When I clicked publish on the original post about the donation giveaway, I immediately felt ill. What if I fail at raising any money? What if people vote over and over for one charity and totally throw off the recipient results? There were a lot more panic induced questions but I’ll spare you the drama. It’s bad enough I had to live through it all.
I’m happy to say all of my fear was for naught. Over the course of the last week, you guys collectively contributed $270 and I have rounded off the pot to be an even $300. Based on the voting results, the winning non-profit is Make-a-Wish Foundation. And personally, I think that’s a great choice. All of that being said, here’s confirmation of the donation:
Dear Ms. Paige Jennifer ,
Thank you for your recent gift of $300.00 to the Make-A-Wish Foundation of America . Your gift will have a profound, positive impact on the lives of children with life-threatening medical conditions.
Your generous support helps us grant the wishes of children at a time when they need inspiration. Your compassion brings hope, strength and joy into their lives and into the lives of their families.
We deeply appreciate your personal commitment to the Make-A-Wish Foundation's work. You have truly made a difference to the children we serve. If you have any questions about your donation, please contact our Donor Care specialists toll-free at 1 (866) 880-1382, or via e-mail at customerservice@wish.org. Please include your transaction number with any correspondence.
Sincerely,
David Williams
President & Chief Executive Officer
Your Receipt
Transaction number: xxxxxxxxx
Date: December 22, 2008
I've already gone onto the Gap Foundation site to register the donation for matching. The end result is $600 being donated Make-A-Wish Foundation. To everyone who contributed, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
Now for the prizes. My coworker Debbie did the drawing out of a really tacky decorative urn that sits at the entry of the office. The only thing I did was hold the urn as she fished around for winners. Okay, and in advance of the drawing, I dumped out the dead bugs and dust bunnies that had collected in the urn.
Drum roll please!
First place, $50 Banana Republic Gift Card: Theresa M.
Second place, $25 Banana Republic Gift Card: Bess C.
Third place, $10 Starbucks Gift Card: Del V
I have your addresses from the donation records and I'll be mailing everything tomorrow. Plus, because I'm feeling cheery, the rest of the donors - Leslie, Richard, Crist, Mamalujo, Sara, Chris and Ish - will all be receiving something too. Be sure to check your mailboxes in the next few days. And don't worry, it isn't an autographed photograph of me.
Thanks again everyone.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Is There An Echo In Here?
At the risk of repeating myself:
In the sidebar you will see a Donate button. My goal is to collect up to $300 from my readers. If we end up short, I’ll make up the difference. Though ideally, that amount will be less than half. Then, I’ll make a donation to a charity, submit my donation records to Gap Foundation and altogether, we will have $600 donated. Pretty nifty math for a girl who never bothers to balance her checkbook. But wait, it gets better.
Anyone who donates will be entered in a drawing. And so far, there are only nine donors so the odds of winning are pretty darn high. It doesn’t matter if you donate one dollar or five dollars. Your name will be written on a piece of paper and next Monday, after the donation window closes at noon, there will be a drawing. Note, donating multiple times doesn’t increase the number of chances you have to win one of the following:
First Prize: $50 Banana Republic Gift Card
Second Prize: $25 Banana Republic Gift Card
Third Prize: $10 Starbucks Gift Card
And since this is a group effort, I’m inviting you to help me pick the charity I tried to cover various causes and I intentionally went for national instead of regional organizations. I love my local Ronald McDonald House but not everyone who reads this blog lives in Philadelphia. Anyway, you (as in anyone) can vote in the sidebar as well. Although I'd appreciate it if you don't go and vote twenty times over for the sake of pushing your choice to the top.
Good luck and, well, thanks gang!
In the sidebar you will see a Donate button. My goal is to collect up to $300 from my readers. If we end up short, I’ll make up the difference. Though ideally, that amount will be less than half. Then, I’ll make a donation to a charity, submit my donation records to Gap Foundation and altogether, we will have $600 donated. Pretty nifty math for a girl who never bothers to balance her checkbook. But wait, it gets better.
