After much reflection, I’ve concluded that truly our own worst enemy is within, and not outside of us all. Does that mean that I am my own worst enemy? For the most part, no. But, surely, the enemy is close to us – within our “Circle of Trust”. The theory of “keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer” is only to our advantage when we purposely bring them in. Not when they are discovered to be so near to us.

Example: Down the drain…

I’m sure this will come as a great shock to many of you, but after years of denial and closeted behavior, I can no longer hide my addiction. I’ve lied to family and friends, I’ve done it at the workplace, and, yes, I’ve even done it in the bathroom. It doesn’t matter if there is a crowd, I’m in a public space, and it’s far worse when I’m home alone – even when the kids are there and in bed. I’ve ignored the kids for the sake of my addiction, and I’ve missed their requests for attention to feed my hunger.

I’m addicted to my cell phone. And, since the invention of web-enabled cell phones, and now with my Blackberry, it’s terrible. I go everywhere with it. I can’t turn it off. I panic when it’s not with me. So, of course, I bring it to the bathroom stall wherever I go, lest I miss THE call I’ve been waiting for. (No, there really isn’t any call that I’m waiting for. Or is there? I don’t know… what if there is? And I miss it…) Anyway… so today I had a business meeting at the hotel next door. As I was being wined and dined, the need to visit the “little girl’s room” struck between the tea and my sandwich, and I excused myself, grabbing my Blackberry with me. Typically, I put the Blackberry in my purse, which hangs behind the door. But, as I biked to work, I had my backpack, and I left it at the table with my colleague. So, as I often do, I put it on top of the toilet paper dispenser. This one had a nice flat top. As I was done with my “other” business, the automatic toilet flushed, and I had an epiphany.

Those damned automatic toilets are a Blackberry addict’s worst enemy. Far worse than the handheld laws, sticky fingers, or those bogus “Don’t use your cell phones here because they mess with our equipment” signs. WHAT IF that toilet paper holder were ROUND, as many are, and I didn’t find that “sweet spot” to balance it on? WHAT IF, as I got up hastily, to turn to manually flush, not realizing it was an automatic flush, I knocked the cell phone down? Into the toilet? As if that weren’t bad enough on a standard toilet, could you IMAGINE what would happen if the toilet THEN FLUSHED? Especially with some of the smaller models of phones? I snatched my cell phone away, looked to the heavens, and thanked my lucky stars I had the sense to find a flat surface, swearing never again to forget a purse or leave something to safely contain my cell phone whilst on the head.

Example 2: A little bit of this… a little dash of that…

Last night, I went to sleep as usual. This morning, I woke up sniffly, sneezy and with a stuffy head. Truly, allergy season hit, and with a vengeance. My car was slathered in yellow schmutz, and, what is usually a mild case of a sniffle for an hour annual became a royal pain, especially on my 5 mile ride into the office, passing by all the lovely, flowering, allergen-riddled flora on High Ridge Road, deeply inhaling all the contaminants I could. During my lunch meeting at the Sheraton, my nose was dripping so badly, that I decided to walk an extra block down Summer Street to CVS and pick up some Claritin or something.

Of course, thanks to brilliant marketers and brand managers near and far, the options for medicines are as endless as the grains of sand on the seashore. And, when your head is stuffed, you need simplicity, as in “Mongo, take box. Good. Good, Mongo”. So, after finding 2 opened boxes of CVS-Sudafed substitutes, I decided to go to the pharmacist, give her the two open boxes, and ask her opinion. She looked at the boxes, shook her head, and said, “Unbelievable! Second time this week – and… yep! A couple of sheets are missing… “I looked at her quizzically as I just thought some careless fool accidentally opened the boxes, not that it was part of some sort of crime spree, and asked her what she’d recommend. She said, “Claritin-D, or the CVS version, but you can’t get it on the shelves. You have to get it behind the counter up front.” Ok… so I guess that, because it’s now allergy season, the po’ folks who can’t afford allergy meds have to steal it, so they keep it behind the cashiers. No problem…

I stroll up to the cashier, and ask for the Claritin-D – whatever is cheapest. The lady behind the counter says, “What’s it for?” I tell her, as though my drippy, fire-engine red nose isn’t tell-tale enough, for my allergies. She said, “Ok. Be sure to get the 10-pack, not the 5-pack, because you won’t be able to buy more for a few days.”

Huh. How did she know what I had, or didn’t have, in my bank account? So I ask for the 10-pack, and begin the check out. First, she rings up the two other items I was picking up. Then she swipes the Claritin-D under the scanner. I look at the total, and see that the price isn’t showing. SWEET! Computer error – I’d better swipe my debit card before she realizes the mistake!

“Can I see your ID?”

