The Death of Common Courtesy

As I am sitting at Panera Bread compiling ideas for this posting, I overhear an employee tell a customer "thank you for supporting me the other day." The two carry on for a few minutes, and what I can gather from the conversation is that the employee got into a squabble with a different customer while working the other day, and this guy intervened and defended said employee. (Maybe I should amend the title of this posting to read "The Poor Health of Common Courtesy," as the universe, in all its timeliness, must've felt compelled to shove right in my face an example that common courtesy IS still alive and well.) But nevertheless, on with the original agenda...

I define common courtesy as a genuine respect for the human spirit. This encompasses, not just 'doing the right thing,' but also extending beyond basic moral principles and treating others how we expect to be treated. Not such a difficult concept, right? But, for whatever reason, people (in our society anyways) have become hugely distanced from one-another, to the effect that it's viewed as abnormal when people go out of their way to act kind. Take, for example, my propensity toward smiling at, nodding to, or saying hello to any person who comes within roughly ten feet of me. I do this, not because of what culture has taught me, maybe because of what my parents have taught me, but mostly because it seems blatantly rude to pass by a fellow human being and not acknowledge his or her presence. Sometimes my gesture is returned, but much of the time I find that people become uncomfortable with my intrusion of kindness, and avert their eyes as if not to notice me. In fact, there are people who I see at my gym EVERY single day, who share the same sweaty, ridiculous, vulnerable, rituals that I do EVERY single day--yet still refuse to humble themselves so little as to crack a smile.

While writing this essay, I'm reminded of a story my friend Shien told me not too long ago. I was bitching to him, (about this very subject), and he called to attention the fact that I, having been raised in the South(ish), have a higher standard of what common courtesy should entail. He then described what it was like growing up in Bethune, South Carolina--where people pulled over, got out of their cars, and bowed their heads when a funeral procession passed by. This was a town where, according to Shien, your hand would become so damn tired while driving from raising it to acknowledge each and every passing vehicle. Now, I'm not implying that every city in the US adapt the attitude of Bethune SC (if so, we'd all go broke!). I'm simply suggesting that goodwill toward men is not such a bad idea.

To drive home the point, I'd like to take a examine a culture in which an utter abandonment of common courtesy has rendered tragic consequences. Austria--the setting of the horrific F family incest/imprisonment development (and two other equally heinous crimes)--has, since its affiliation with the Nazi Party in World War II, been a "don't ask, don't tell" society. Ashamed by their discomforting past, Austrians emphasize the importance of secrecy and appearance--even at the expense of those whose lives depend on societal intervention. The F family story is so disturbing because it is certain that, after imprisoning a girl and her subsequent children in a basement for 24 years, SOMEONE would've caught on. Why didn't the girl's school teacher/friends/friends' parents wonder why she disappeared all of the sudden? Why didn't the grocery clerk wonder why Mr. F was always buying diapers and baby food for children he supposedly didn't have? The answer? They DID ask these questions--but because of their culture, didn't feel it was their duty to act.

Undoubtedly, the death of common courtesy in the US is to be attributed to technology. I mean, Christ, we've resorted to finding husbands and wives via the Internet! Children are raised in front of the television or X-box, multiple conversations are held daily through email or text messages, and neighborhoods have become increasingly sprawling. It's no wonder we've forgotten how to act toward humans! But I can't help but smile when I'm proven wrong.

"Every Little Bit Helps"

Today I was in line at the Mc Donald's drive thru (yes, you heard me correctly) and something happened that ignited an issue about which I feel very strongly, but often neglect to think of due to the sheer hopelessness of the situation. The issue is homelessnes in America. And the situation that sparked this blog entry is one that is probably manifesting itself as we speak in countless Mc Donalds parking lots across the nation.

I was sitting in my car waiting for my turn at the order menu, silently observing my surroundings. A shoddy looking man in his mid 40s appeared near the driver's side window of an SUV. The vagrant pleaded some unknown case to the man in the SUV, and when said appeal was denied, the vagrant then drifted toward my car. Fearing not this tattered outcast, I rolled down the window. "Can you spare some change?" he begged. "I used most of my change for the tolls today, but have some pennies" I responded. Then he gladly thanked me for my donation of what amounted to all of 23 pennies and said "every little bit helps." Acknowledging the tremendous ease with which I was able to positively impact someone's life while at the same time fulfilling my own humanitarian needs, I began to wonder: why are people so reluctant to follow suit?

