Tag Archives: self esteem

Stress, So You Think Crashing One Wedding Was Rude?

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Stress, Runaway Pooch Crashes Five Star Wedding !

Dateline: Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. Although the Sea of Cortez bears his name, it was not Hernan Cortez, but his navigator, who is credited with discovering Cabo San Lucas in 1537. Cabo San Lucas and Cabo San Jose soon became a busy stopovers for pirates.

What’s the Difference Between…Breaking Out of “Group Think Stress” and Just Being Annoying?  The trick is considering other people without over-considering them. 

Is the guy who insists on mowing the lawn in his birthday suit a free thinker or an unpleasant surprise?  Is the guy who refuses to shut down his cell phone and therefore prevents the flight from taking off…merely side-stepping ‘group think’?

And that woman in the bathing suit and the towel on her head that crashed the black-tie wedding reception? 

Dateline:  Dallas, Texas. Lincoln Center Hilton.

Finishing a swim, I’d taken Shrinker, our ancient, crippled shih tzu down for a stumble in the grass around the big fancy pool at the big fancy hotel hoping for a productive result.  I didn’t need a leash as Shrinker was as slow as certain relatives are reaching for their wallets.  Since her stroke, she’ambled sort of sideways making about a yard a minute. The pool grass part hadn’t been totally successful, but as we had group dinner plans, I was in a bit of a rush to get dressed. I carried the old sweetie to the bank of elevators in the center of the lobby and set her down to punch the button.  The left side of the main hall opened into a ballroom from which orchestra music and wonderful food smells wafted. At the far side of the ballroom the bride and groom were behind a magnificent candle laden table making a toast.

Which is when it happened.  When the formerly snail-paced Shrinker Dog caught the smell of sizzling steak. She shot from my between my ankles and into the ballroom going all-out, knowing when I caught up with her, all hope of garnering steak was gone.

What did I do?  What could I do?  I centered my flip-flops, re-wrapped the too-large towel around my dripping head, and flung my bathing-suited self into the party. Stroke or no stroke, sweet babe was all woman when it came to food. She rocketed in her side-ways gait across the dance floor scattering guests. Then she dove under the covered white table leaving me stupidity flopping around trying to find her. Sophisticated people glared, candles were grabbed, I heard lenses come off video cameras.  I pretended I was having an instant onset of a serious mental disorder characterized by babbling.  I kept my head down as I flushed out the Shrinker dog who bounded away and tacked her way back across the dance floor…leaving little presents, quickly picked up by men in tuxedos. Thus, a couple of good things came out of the event.  My trip down to the grass was successful after all and, having kept my head down, I’d managed to stay anonymous.

Waiting for the elevator when we returned with friends around midnight, a well-dressed man and woman sidled up. At first the man looked confused.  Then not so much.  “I know you!” he said, pointing a knowing and sophisticated finger.  “You’re the woman with the dog!”

The trick is considering other people without over-considering them.  The husband alerting his new bride not to use her fingers on her cake…could have been concerned about bothering the other guests could possibly, maybe, sort of been showing a bit of over-concern for the guests. Of course, marriage means “I love-you-your-perfect-except-for-these-few-hundred-little-things-you-must-change-if-I-am-to-be-kept-comfortable.”  And, I must not be uncomfortable, ever. That’s the deal.

Say, what? What goes both ways?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Swinging on the Limbs of Phone Trees. Stress, Part 3

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Dateline:  Left hand on one phone tree limb…Right hand gripping another tree limb…oops.

PART THREE.  Hour Three. You will not be able to properly feel my pain or find some shred of forgiveness for my behavior unless you have read Parts One and Two of my torture history.

Hour Three in Phone Tree Stress

Now I’m bumped up to Level Three Customer Service since my request is
apparently too complicated for the first two levels. Level Three Customer
Service Guy thanks me for choosing Dell and asks me to give him all my
information again.  He assures me he will solve the problem. I let out a sigh of relief.

Level Three Customer Service Guy comes back on the call where I wait with gratitude and anticipatory excitement. LTCSG says, “I see the problem.  Your computer only fits with a six cell battery and what they sent you was a nine cell battery.”

I struggle to breathe. Okay. Just because common sense made no sense to Levels One and Two, maybe it will work with Level Three Guy. I begin, “Sir, I’m afraid you are mistaken. Yo see, the computer in front of me came with a nine cell battery and I have purchased several replacement nine cell batteries from Dell.”

