week that things were pretty much predestined.My name was not even on the following week's schedule. Additional staff was not scheduled for my training time, and according to the store manager, that was done purposefully by the operations manager so I would not have the undivided attention of the manager. I didn't know I would have less than three hours to prove myself.

I watched as the manager spoke with customers. I learned how to "suggestive" sell different products. I learned how to take inventory and stock shelves. I helped put parking cones out in the employee parking lot. I re-stocked crackers for samples. I made small-talk to a few customers. However, three hours in I was told I was not going to work out. Apparently the operations manager could tell this by watching me job shadow via a closed circuit camera from a remote location.

To be honest, I am relieved. Who wants to have to prove themselves over and over and over again?

Three hours in and I am glad I escaped with only wounded pride. I am obviously not cut out for gourmet food espionage. I do wish I had drained several bottles of olive oil on the floor and yelled, "Mazola Party!" at some point during my short tenure. It would have been a better reason for being canned.

Wounded pride or not, life goes on and I will pick myself up and dust myself off. I have already picked up a few more applications but it's a small town and once word is out that I am a spy who will sell her soul to the highest bidder, my odds are slim to none that someone will hire me.

And that is a shame because I am the employee who will work extra hours. I am the employee who will take shifts no one else wants. I am the employee who, after years of interviewing people, can make small talk with almost anyone. I am the employee who knows how to make people feel at ease.

But when all is said and done and I take time to step back and review the events of my gourmet food shop tenure, I have to ask myself: Is this what it feels like to be discriminated against?  For the simple fact that I worked as a reporter I am suspect?  Think about it. Think long and hard about it.

Yes, today I am hurt and bitter. Today I want to press my face against their plate glass windows and blow raspberries all over them (the windows, not the employees). But I am a grownup. I am a better person than the operations manager. I will move on. I will wish them well. Because frankly, they are not worth the effort for anything else. I also realize I don't need to work for a company that is so negative. Rather than dwell on the fact that I could have been a food spy, they could have thought, "Hey, someone with training to write our press releases."

P.S. I learned today the operations manager is blaming the store manager and denying ever having concerns over my previous job. And the store manager already did blame the operations manager. Denial and blame. Kind of like politics.

But I escaped with my life.

Life goes on and rather than participate in gourmet food espionage
I went back to work in my gardens. This is the tomato/broccoli/green bean garden.
 I've never done the weed cover before, I think I'm going to like it.

Cucumber plants. I keep experimenting with dill
pickle recipes.

First time we've been able to get cherries. In the past, when
I worked at the newspaper (where I was NOT a gourmet food spy),
I never got to them in time and the
birds always had a feast.

Young pepper plants.

Raised bed with lettuce.

I love infusing olive oil and vinegar
with basil.

Be careful for what you wish

I start a new part-time job on Tuesday. Hmmmm. Be careful for what you wish.

In my last post I said I would take a part-time job (maybe) if one were offered to me. Well, believe it or not, one was offered.

Earlier this spring I had applied for a job at a gourmet food shop in our little tourist town. I even had an interview/coffee with the store manager at the coffee shop across the street from the food shop. The manager seemed genuinely interested and said they were looking for someone to start before the Memorial holiday weekend. ... And then I never heard from her again.

"Oh well," I said to King. "Guess I'm too old, my reference phone numbers were wrong, or maybe they just went with someone else."

I suppose I could have made more of an effort, but having been in a managerial role many times before it really bothered me when people were annoyingly persistent. So I dropped it. The bulldog reporter in me disappeared with retirement.

Yesterday my cousin and I were shopping in town and she wanted to visit that same little gourmet food shop. The manager recognized me immediately and said she really had wanted to  hire me. Really? Uh huh, sure.

"Our production manager didn't want to hire you because you are a reporter and she thought you might sell our secrets to someone. We had a store just like ours open in South Carolina and our owner had to sue them."

I am flattered. I am offended.

Here is the reality folks: I worked hard to earn the reputation of being a reputable writer. I have won awards that I earned, not by selling myself to the highest bidder, but by working for those awards and reputation. Besides, I cook a little bit. I can go into your shop, look at the ingredient list on your wares and pretty much figure out how to copy what you have. Anyone can. It does not take a special talent. And I do not have the wherewithal  for espionage.  That Dutch Reformed guilt would kill me.

Anyway, the manager said she still wanted to hire me and the production manager happened to be there at that very moment and maybe I could talk to her? Um, no, I am here shopping with my cousin.

"Just let me bring her out here to meet you."

Okay. My honest face is going to win her over, right?

So I met the production manager who shook my hand, turned, and as she walked away said to the manager, "Do whatever you want."

And with that warm welcome I have a job that starts on Tuesday. Yea?