Anyone who donates will be entered in a drawing. And so far, there are only nine donors so the odds of winning are pretty darn high. It doesn’t matter if you donate one dollar or five dollars. Your name will be written on a piece of paper and next Monday, after the donation window closes at noon, there will be a drawing. Note, donating multiple times doesn’t increase the number of chances you have to win one of the following:
First Prize: $50 Banana Republic Gift Card
Second Prize: $25 Banana Republic Gift Card
Third Prize: $10 Starbucks Gift Card
And since this is a group effort, I’m inviting you to help me pick the charity I tried to cover various causes and I intentionally went for national instead of regional organizations. I love my local Ronald McDonald House but not everyone who reads this blog lives in Philadelphia. Anyway, you (as in anyone) can vote in the sidebar as well. Although I'd appreciate it if you don't go and vote twenty times over for the sake of pushing your choice to the top.
Good luck and, well, thanks gang!
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
If I Go Missing, Call Nicole DeJesus
The insurance industry largely relies on paperwork with original signatures. As a result, we are always over-nighting forms. While FedEx is great, we use UPS. One of the companies we work with gives us 30% off for all UPS mailings. It’s really a matter of cost. But because of the frequency of overnight shipments we receive, I’m familiar with the FedEx guy too. This is what happens when your desk is situated at the entrance.
“Hey,” the FedEx delivery guy said as he came through the door empty handed and leaned on the counter.
“Let me guess, you’re here to get a ten pound box,” I answered with a smile.
He held up a label.
“Wait,” I said as I got up out of my chair. “You have a return label too!?!?”
“Do you have the box?”
“It’s fraud. Someone’s using me as a front to pass stolen merchandise. I have the box but I’m not giving it to you. A different FedEx guy and a UPS guy were both here last Friday trying to pick it up.”
“Hold on, I’ll call my boss,” he said as he punched some numbers on his phone.
I stood there, my hip leaning on my desk and my arms folded across my chest, and waited for him to finish the call.
“Well,” he started. “You’re at least the third person today that this has happened to.”
“Shut up! And to think I was feeling so special. Hey, can I copy that label you have?”
“You can keep it. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
I took the label and read the information. I was noted as the sender and some gal named Nicole DeJesus in Springfield, Massachusetts was the identified recipient. Also, the value of the package was noted as $100, an amount $900 shy of accurate and conveniently low enoughto bypass a signature upon delivery.
Maybe Nicole is just another version of me, an innocent party caught up in a web of deceit. Or maybe she’s part of the scam. At this point, it shouldn't take a rocket scientist to follow the path back to the criminals. The FedEx label clearly is linked to a shipper code and, well, you get my point.
I stapled the label to my pile of paperwork, sat down at my desk and got back to work. Two hours later, the Pilate's instructor who rents the other half of the first floor from us, came running over.
“FWW–2903!” she yelped.
“What?” I asked.
“Write down FWW-2903. It belongs to a car that was idling out front for a suspiciously long time.”
On a scrap piece of paper, I noted the license plate. Then I went onto the UPS site and printed out a label. I taped it to the Lenovo box, and passed it off to my usual driver. I'll end up footing the bill for the return of the stolen laptop but at the very least, I felt better knowing I no longer had it on hand.
It's been twenty-four hours and I've heard nary a peep. Maybe the laptop was the curse? Like that Tiki thing in the Brady Bunch episode to Hawaii? Or maybe Nicole gave up on me, figuring I'd already disposed of the laptop. Or maybe she's hiding in the shadows, outside my office, waiting to pounce. Whatever, I can totally take that bitch.
“Hey,” the FedEx delivery guy said as he came through the door empty handed and leaned on the counter.
“Let me guess, you’re here to get a ten pound box,” I answered with a smile.
He held up a label.
“Wait,” I said as I got up out of my chair. “You have a return label too!?!?”
“Do you have the box?”
“It’s fraud. Someone’s using me as a front to pass stolen merchandise. I have the box but I’m not giving it to you. A different FedEx guy and a UPS guy were both here last Friday trying to pick it up.”
“Hold on, I’ll call my boss,” he said as he punched some numbers on his phone.
I stood there, my hip leaning on my desk and my arms folded across my chest, and waited for him to finish the call.
“Well,” he started. “You’re at least the third person today that this has happened to.”
“Shut up! And to think I was feeling so special. Hey, can I copy that label you have?”