Didn’t even make a dent. He continues, “Ma’am. No. Please listen. You have
the right battery for your computer. We just need to send you six cell batteries of the same type and you will be ready to go.”

“But–”

“Trust me. Your computer can only use a six cell battery edition of the same kind of battery you were sent. I will order two of these for you.”

At this point, I suspect I’m going insane. I give up. “Fine. Here’s my credit card number…though you are sending me an incompatible battery and wasting another week.”

To check out the insanity possibility I now drive to Best Buy to get checked out with a Geek Squad Guy. I run my story, show him my computer and ask if I’m losing it. Geek Squad Guy says: “No ma’am. That is a nine cell battery and your computer uses a nine cell battery.”

Trembling and nauseous. I know what hell lies ahead. I call Dell back. I trudge through levels one, two, and three spouting my name, address, and shoe size over and over.

Level Four Supervisor Guy apologizes profusely and says he’ll fix the problem. Could he please have my name, address, last four digits of my Social Security Number, and place of birth.

Hour Four

Fifty-six games of solitaire and four dropped calls (each requiring that I give them my birth certificate again), Level Four Supervisor Guy is back on the phone. I tell him my sad story. He looks up the order for the two batteries Level Three Guy ordered for me. He agrees that those batteries are not the correct batteries. He tells me not to worry, when I receive the batteries, my money will be refunded after I take the package to a UPS office, since I have nothing to do with my life except to do research and run errands for Dell.

Level Four Supervisor Guy has a special goodie for me since I’ve had so much trouble.  The goodie? “We are going to give you free shipping for these new batteries!” he says grandly.

I go back to the insanity possibility.  Did he just say Dell was generously going to
pay for shipping back to Dell the batteries to replace the wrong batteries for which I had paid Express Shipping?  I couldn’t hold in my glee and laughed. He asked me if I’d be interested in opening a Dell credit card.  Now I am roaring with joy.
“Oh, yes, that’s just want I want to do. I want to arrange my life to deal further with
Dell customer service, that is exactly what I want to do.”

Then, Level Four Supervisor Guy asked if I would stay on the line for a survey to help them out.  What?  I’m working for Dell Human Resources now?

Maybe I would have answered a few questions, but I was thinking margarita and a Jorge’s enchilada platter for lunch.  Oh, but wait.  My other phone is ringing….which was handy since my call with Level Four Guy had dropped before the survey commenced and before he’d ordered the correct batteries for me.

I answer the cell. “First, let me thank you for choosing Dell. We show that earlier today you ordered two six-celled batteries. We’d like to follow up on your call to Customer Service. Would you punch in your name, phone number, and the Day Lincoln was shot…and then choose from the following options…”

Lunch turned out to be a fantasy. You’d think this situation couldn’t get worse, but it does. Going insane seems like a small price for how I spent the afternoon.

 

Anxiety, the Dented Cell Phone and the “Stolen Luggage Incident”

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Dateline: Albuquerque, New Mexico

Stress Management Update

Note: If you are the person who stole my luggage at the Avis rental counter while I ran through the rain to get my car…pox be upon you.

If any of you ever see a smug person with three twelve-cell computer batteries ($200 each), a Samsung tablet power cord and he or she doesn’t seem to own such a device, seven pair of black Olga underwear, a power cord for a Dell Studio for which he or she does not appear to have the matching computer or, say, seven tiny packets of vitamins and fish oil —Please deliver the cursed pox for me.

A message from the first session of the Fall Series on Bowen Family Systems Theory was:“It’s not what happens to you, it’s what happens after‘what happens’.”  Thus, your level of functioning can be determined by noting how well you manage anxiety. In other words, everyone looks good when things are rocking along planned.

And I like to think I would have handled the stolen luggage incident a bit better if the entire communication world was not at war against me. Yes, Time Warner Cable home and office phones still are not working. And, since we live in the hills, cell phone service is sketchy. Put those together and I was not able to contact my special person who usually is willing to take on some of my anxiety.

I called my insurance company hoping to drop some anxiety there, and I was pretty excited when the nicewoman who answered the phone said, “Sure, your umbrella policy will pay for your loss.”  Nice woman then sweetly explained that this
great policy I had would start paying after a $3000.00 deductable. I know, it’s an insurance company, what did I expect?
How much did my functioning change when presented with this stress?