About a year ago I read an article in the newspaper that detailed the direness local homeless shelters were experiencing as a result of home foreclosures and increased food and gas prices. The story featured a shelter in the St. Petersburg area that allegedly had ONE CAN of food left on its shelves! Upon hearing this I immeditatley contacted a local shelter and organized a food drive at my office. I was sure the food drive would be a sweeping success; after all, my office employs roughly 75 people--many of whom enjoy decent salaries. Besides, the idea of the food drive is that it gives people a chace to unload all of the unwanted lima beans and pickeled beets that have been plaguing their pantries, right? Wrong. During a span of two months, seven people (myself included) contributed.

After the first few weeks of empty donation barrels, I began to wonder if people had simply forgotton about the food drive. So I began to ask around, and received a barage of excuses ranging from "I'd rather feed stray cats and dogs" to "I've never asked for a handout when I've been in need, so why should other people?". The latter of the two responses is the most commonly uttered, coupled with the ever popular "why can't those scumbags go out and work like the rest of us."

Now, I could spend all day writing about the history of the homeless epidemic and how the problem should be solved, but instead I want to impress upon my readers the simple notion that one small act of human kindness can have reverberations far surpassing those which were ever achieved by saying no. And if everybody practiced this behavior... (you see where I'm going with this). Bottom line: what kind of impact does Kristen Burk's donation of 23 pennies (or hell, even $5.00) have on Kristen Burk's financial situation? NONE! What kind of impact does that donation have on a recipient whose shoes come from the dumpster and whose main source of nutrition is Pabst Blue Ribbon? HUGE! Even if he is using his donations for booze.

Hey, you never know, you could be homeless next week too.


Check out this website for info on how to donate to or volunteer for one of Tampa Bay's most noteworthy homeless shelters, Metropolitan Ministries: http://www.metromin.org/

Gentlemen Prefer... Morons

At the beginning of 2008, I felt invigorated as a woman. After 232 years of a primarily male-run democracy, our nation was faced with the possibility that a woman might serve as President of the United States. As the polls confirmed, many women shared with me this feeling of invigoration, for not only were we presented with a female presidential candidate, but that female displayed great strength, superb intelligence, and admirable character. To be fair, there are MANY women who don’t align themselves with Hillary Clinton politically, but the fact can’t be ignored that she’s a remarkable human being and noteworthy role model.

Fast forward nine months and you’ll find my invigoration stifled, and instead replaced with frustration and a sense of defeat. Am I pissed because Hillary didn’t make the ticket? Of course not, because I’m fair-minded enough recognize that Clinton and Obama share virtually the same views. No, what really gets my goat is the idea that the Republican Party felt it necessary to dangle a female political pawn in the faces of disgruntled women for the purpose of political gain.

In a race where experience has been so vehemently touted by both parties as the benchmark of political qualification, we’re presented with a Vice Presidential candidate who brings less than two years experience as governor of a state with an entire population equivalent to that of Tampa and St. Petersburg FL alone! Surely there are other women in politics who bring more to the table than that? Linda Lingle, Republican governor of Hawaii, (and incidentally the only other current female governor) has four years gubernatorial experience on Palin, not to mention her five two-year terms served on Maui city council and time served as commander in the Navy. So what could’ve deterred the Mc Cain party from selecting her? For starters, she’s Jewish. I’ll let you speculate about the other reasons.



And there are currently 25 Republican female Members of Congress—all of whom bring with them multitudes of credentials. The Mc Cain campaign knows this though, which leads me to believe that Palin was selected largely in part based on her lack of experience.