“You can keep it. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
I took the label and read the information. I was noted as the sender and some gal named Nicole DeJesus in Springfield, Massachusetts was the identified recipient. Also, the value of the package was noted as $100, an amount $900 shy of accurate and conveniently low enoughto bypass a signature upon delivery.
Maybe Nicole is just another version of me, an innocent party caught up in a web of deceit. Or maybe she’s part of the scam. At this point, it shouldn't take a rocket scientist to follow the path back to the criminals. The FedEx label clearly is linked to a shipper code and, well, you get my point.
I stapled the label to my pile of paperwork, sat down at my desk and got back to work. Two hours later, the Pilate's instructor who rents the other half of the first floor from us, came running over.
“FWW–2903!” she yelped.
“What?” I asked.
“Write down FWW-2903. It belongs to a car that was idling out front for a suspiciously long time.”
On a scrap piece of paper, I noted the license plate. Then I went onto the UPS site and printed out a label. I taped it to the Lenovo box, and passed it off to my usual driver. I'll end up footing the bill for the return of the stolen laptop but at the very least, I felt better knowing I no longer had it on hand.
It's been twenty-four hours and I've heard nary a peep. Maybe the laptop was the curse? Like that Tiki thing in the Brady Bunch episode to Hawaii? Or maybe Nicole gave up on me, figuring I'd already disposed of the laptop. Or maybe she's hiding in the shadows, outside my office, waiting to pounce. Whatever, I can totally take that bitch.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Make a Donation Giveaway
For the last few weeks, I’ve been toying with a giveaway of sorts. While the economy is spiraling out of control, my existence hasn’t really been affected. I got a new car in late October and I just treated myself to a laptop I can most definitely live without. But every time I turn on NPR or load NYTimes.com, I’m reminded of the current state of affairs. All of this has left me with an itch to scratch.
Over the weekend, I finally figured out what I’m going to do. And personally, I think it is brilliant.
As a part time employee at Banana Republic, I have access to the Foundation’s dollars. They will match up to $1,000 annually in either donated funds or in volunteer hours (every 15hr qualifies for a $150 donation). The year runs January 1st to December 31st and nothing carries over. As of today, I have around $300 dollars of donations left to be matched.
In the sidebar you will see a Donate button. My goal is to collect up to $300 from my readers. If we end up short, I’ll make up the difference. Though ideally, that amount will be less than half. Then, I’ll make a donation to a charity, submit my donation records to Gap Foundation and altogether, we will have $600 donated. Pretty nifty math for a girl who never bothers to balance her checkbook. But wait, it gets better.
Anyone who donates will be entered in a drawing. It doesn’t matter if you donate one dollar or five dollars. Your name will be written on a piece of paper and next Monday, after the donation window closes at noon, there will be a drawing. Note, donating multiple times doesn’t increase the number of chances you have to win one of the following:
First Prize: $50 Banana Republic Gift Card
Second Prize: $25 Banana Republic Gift Card
Third Prize: $10 Starbucks Gift Card
And since this is a group effort, I’m inviting you to help me pick the charity I tried to cover various causes and I intentionally went for national instead of regional organizations. I love my local Ronald McDonald House but not everyone who reads this blog lives in Philadelphia. Anyway, you (as in anyone) can vote in the sidebar as well. Although I'd appreciate it if you don't go and vote twenty times over for the sake of pushing your choice to the top.
Hopefully this will work. And thanks in advance to anyone who opens his/her wallet to donate, no matter how small. After all, if everyone gives one dollar, well, it’ll mean something, right?
Over the weekend, I finally figured out what I’m going to do. And personally, I think it is brilliant.
As a part time employee at Banana Republic, I have access to the Foundation’s dollars. They will match up to $1,000 annually in either donated funds or in volunteer hours (every 15hr qualifies for a $150 donation). The year runs January 1st to December 31st and nothing carries over. As of today, I have around $300 dollars of donations left to be matched.
In the sidebar you will see a Donate button. My goal is to collect up to $300 from my readers. If we end up short, I’ll make up the difference. Though ideally, that amount will be less than half. Then, I’ll make a donation to a charity, submit my donation records to Gap Foundation and altogether, we will have $600 donated. Pretty nifty math for a girl who never bothers to balance her checkbook. But wait, it gets better.