Let’s just say, on a normal day I would never raise my voice to the police. On a normal day I can figure out how to turn off the interior lights in a rental car. Throwing my phone across the car was a new one for me. (I know, ouch, but I’m being honest here. And the thing died every thirty seconds when i was trying to hear directions to the hotel.)

Now the good news. I’m all better now having replaced all toiletries, ordered new batteries, etc. Surely level of functioning can also be measured by how long it takes to recover from cruelty and injustice random unpleasant acts. (Now, I’m assuming we are starting with a cleared slate and those six hours hammering airline ticket agents at London’s Gatwick Airport are off the table.)

And, while you are on alert for a shifty-eyed person with all sorts of cords and batteries and no devices…I have another thief for you to be on the look out for. A few months ago I was operating out of the San Diego Hilton International Branch Office. It was 9:30 p.m. and I’m lounging in my room. Just across Interstate 8 is my favorite California seafood restaurant, King’s Fish House. I’m weighing my options through my tired brain. I’m craving King’s incredible Shrimp and Crab Louie, but I’m already undressed and tucked in. King’s closes at 10:00 p.m., thus, I don’t have time to waver. I was leaving in the morning, so this was my last shot. I dragged my weary self out of bed, re-dressed, got the car, drove to the restaurant, ordered and waited for the Louie.

I return to my hotel room with my big white bag with King’s Fish House on the outside and my favorite salad inside. Alas, when I reached my door, my key wouldn’t work. I was the last room in the hall, rather out of the way. I set my food down and returned to the front desk for a refreshed key.

When I returned to my door, gone maybe three minutes, someone stole my Louie. Stole my dinner. Who does that?

If you spot someone with a King’s Fish House takeout bag and no shrimp shells, pox on him, too.

 

Stress. The Global Village Is Missing Its Idiot.

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Dateline: American Airlines xxx

The point of all this: ’Brain changes’ occur when we are anxious. We go blind, deaf, and confused.

We lose our ability to respond according to priorities.  Finishing a minor task, such as learning how to pick up email on a new device, takes precedence over getting a good night’s rest or having a pleasant evening instead of picking a fight with your special person who has the nerve to point out your bizarre behavior.

We lose our judgment. We say things to customer service people in foreign lands, bad things that are not in line with the good person we want to be in life.

We lose our openness to new ideas–such as reading the instructions.

We DO NOT SEE a way out of our dilemma even when the solution is right in front of our face.

Part Two of Advances in Technology Have Made the World a Village, and I am its Idiot. Without part one the following will make no sense. With part one, it has a shot.

As we return to last night’s battle, no war, with the Freaking Samsung Techno Devil FSTD. I poked around on obvious buttons until the sucker came on. Well, a sunburst welcome screen lit up.

A few seconds later, the puppy went black. I refered to the miniature instruction booklet and was impressed with all the apps and task tools availble on the minuscule replica of the Home Page. The booklet read, “From your home page…” One problem, I couldn’t get past the sunburst to the Homepage. I wildly tapped the screen all over during the brief time it was alive.

I repeat this bizarre tapping and cursing routine twelve times before I am convinced there is no secret tap which will land me on the Home Page. I pack up my pile of device and assorted attachments, climb into my car (which is still 116 degrees in the garage) and return to Best Buy for some help. The nice Geek Squad guy says, “Sure, no problem,” when I tell him about the powering off problem. He taps the welcome screen ever so slightly dragging it sideways. I study his moves like a double agent spy. I need to know how to get to the Home Page without admitting I didn’t know how to get past the welcome screen.

The problem, he said, was that the “sleep function” was set to react in a very short stretch of time. That matter settled I head home to set up the device. I’m feeling pretty spunky, given that sleep function business could have thrown anyone off. I clear a space on my bed and lean back on a stack of pillows to continue my triumph. I put the tip of my finger where the Geek guy’s had been and drug it across the screen. Nothing. I repeated the move four times. Then the screen went black. My spouse suggests there’s not much evening left to pack, eat, and deal with the dogs. I reassure him I will only be a few more minutes. I notice a touch of pique and that “we’re been here before” look.