“I assure you, I’m over 21,” I retort, while showing the license through the window in my wallet.

“No, please take it out. I need to scan it. Federal law.”

Hello, Big Brother? I take the license out of its happy home, and sure enough, she scans it. Up on the screen comes up what looks like an agreement comparable to what Lucifer may offer up in exchange for your soul.

“I’m sorry, this isn’t a prescription – do I need to sign this?”

The cashier laughs and says, “THEY need to monitor all sales of allergy meds.”

“Why? Are they being rationed?”

“Well, kind of.”

*Scooby Doo – HUH* escapes my mouth, met with the cashier’s laughter.

“It’s the crack.”

Now, wait a second. That’s my line when I do something stupid, if I’ve played the blonde card too often. I laugh and ask her what the real reason is. She looks me dead in the eyes and restates, “It’s the crack.”

WHAT? You see, apparently, people are stealing and hoarding Claritin-D and similar drugs because they contain something (that she wouldn’t repeat to me) in order to process crack. So, the Federal government is having stores regulate how much you can buy at once, or within a certain timeframe, and requiring not only the presentation of a valid ID, but scanning it to TRACK PURCHASES. And, since one of the other items I purchased contained another “gem” of a product, she had to wait to see if I was on “THE List.”

What a shocker, I wasn’t, and since Blackberry addictions are unrelated and not Federally criminal, I was able to take my Claritin-D and scurry back home, looking over my shoulder, frightened by who else was keeping a mindful eye on me.

…there is always some moron who chooses to answer the cell phone, and conduct a conversation, in a public bathroom?

… one bra strap always slides off your shoulder when you least want it to – and it’s never the same side, nor is it the same situation repeating itself, so you can’t correct it?

… fruits and juices have to be promoted as being healthy and containing vitamins, nay having vitamins added, when, by their very nature, they are healthy and contain vitamins?

… the day after the office management company tells us that they take pride in reducing random solicitations, 3 sales people stroll into the office, selling their wares?

… though I don’t like water, we feel the need to add vitamins and flavors to our water? Natural flavors? Is it fair, then, to still call it water? Isn’t it just your daily vitamin ground up and mixed into your water so you don’t have to take the pills? Or, I dunno, juice?

…  it’s always the people that I look up to the most have no clue how wonderful they are?

Until recently, and simply due to changes in direction of my career path and chronology, I included a company at the tail-end of my resume. Nowadays, I’m somewhat glad that I chose to remove it a year or two ago, not because it was irrelevant to the jobs I was seeking, but because it could potentially create a “little black spot”, especially when asked to whom I directly reported. The name of that shadow? AIG Financial Products.

Part of writing this blog feels like I’m confessing to murder – getting this terrible burden off of my shoulders. Part of my cannot help but laugh – half out of relief that I am so far out of that world as I am, and, frankly, half to see some individuals and an organization that, aside from my bank account, treated me terribly. My heart breaks for former colleagues that are still there that I always saw as “good guys”. But, and I’m hardly the first to admit this publicly, there is a sense of greed and immorality in the culture there. No – I never questioned the money that would magically appear in my bank account bi-weekly, or annual. Here’s why – some of the people who work there work their tails off, with little or no thanks, and get abused on top of it. Don’t even get me started on what I went through once it was known that I was pregnant, and upon my return, when I had to pick up my son from childcare.

(For those curious, I have a great story about one day when, in my 9^th month, I had to go to the bathroom, and, within minutes, was hunted down and harassed by a fellow female co-worker… )

I’m torn between “karma, baby” and “OMG”!

Some of the individuals were terribly kind and generous. Some, I have no doubt, were fully aware of the corruption being built. And, when working within that open-trading floor, you could tell who was who.

But, before we vilify everyone who receives a check from AIG-FP, do know the following:

·         Some of these people really did earn their salaries and bonuses. You aren’t talking about your typical workday. I was an hourly employee, who, by the end, worked from 6:00 am until, some nights, well past 9:00 pm, without being allowed to take a break or a lunch hour. The only time off I could get, aside from my 2-week vacation, which was a whole to-do to arrange for, was, between 7:00 and 9:00 pm when I was waiting for the Operations team to finish up the numbers for the P&L, so I could finish the daily document and distribute it to the powers-that-be.

·         Many of us “low-levels” referred to our bonuses as “blood money”. We earned decent annual salaries, not the top of the line, but decent. Average or slightly average. But we worked twice as many hours, and twice as hard, as many of our peers in other companies. The compensation? The golden carrot dangled before us starting every January 1 – our annual salary. And when I say many of us paid for it, I mean it. Without exaggeration, one colleague actually suffered a miscarriage in the office, and was too scared to let anyone know about it, as it was nearing bonus time and she was afraid any sudden departure would harm her chances of earning her bonus, that, (after letting me know in case she fell ill and I could let the paramedics, not our bosses, know), worked the rest of her 14-hour day. She took a 15-minute break to call her husband, at the time, to let him know. This was not a low-level admin, either! This was a salaried employee who feared for her security! Marriages crumbled in the wake of insane hours, personality changes, etc.