Anyone who donates will be entered in a drawing. It doesn’t matter if you donate one dollar or five dollars. Your name will be written on a piece of paper and next Monday, after the donation window closes at noon, there will be a drawing. Note, donating multiple times doesn’t increase the number of chances you have to win one of the following:
First Prize: $50 Banana Republic Gift Card
Second Prize: $25 Banana Republic Gift Card
Third Prize: $10 Starbucks Gift Card
And since this is a group effort, I’m inviting you to help me pick the charity I tried to cover various causes and I intentionally went for national instead of regional organizations. I love my local Ronald McDonald House but not everyone who reads this blog lives in Philadelphia. Anyway, you (as in anyone) can vote in the sidebar as well. Although I'd appreciate it if you don't go and vote twenty times over for the sake of pushing your choice to the top.
Hopefully this will work. And thanks in advance to anyone who opens his/her wallet to donate, no matter how small. After all, if everyone gives one dollar, well, it’ll mean something, right?
The Plot Thickens
“Is this it?” the kid at the entry of my office asked as he placed a hand on the overnight envelope sitting on the counter.
“I’m sorry?” I responded as I studied the over-sized UPS uniform draping off his boyish frame.
“You called for a pick up.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes you did.”
“Is the usual driver here?” I asked as I pulled the envelope off the counter and placed it down on my desk.
“Don? He’s in the truck. I’m just his seasonal helper.”
I went out to the truck and sure enough, my usual driver, the one who’s been delivering to us for over five years, was there organizing packages.
“Yeah, on my machine, it says you called an hour ago to request a pick up,” Don said as he loaded his machine and showed me the information, which included the package size to be retrieved: 10 pounds.
“Don, I never call. I either drop at a box or the UPS store up the street.”
Then I explained everything. I told him about the extra computer and the stolen credit card. I told him about the comment by the Lenovo rep about the thieves trying to retrieve the laptop. I even showed Don into the office to offer the evidence, one computer box from Lenovo hiding in the linen closet. I’m still waiting for a shipping label.
After UPS left, I ran around the office telling my coworkers.
“But if there’s no label, how does UPS know how what to do with it?” my dad asked. “I don’t know PJ, maybe it was Lenovo trying to get the computer back. Like the guy accidentally sent a pick-up?”
“I’m beyond trying to figure this one out. I’ll see you later,” I said as I grabbed my purse and left the office.
In my car, fighting Friday evening traffic and holiday mayhem, I called back a suitor. He updated me on the recent drama of a work deal and just as I started telling him about my computer debacle, my phone chirped.
“I have another call. It’s a coworker. Can I call you right back?”
“Not a problem.”
I hung up and took the one from my coworker.
“Hey Scott,” I answered.
“Yeah, listen, two seconds ago, FedEx came buy. The guy said you had called for a pick up.”
“Really? We don’t even use FedEx.”
“They said you called and that you wanted them to pick up a ten pound box.”
“Well now we know UPS wasn’t sent out by Lenovo.”
“I’m sorry?” I responded as I studied the over-sized UPS uniform draping off his boyish frame.
“You called for a pick up.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes you did.”
“Is the usual driver here?” I asked as I pulled the envelope off the counter and placed it down on my desk.
“Don? He’s in the truck. I’m just his seasonal helper.”
I went out to the truck and sure enough, my usual driver, the one who’s been delivering to us for over five years, was there organizing packages.
“Yeah, on my machine, it says you called an hour ago to request a pick up,” Don said as he loaded his machine and showed me the information, which included the package size to be retrieved: 10 pounds.
“Don, I never call. I either drop at a box or the UPS store up the street.”
Then I explained everything. I told him about the extra computer and the stolen credit card. I told him about the comment by the Lenovo rep about the thieves trying to retrieve the laptop. I even showed Don into the office to offer the evidence, one computer box from Lenovo hiding in the linen closet. I’m still waiting for a shipping label.
After UPS left, I ran around the office telling my coworkers.
“But if there’s no label, how does UPS know how what to do with it?” my dad asked. “I don’t know PJ, maybe it was Lenovo trying to get the computer back. Like the guy accidentally sent a pick-up?”
“I’m beyond trying to figure this one out. I’ll see you later,” I said as I grabbed my purse and left the office.
In my car, fighting Friday evening traffic and holiday mayhem, I called back a suitor. He updated me on the recent drama of a work deal and just as I started telling him about my computer debacle, my phone chirped.