I’m currently reading The Gift of Fear by Gavin De Becker, who is a nationally acclaimed security specialist. In his book, he stresses the fact that men have an inherent desire to control women, and that women who exhibit assertive and unwavering qualities will be the least likely to be victims of violent behavior. Now, this isn’t rocket science. I’m sure all women at some point or another have tried their hand at acting coy and helpless to garner the approval of a man, or consequently have acted decisive and firm to ward off unwanted attention. Realizing (and I’m generalizing here) that men prefer weaker, more indecisive women, it makes sense why the Mc Cain campaign selected her. There has been an overwhelming amount of positive feedback from men regarding Palin, in contrast to the criticism Clinton received. Where Clinton was called a “man hater” and “cold bitch,” Palin is referred to as “a hottie” and “milf.”

That Sarah Palin was chosen as Republican VP candidate is an utter slap in the faces of all intelligent women and evolved men. Any man who thinks female Hillary supporters are so asinine as to endorse a candidate on the complete OPPOSITE end of the political spectrum simply because his running mate is a female is not the type of person we need controling our country. We Americans need to need to stand up and prove to the rest of the world that we are sophisticated thinkers who make decisions based on logic, modern thinking, and FACTS--not on blind information from people employing archaic and shameful tactics for their own personal gain.

Office Etiquette?

The workplace has long been paired with images of half-full coffee pots, droning men in white collared shirts, and TPS reports piled up to the ceiling. We're reminded of these office cliches whenever we browse the ever-popular hit series The Office, or pop the comedy classic Office Space into our DVD players. But what about the REAL office? Please sit back and relax folks, while I take you through a journey filled with images of copier repairman butt crack, nail clippings, and women running around with no shoes on.

Now, I'm sure every office is not like mine. I'm in the business of technical writing, which is undoubtedly the least glamorous field next to prosthetic limb sales. But I feel, at times, that some of my co-workers make it their 40-hour-a-week goals to be as unprofessional as humanly possible. For example, I just discovered, to my disgust, that a certain employee clips his nails at his desk--and what's worse--he thinks he's perfectly justified in doing so! To my usual crinkled-face look of repulsion, he responded by explaining "my desk is my own space, and no one but me sits here, so what's the big deal?" Remembering that I myself practice the habit of flossing daily at my own desk, I thought it best to quit the argument while ahead, leaving it at "that's just gross."

In a sense, though, the nasty nail clipper has to be recognized for his earnest (though inappropriate) efforts at personal hygiene. The bad office habit I absolutely can not look past, however, is barefooted gallivanting. As far as I'm concerned, keep your rancid, bunion-covered, yellow-toed feet nicely stored away where they belong--IN YOUR SHOES! I don't care if you're 35 years old and just this morning decided to wear your first pair of high-heels, or if you used to work in a steel factory and consequently emit heavy metals from your feet when they sweat (more on that one later), leave your damn dogs in your damn clogs. And yes, that heavy metal thing is a true story.

A hugely unprofessional, yet admittedly amusing phenomena I've noticed around the office in recent days is the post-lunch snooze, and there are at least two repeat offenders on site. It happens like this:

• 1 p.m.- offender is spotted clutching meatball sub.
• 1:15 p.m.- offender wipes mouth in accomplishment and resumes work (...or so we think).
• 1:17 p.m.- coworkers in near vicinity start wagering bets on time left before offender's chin reaches his chest
• 1:21 p.m.- offender's head is no longer visible from behind, and neck is completely contorted. Full REM sleep is now in effect.
• 1:23- coworkers take joy in this sighting, and make several attempts at discreetly arousing offender.
• 1:27- offender's head lurches upward in surprise.
• 1:28 p.m.- offender looks briefly left, then right, wipes drool from his chin, and cowers into seat while faining work until the next onset of narcolepsy.

I'd have to say though, the most widespread office offense is the dress code. Now, I'm not sayin' we need to dress for a funeral every day, but another thing we don't need to EVER do is stroll in to our professional job wearing our Cancun Spring Break '97 miniskirt. For the love of god, can't that wait til' Saturday? I don't know about you, but I have a hard time focusing on business matters while I'm envisioning some Mexican dude quaffing Jell-O shots off of my tits.

I think these days we're under more pressure than ever to do more at work and to work longer hours, and as a result, we have to make ourselves as comfortable there as we possible can. Even telecommuting, which involves little or no actual time spent at the office, has further contributed to degradation of workplace etiquette by deconstructing the regimented structure the office once held so dearly.

All in all, though, employee antics and non-tactful activities definitely make for an interesting day at work!