·         Charity was an important thing to those that I always saw as “good guys”. We felt that, when we got those bonuses, that it was important to share the wealth – not use those donations as tax shelters. I was THRILLED to have been able to make a large donation to help start a scholarship fund in the name of a friend who passed away while I was working there. I was finally able to buy my mother a piece of equipment that she needed for her health, but would never buy for herself.

My point is that many of the people being dragged through the mud really aren’t at fault. And, the insulated culture there makes it virtually impossible to imagine that one could get a job, let alone support a family, elsewhere. Not to mention the fact that there is an inherent sense of fear that, if you do so much as to look for a job elsewhere, you will be canned, thereby losing your bonus.

Again, I’m torn.

But, before you drive by an AIG-FP employee’s house, first, ask them what their title is. And realize that many of these people are trapped in their jobs.

An amazing actor, as well as an activist. Zachreinu l'vrachah - may you be remembered with a blessing...

For a variety of reasons, since I work so close in geography to where I drop my kids off in the morning, I’ve decided to take cycling up once more, as in high school I used to religiously bike daily and college it was my main mode of transport (aside from driving to and from Hebrew School 4 towns over). I figured it should only take about 20 minutes longer (once I get my stride back) than driving in, which still gets me in at least ½ hour before my co-workers. So, this morning was my first ride. (Well, actually, I guess it would qualify more like a bi-athalon, as I spent about 1/3 walking up hills as a) it was hella-chilly, and, while I had to pairs of pants on, I didn’t have tights on so b) I was cramping up and c) I’m still not 100% ready for some of the inclines – working on it, though).

This brings me to the point of this blog; “The things we take for granted.” Here’s a list of what I’ve come up with, just in that 30 minute ride:

1.       We always need to know what’s coming up behind us. What brought me to that conclusion? I made sure to gear myself up for commuting on my bike – or so I thought. What did I not pick up? A rear view mirror. Which, when cycling down High Ridge Road in Stamford, during rush hour, becomes a rather crucial piece of gear when the shoulder disappears and you are blind to what you’re getting into.

2.       Pay closer attention to the path you plan to take in advance so you don’t come across nasty surprises when it’s too late.  You see, my office is at an area called “Bull’s Head” in Stamford, aka 4-Corners. Why? Because you have 4 major roads intersecting at once, and, as Murphy’s Law would dictate, my course led me across all 4 and then, from the far right-hand lane, across 3 lanes of aggressive traffic, on a curve, to get into the office garage. After trying to plot out a solution on the fly, I just did a “Hail Mary”, stuck my left arm out and hoped for the best. Clearly, since I’m typing it, it would appear that Mary is non-partisan, heard my plea for protection, and granted me providence.

3.       If you buy it, it doesn’t necessarily come. I bought a water bottle holder, and happily mounted it onto my bike myself. I reached down for some water this morning, and to my dismay, it was empty. Why? Because I didn’t buy a water bottle, nor did I put one in the holder. A-duh.

4.       Pedestrians have the right of way. Yah, right. Except when there are no crosswalks. Or when stuck having to cross on-ramps to parkways when there are no sidewalks or shoulders. Or when just trying to get out of a Park n Ride to the shopping center to drop off your kid (who is clamping onto your hand for their lives), or just trying to get started on your ride. And why is it that Park n Rides are always on the wrong side of the street? Grrr.

Anyway, just thought I’d share…

Don't dream too far,
Don't lose sight of who you are,
Don't remember that rush of joy,
Don't fall for that ploy.
Ev'ry so often we long to steal
To the land of what-might-have-been,
But that doesn't soften the ache we feel
When reality sets back in.

Don't wish, don't start,
Wishing only wounds the heart.
I wasn't born for the rose and the pearl.
There's a girl I know,
She who is loved so --
I am not that girl.


Time of Day: Night



Season: Summer



Memory: Not going there as it was said in a very personal, private moment.



Pet: Samson



Number: 7



Food: Chocolate



Family member: My kids



Color: Blue



Thing to do: Do I have to keep it PG?



Place to go: Israel



Job: Still working on that one...



Thing about yourself: Nothing?



Thing about Facebook: Reconnection



Thing to spend money on: Jewelry



Piece of clothing: My junior prom gown



Drink: Yes



Book: Given the current "matzav", Illusions by Richard Bach



State: New York, baby.



Bonus.... Memory of person who tagged you: Playing with Barbies in her bedroom in 1981.