“I have another call. It’s a coworker. Can I call you right back?”
“Not a problem.”
I hung up and took the one from my coworker.
“Hey Scott,” I answered.
“Yeah, listen, two seconds ago, FedEx came buy. The guy said you had called for a pick up.”
“Really? We don’t even use FedEx.”
“They said you called and that you wanted them to pick up a ten pound box.”
“Well now we know UPS wasn’t sent out by Lenovo.”
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Riddle Me This
My sixth grade teacher was considered one of the toughest in my entire prep. Students feared her and parents fought to get their kids in her class. One of the things she was famous for was weekly math problems. Every Monday morning, when we got into the classroom, a paragraph of a problem was written out on the large chalk board in the back right corner. We were allowed to work together but we also had to present our work before being allowed to move on to the next one. Those were some of the toughest riddles I’ve ever solved. That is, until yesterday.
“Have a great night,” our usual UPS guy said as he grabbed his signature machine and headed out the front door of the office.
Piled on the counter were two boxes. One was from Amazon and it contained the new Acer I had ordered a mere sixteen hours earlier. The other box was from, well, I wasn’t sure. I crouched down and with my hands on my knees read the label which was addressed to me. Next I read the sender: Lenovo Direct, a computer manufacturer.
I’m familiar with Lenovo. Over the Thanksgiving holiday, I visited Fry’s to test drive the keyboard on the Acer. And sitting a few inches away was the Lenovo U110. Out of curiosity, I tried that one too. My heart melted. But as soon as I saw the price tag, I walked away. The U110 just didn’t fall into the category of unnecessary-indulgent-impulse purchases. At least not while I’m paying for grad school.
I opened the Lenovo box, pulled out the shipping order paperwork and sure enough is was sent to me. Although it wasn’t the U110 but some other model, the Y730. It’s the kind that though labeled a laptop is hefty enough to, in my book, qualify as a desktop. The Acer I bought weighs 2.2lb. The Lenovo I dream about weighs 2.6lb. The Lenovo I received weighs so much I needed two hands to pull it out of the box.
“Hi, I know this is going to sound crazy but I just received a laptop I neither ordered nor want.”
“It was bought with a Visa ending with 7957,” the representative noted.
“Yeah, I don’t have a Visa ending with those digits. And while waiting to call you, I checked my credit report and the only activity in the last two years is my car lease.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm exactly.”
So here are the facts: I received a Lenovo computer I’d never want, sent to my office with that address also noted as the billing address, purchased with a card that is not mine and the purchase was confirmed with an email that I don’t use, nor does the .com string lead me anywhere. While I have been pondering a computer for a few weeks, my purchase was last minute and occurred on Tuesday of this week. The Lenovo was ordered on Saturday.
Lenovo gave me return instructions and later today I’ll drop the box at UPS to send it back. Experian put a 90 day alert on my credit records but since credit companies identify cards by all numbers save for the last four and I only have the last four, the credit card is a dead end. More importantly, since I wasn’t technically a victim of credit fraud, all of the alert crap on my account fails to solve a single dilemma with this scenario. Because, let’s remember, the only thing that happened is I received a laptop for free.
“I’d call Lenovo accounts receivable and see if they can narrow down information on the card. Like the bank or even the first four digits of the card?” the Experian rep suggested.
So I called Lenovo.
“Everything’s encrypted because it was bought online.”
“But it’s my card.”
“Not necessarily. You could just be the drop point.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, since it was another email address, the delivery can be tracked. And later someone might call UPS and have them retrieve it and deliver it elsewhere or stop by your office to pick it up.”
I fell silent, peering around the corner that leads to the front door.
“Ma’am?” the Lenovo rep asked.
“Yeah?”
“Good luck.”
“No kidding.”
Note: My coworker had a random realization that, because I oversee most of the office supply orders, shipping labels on boxes we discard in the dumpster commonly have my name and office address noted. Applying that theory, perhaps the moron didn't realize we were an office instead of a residence and that, therefore, any delivery would be delivered instead of left at a door. There are six residential homes immediately to the right of our building. The label on the Lenovo box is to me but there is no company name noted (insert dramatic crime thriller music here).
“Have a great night,” our usual UPS guy said as he grabbed his signature machine and headed out the front door of the office.