Hey, it's a seasonal job. In my original interview I was up-front and said I would be leaving in December for parts unknown. I was told January through March were slow times, so it worked well with their schedule.

I can now pay for our trailer renovation with cash instead of credit. That works.

A brand new beginning

After my sister passed away in April my focus began to change.

The night before she went into the hospital I stayed with Donna at her apartment. She was in a lot of pain, but we had  opportunity to talk. She knew her prognosis was not good. Two things she said have stayed with me. The first was: I should have had a colonoscopy. (Mine is scheduled for a few days from now). The second was: I should have retired last year.

Ahhh regrets. We all have them. The coulda, shoulda, woulda game. It gets us nowhere.

So King and I are moving forward and making changes. Some may be good. Some may be bad. But it seems to be better than doing nothing and maintaining the status quo.

Our decision to make changes started long before Donna was diagnosed with cancer. Sometime this winter King and I decided enough was enough and I left my job.

I had been working as a page designer at a newspaper hub. (For the uninformed, a newspaper hub is a place where many newspapers are designed and laid out. For example, a newspaper in Marion, Indiana is actually put together in St. Joseph, Michigan. It saves money and makes the bottom line look good. Personally, I think it is a bad idea. But I should not say much because for three years it paid our extra bills. And it seems to be the way things are going in the newspaper industry. Today very few newspapers are actually put together by the reporters and editors who covered the meetings, attended the sporting events or took the photos of the house fire).

Although newspaper hubs are Satan's spawn, it was not a bad job. It was simply a job. I took it because after working years as a reporter and editor we needed to move to the west side of the state to be near my parents. It was very much an entry level position. I knew going in I would miss reporting. But it was a job. In the newspaper industry. The people I worked with, for the most part, were a fun group. I truly had no complaints.

But I am not a copy editor. I am a writer. The two are not necessarily related. I don't see type-os ... at least not until they are in print. I am not technologically savvy. I am not a page designer. I don't have an eye for layout. I don't know how to make fancy illustrations. I can barely Photoshop a photo. I am a writer. Period.The reality is just because one can write does not mean one can design newspapers or edit other people's copy, or turn 40 word headlines into succinct five word headlines. I was a warm body in a chair with an extensive newspaper background. That is why I was hired. Experience. Just not the right kind. The young, recent graduates I worked with could out-design me on my best day.

I am also grandmother. Because of work I missed out on countless soccer games, family picnics, choir concerts, dance recitals, t-ball games and Christmas gathering. Newspapers don't take holidays. Readers don't care if someone has to work Thanksgiving, Mother's Day and Easter. They simply want their newspapers delivered to their doorstep. (And as an old reporter, I can attest even THAT is changing).

Through no fault of the company or the people I worked with, I was miserable. It was simply a job because we thought we needed the extra income. In reality, we have been broke most of our marriage. We make do. We adjust. So when King suggested I retire in February rather than the following December I jumped at the opportunity. It was time to go. I was already counting down the days. The journalism I embraced in 1974 as a stary-eyed college Freshman is long gone. I am old(er) and change is difficult. Besides, King was tired of my whining and bitchiness.

If a part-time job were to fall into my lap, I might take it. Maybe.

So it is on to a new chapter in our lives. And this blog is taking a new turn.

In early June King and I purchased an old... very old... travel trailer. It needs a tremendous amount of work. But when one pays only slightly north of $500 for a trailer, one should expect a lot renovations.  And oh my goodness is there a lot of work to be done -- and a slightly large learning curve to go with it. With the help of Google and You Tube we will figure it out. So far we are taking the selective learning route. If there is something that seems to be inordinately difficult we pretend it does not need to be done. I am certain there will be do-overs. And I am certain any savvy renovators out there who are reading this are rolling their eyes.

For us, there is nothing like diving in without testing the water. No regrets.

Our 1978 Shasta travel trailer. Built the year our second oldest son was born. It will need new
tires. The frame is good. We will either remove the awning or replace it.
I'm thinking I'd rather have a separate screen house than an awning.

Our dining room before. You can see some of the water damage on the ceiling.

Our living room before.

Our dining room during demolition. There is quite a bit of wood that needs to be replaced.

We removed the peel and stick tiles to see how much
damage there was to the floor. A lot.
Notice the cardboard in the upper left corner? The previous owner
said he had replaced the back panel. We neglected to ask what type of material
he used. Ahhh. Live and learn.

This is the back of the trailer where the living room was. That is a water tank that was under
the bench. After we pull it out to replace the floor we will see if it can be salvaged
or if we need to replace it. As it is, the only thing keeping that
tank from falling through the floor is somebody's imagination.
Obviously more wood framing needs to be replaced.