I remembered something about using a stylus. I’d bought two. I retrieved the Jaws of Life and unpackaged a stylus one. I dragged the stylus corner to corner. The screen went black. Except for the blue X. Turned out, the stylus doubles as a ball point pen.

A call to Best Buy Geek Squad and I’ll all set on the Home Page. I heard giggling on the other end of my phone line, but I’m sure there was a clown making funny animals near phone at Best Buy.

 

Chameleon. Stress Management Through Changing Colors

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Chameleon, Blending with Environment to Calm Anxiety
Dateline: Chili’s International Branch Office

The Woman Who Didn’t Know If She Liked French Fries went on– from our midnight burgers during my second year of college—to a lifetime of confusion and efforts to find her ‘self’ through other people. And though I tried to mold her myself that fateful night, the WWDKILFF continued to choose only men to form her ‘self’ against. Remember lack of ‘self’ is demonstrated by the inability to define oneself (her), and the inability to leave other people alone and running their own lives (me).

Think of the WWDKILFF as hot wax and men as molds at the ready.

The man she was leaving that fateful night she met at a country club party. He was 17 years older than her, wealthy, worldly, and dashing. WWDKILFF, uncomfortable at the university and not knowing what she wanted to study, became a country club wife. She traded generic beer for martinis and Manhattans, jeans for cocktail dresses, the casual look of poor students for regular visits to the manicurist, the personal trainer, the dermatologist, hair stylist, and personal shopper.

After the cocktail circuit, WWDKILFF returned to college where she met a charismatic protestor who headed up an organization opposing government military expenditures. She quit college again and traded her cocktail ways for old jeans, saggy T-shirts, vegetarianism, and pot. Now vehemently anti-materialistic, she cut ties with her middle-class family. The next time I heard from her she was standing in line at the free clinic in Houston to receive no-cost pills to treat gonorrhea.

Next she met a cowboy. Since I showed horses, she called thinking I’d be delighted with the news that she was learning to ride and rope. She traded her protestor ways for boots, and saddles, expensive beer, T-bone steaks, and thrill rides.

At our tenth high school reunion I learned that the WWDKILFF was now married to a man who sold life insurance and owned his own company. She’d traded her cowboy ways to take care of a big house in the suburbs, two kids, a maid, and twice weekly visits to her psychiatrist.

Two Chicks on a Mexican Highway, Final Episode

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How the Worst that Can Happen Could Be the Best that Could Happen

Dateline:  Toll Road into Mexico City, after midnight, raining. And we are out of gas. Stress.

This episode will make no sense unless you read Episode One and Episode Two. Even then, the true story will make only marginal sense.

After a whispered confab and a prayer, Sam and I, okay Sam, asked the truck driver to follow us until we ran out of gas, She told him both of us would climb in for the ride.  Less than ten minutes later the inevitable came to pass.  What was said during those ten minutes Sam and I never talked about again, but each of us knew the other’s final wishes should only one of us survive. Even El Sanborn was part of the deal as we both forgave him for not warning us about the gas situation, which Sam still contended was my responsibility, but I forgave her because I’d heard nuns could be stubborn.

Stress Management:

I hit the hazard lights and rolled to a stop on the shoulder.  The trucker stopped as promised, but on learning that we both were coming along, said there was only room for one in the truck cab.  The other one could ride in the back.  Which is how Sam and I ended up coming into Mexico City in a driving rainstorm at two in the morning on a pile of mangos.

Now, wait.  Remember how the worst thing that could happen can turn out to be the best?

We made it to the Pemex station and did find a return ride (surprise, surprise given my pink see-through pants) in the cab of a Pemex hauler with two tanks behind him.  Sam and I were squeezed between the driver and his helper with six long and scary looking gear shifts mingled amongst our legs.  Sam had gone mute while I couldn’t shut up telling the truckers how we were the nieces of the president of the United States and most likely plenty of people were out searching for us already. Though she’d made her position clear, I kept elbowing Sam in the ribs telling her to translate while I peered up through the windshield pretending to look for search helicopters.  We politely declined the suggestion we all stop for a drink. Or, I did. Like I said, at this point, Sam only stared straight ahead.