Piled on the counter were two boxes. One was from Amazon and it contained the new Acer I had ordered a mere sixteen hours earlier. The other box was from, well, I wasn’t sure. I crouched down and with my hands on my knees read the label which was addressed to me. Next I read the sender: Lenovo Direct, a computer manufacturer.
I’m familiar with Lenovo. Over the Thanksgiving holiday, I visited Fry’s to test drive the keyboard on the Acer. And sitting a few inches away was the Lenovo U110. Out of curiosity, I tried that one too. My heart melted. But as soon as I saw the price tag, I walked away. The U110 just didn’t fall into the category of unnecessary-indulgent-impulse purchases. At least not while I’m paying for grad school.
I opened the Lenovo box, pulled out the shipping order paperwork and sure enough is was sent to me. Although it wasn’t the U110 but some other model, the Y730. It’s the kind that though labeled a laptop is hefty enough to, in my book, qualify as a desktop. The Acer I bought weighs 2.2lb. The Lenovo I dream about weighs 2.6lb. The Lenovo I received weighs so much I needed two hands to pull it out of the box.
“Hi, I know this is going to sound crazy but I just received a laptop I neither ordered nor want.”
“It was bought with a Visa ending with 7957,” the representative noted.
“Yeah, I don’t have a Visa ending with those digits. And while waiting to call you, I checked my credit report and the only activity in the last two years is my car lease.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm exactly.”
So here are the facts: I received a Lenovo computer I’d never want, sent to my office with that address also noted as the billing address, purchased with a card that is not mine and the purchase was confirmed with an email that I don’t use, nor does the .com string lead me anywhere. While I have been pondering a computer for a few weeks, my purchase was last minute and occurred on Tuesday of this week. The Lenovo was ordered on Saturday.
Lenovo gave me return instructions and later today I’ll drop the box at UPS to send it back. Experian put a 90 day alert on my credit records but since credit companies identify cards by all numbers save for the last four and I only have the last four, the credit card is a dead end. More importantly, since I wasn’t technically a victim of credit fraud, all of the alert crap on my account fails to solve a single dilemma with this scenario. Because, let’s remember, the only thing that happened is I received a laptop for free.
“I’d call Lenovo accounts receivable and see if they can narrow down information on the card. Like the bank or even the first four digits of the card?” the Experian rep suggested.
So I called Lenovo.
“Everything’s encrypted because it was bought online.”
“But it’s my card.”
“Not necessarily. You could just be the drop point.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, since it was another email address, the delivery can be tracked. And later someone might call UPS and have them retrieve it and deliver it elsewhere or stop by your office to pick it up.”
I fell silent, peering around the corner that leads to the front door.
“Ma’am?” the Lenovo rep asked.
“Yeah?”
“Good luck.”
“No kidding.”
Note: My coworker had a random realization that, because I oversee most of the office supply orders, shipping labels on boxes we discard in the dumpster commonly have my name and office address noted. Applying that theory, perhaps the moron didn't realize we were an office instead of a residence and that, therefore, any delivery would be delivered instead of left at a door. There are six residential homes immediately to the right of our building. The label on the Lenovo box is to me but there is no company name noted (insert dramatic crime thriller music here).
Thursday, December 04, 2008
The Punishment Fits The Time
When I was a kid, there were household rules. Leslie and I were responsible for setting and clearing the dinner table. Weekday television viewing was to be limited to two hours with weekends being a free for all. Beds were to be made every morning, although there was room for interpretation. Like for the most part, I just tossed my comforter over messy linens and that passed for presentation sake. Oh, and Leslie and I were expected to maintain excellent grades. That last rule was sometimes the hardest to follow.
It isn’t that I didn’t like doing school work or that I didn’t aspire to do well independent of my parent’s expectations. It’s that I went to a school with a total of sixty-five students in my grade and at least twenty of said students ended up at Ivy League schools (and apparently the students have only gotten smarter since I graduated). I wasn’t dumb but I was nowhere near as smart as some of my peers. Plus, per my mother’s insistence, I somehow ended up in the accelerated math classes. To put things in perspective, I’ve never balanced a checkbook. The only Godsend was that, unlike my poor sister, I manged to avoid studying Latin while drowning in a sea of calculus theoroms.
If a grade on a paper or test was below a B, I was punished, or as my mom fondly called it, docked. For the most part, docking involved losing television privileges and not being allowed to go over to a friend’s house. Sometimes I’d quietly linger in the hallway leading to the living room and from the shadows squint my eyes so I could see bits of a Laverne & Shirley episode. Or, before my mom would get home from teaching, I’d watch TV in the breakfast room. From there I could see her car in the driveway. Which meant I had just enough time to turn it off, push in the chair and sprint up the back stairs. Of course, she put the kibosh on that covert mission when one day, after stumbling through the door, she felt the back of the television to see if it was warm. My punishment of no TV for a week was formally extended to no TV for a month. To say that was a rough month would be a major understatement.
The other day, my friend was telling me about her daughter and how she hadn’t done well on a Spanish test. The daughter had to give up her cell phone until she improved her grade. Then, this morning, I learned of another friend who, in response to faltering grades, took away her daughter’s cell phone and limited her computer usage to school specific efforts only.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“What do you mean?” my friend asked after she bit into a slice of pizza.
“I mean, when I was her age, cell phones didn’t even exist. Heck, I didn’t get one until I was twenty-three. And in our house, we had one computer for all four people. And the only thing it was good for was word processing and playing Where in the World is Carmen San Diego, an entertaining but admittedly educational game. So, what you’re saying is that her punishment is to live my childhood.”
“Never thought of it that way,” she said with a chuckle.
“And I’m not complaining. I had a darn privileged adolescence. I just think it’s funny that these days that existence is considered punishment,” I said before pausing to ponder a little further.
“Now what?” my friend asked, confident there was more coming.
“Well, if today the punishment is to lose cell phone and computer privileges, what on earth did kids in the nineteen-forties lose?”
“The cans they tied to strings and talked through?”
“Wow, now that’s rough.”
It isn’t that I didn’t like doing school work or that I didn’t aspire to do well independent of my parent’s expectations. It’s that I went to a school with a total of sixty-five students in my grade and at least twenty of said students ended up at Ivy League schools (and apparently the students have only gotten smarter since I graduated). I wasn’t dumb but I was nowhere near as smart as some of my peers. Plus, per my mother’s insistence, I somehow ended up in the accelerated math classes. To put things in perspective, I’ve never balanced a checkbook. The only Godsend was that, unlike my poor sister, I manged to avoid studying Latin while drowning in a sea of calculus theoroms.
If a grade on a paper or test was below a B, I was punished, or as my mom fondly called it, docked. For the most part, docking involved losing television privileges and not being allowed to go over to a friend’s house. Sometimes I’d quietly linger in the hallway leading to the living room and from the shadows squint my eyes so I could see bits of a Laverne & Shirley episode. Or, before my mom would get home from teaching, I’d watch TV in the breakfast room. From there I could see her car in the driveway. Which meant I had just enough time to turn it off, push in the chair and sprint up the back stairs. Of course, she put the kibosh on that covert mission when one day, after stumbling through the door, she felt the back of the television to see if it was warm. My punishment of no TV for a week was formally extended to no TV for a month. To say that was a rough month would be a major understatement.
The other day, my friend was telling me about her daughter and how she hadn’t done well on a Spanish test. The daughter had to give up her cell phone until she improved her grade. Then, this morning, I learned of another friend who, in response to faltering grades, took away her daughter’s cell phone and limited her computer usage to school specific efforts only.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“What do you mean?” my friend asked after she bit into a slice of pizza.
“I mean, when I was her age, cell phones didn’t even exist. Heck, I didn’t get one until I was twenty-three. And in our house, we had one computer for all four people. And the only thing it was good for was word processing and playing Where in the World is Carmen San Diego, an entertaining but admittedly educational game. So, what you’re saying is that her punishment is to live my childhood.”
“Never thought of it that way,” she said with a chuckle.
“And I’m not complaining. I had a darn privileged adolescence. I just think it’s funny that these days that existence is considered punishment,” I said before pausing to ponder a little further.
“Now what?” my friend asked, confident there was more coming.
“Well, if today the punishment is to lose cell phone and computer privileges, what on earth did kids in the nineteen-forties lose?”
“The cans they tied to strings and talked through?”
“Wow, now that’s rough.”
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