The Pemex honchos refused to accept any money after they dropped us off and poured in the gas, but we gave them each a cola as a thank-you.  Of course, five miles down the road while we were still hugging each other and congratulating ourselves on being alive, we realized just what kind of surprise our friends would have when the still over-heated cans were opened.  Now, here comes the good ending.  We’d planned on staying the night with a distant aunt of Sam’s in Mexico City which obviously wasn’t going to work out.  Thus, I checked us into the Maria Barbara Motel, a place I’d stayed with my family on the northern outskirts of the city, and by now hungry and thirsty, we hit the bar where food was still being served.  Also, a little combo was playing.

A little combo with a cute bongo player who noticed Sam the minute she came in.  After a couple of chicken tacos, I crawled away from the table and passed out in our room without even changing out of my wet clothes.

When I woke up, Sam hadn’t been to the room.  I found her when I went down to breakfast.  She and Bongo Boy were still at the table from last night. Still talking and giggling like six-graders.  That was as far as the romance went, they never spoke again, much less ever kissed.  Yet, Sam forgave me everything from the night before declaring it had turned into the best night of her life.

As she climbed into shotgun she said, “I can do this. I’m pretty. Guys are going to like me.”

We consulted El Sanborn and carefully mapped the way to the relative’s house in Mexico City.  Then we drove around lost for almost five hours, consulted El Sanborn for a nice restaurant, then followed a taxi to the address.

 

 

Stress, Spanish, and Showing Off

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Dateline:  Hilton Reforma International Branch Office.  I can see the Monument to the Revolucion from my spot in the Honors lounge. The fact that I am lounging in the lounge in my over-stuffed cargo shorts is all the proof you need that you can go to school for decades and work sixty hours a week earning money to have breakfast free with Mexico City view, but class is something you inherit.

Stress and the Last Mexico
Tourist Standing Update: From Somewhere, I think.

Another characteristic of the Stress Prone Personality (SSP) is the habit of acting like you know what you are doing when you have no idea at all.  What did you think “Type A” meant?   We SPP’s don’t ask for help in Home Deport because we don’t want to reveal that we don’t already know where the shower heads are.  Then, since we are not going to waste our time asking some kid about shower heads, we come back three times before we find one that fits the pipe.

This “tendency” takes on new dimensions when it comes to foreign travel.  We have a slight bent toward acting like we understand the language because we listened to a few tapes and believe we should be fluent by now.

Which is how the following happened.  Off to explore the historic El Centro of Mexico City, the first place drawing me in was the Museo de Familias Migrantes.

I noticed a movie on the immigrant experience, Train de Vie, was about to begin.  A film showcasing Central Americans riding on the tops of freight cars through Mexico fit my mood perfectly.  Also, it was in Spanish, I could practice my skills.  Not that I needed any help.

An attendant led me into the dark theater as the film had started.  I sighed and sat back reveling in my cleverness.  After ten minutes or so, I started wondering why a movie in Spanish had Spanish sub-titles. Hmmm….Perhaps because the movie was in French and Hebrew.  Oh, well, I was delighted knowing the plight of the Guatemalans and Salvadorians crossing through Mexico had gained international attention.  But wait.  Why are the immigrants inside the freight cars?  Those little hats weren’t going to be much protection from the sun.

Oh. The immigrants are Jews and Communists escaping through northern Germany during WW II.  Oh, so I missed a couple of words in the movie description.

The good news?  I knew just how to handle the situation.

Below are the thoughts of psychologist sleuth and hopeless horse-jumping addict, Dr. Jessica LeFave on how to survive humililation.

“Copper Mountain (insane show horse) scooped his lovely head down again to nuzzle the wrens. I patted his neck, drinking in the peacefulness, too.  Copper had schooled well, if you don’t count the velocity. Even soaked, his copper coat glowed.  Not gold over rubies like when he pranced fresh through the In-Gate under the lights.  Wet, like now, his coat was the color of melted garnets.  Being long-legged and gorgeous can get people to ignore most everything else about a horse.  Hopefully, the same formula would turn the trick for Tanya (Ex-Las Vegas show girl accused of murder.)

Tomorrow would not be about the murder, but about impressing the judge with Copper’s skills and beauty. I’d concentrate on perfecting strides, hauling the reins like crazy on Copper’s side away from the judge. Because no matter how ridiculously fast Copper Mountain tore around a course, I knew how to put on a face like I was having “just a lovely time, really.” –Pharmacy of God.

Update mañana. I’m heading out today to find a miniature Day of the Dead frog playing a guitar. (See ‘class’ above.)