Dirty Diagnosis

Community. Identity. Stability. These three words served as the national motto of Aldous Huxley’s fictional city 'World State,' and a resounding theme throughout all of Brave New World. In Huxley’s dystopic tale, he paints an image of a planet where humans are incubated, hatched like farm-fowl, and raised according to a pre-determined set of social standards--thereby rendering them void of all free-will. The sterile, drug-numbed populace is constantly reminded of their place in the social hierarchy of World State, and thus can aspire to achieve nothing more than the standard.

When I read a science fiction novel or watch a sci-fi movie, I can’t help but consider the idea that there actually is ‘science’ that goes along with the fiction. Of course—some sci-fi prophecies are more right-on than others. Take Orwell’s 1984, for example. I can’t count how many times I’ve heard people (myself included) exclaim "Big Brother’s watching" as they glaze over some article about cameras at traffic intersections, or learn that Google now has a "street view" with actual photos of people’s houses (thankfully not in real-time…yet anyways). Even Ayn Rand's Anthem was arguably on-track, ) with its foreboding depiction of a world where the concept of individuality has been abolished, and each person is issued a common name consisting of a series of numbers.

Despite the apparent differences present in the writings of Orwell, Huxley, and Rand, it’s hard to ignore the fact that one unified theme is commonly present: conformity.

What prompted me to ponder this slightly depressing and highly geeky subject was a friend of mine, who just last week proclaimed to me with full conviction "Kristen, you have a personality disorder." So sure of this idea he was, that he proceeded to outline each and every piece of evidence supporting his case, without even pausing to consider the fact that people usually don’t take this kind of criticism well…unless we’re paying good money to a reputable authority to hear it. He, being a 3rd-year med student, probably assumed he possessed that authority. I thought differently.

Histrionic personality disorder. That's what he classified me as having. A person with this "illness" will exhibit these characteristics:

1. self-dramatization, theatricality, exaggerated expression of emotions
2. suggestibility, easily influenced by others or by circumstances;
3. shallow and labile affectivity;
4. continual seeking for excitement and activities in which the patient is the centre of attention;
5. inappropriate seductiveness in appearance or behaviour;
6. over-concern with physical attractiveness.


Now, I could launch into a four-page diatribe defending my perfectly ordered and otherwise quite stable personality—but instead I’ll just focus on the part of my friend’s statement that really pissed me off: his labeling me as a person with a problem, and his complete disregard of the notion that people, as a result of their genetics and personal experiences, are inherently different. Society has become so obsessed with understanding the human condition, that we've nearly succeeded in abandoning all of the nuances and idiosyncrasies that serve to define us as individuals.

Bipolar. Overweight. ADHD. Antisocial. Obsessive Compulsive. Dependent. Emotionally Unstable. These words resound throughout hospitals, schools, offices and televisions, and serve to negatively stigmatize what are otherwise normal side-effects of life. Let's face it--livin' ain't always easy. No one ever said it would be. And what makes it even harder is society (namely the medical community) reinforcing the idea that everyone should act a certain way or be branded as a deviant. How are future generations ever going to learn to cope with their problems when they think that any situation is diagnosable and treatable by pills?Bottom line- the more we characterize, isolate, and medicate our individuals, the more we begin to resemble a world not unlike that described by the aforementioned writers--where everything is ordered, controlled, and deadened.

Can Someone Loan Me a Magic 8 Ball?

They have a name for the syndrome people experience when, upon reaching the cusp in their lives halfway between birth and the grave, they completely lose sense of who they are. It's called mid-life crisis. Wikipedia expands on the topic by characterizing it as "a period of dramatic self-doubt that is felt by some individuals as a result of sensing the passing of youth and the imminence of old age. Sometimes, transitions experienced in these years, such as aging in general, menopause, the death of parents, or children leaving home, can trigger such a crisis. The result may be a desire to make significant changes in core aspects of day to day life or situation, such as in career, marriage, or romantic relationships."

But what's it called when 26 year olds (who, incidentally haven't experienced children leaving home or menopause) experience this phenomenon? They say 30 is the new 20?? Bull shit. Wait, let me clarify: It'd be asinine to say that young people of today aren't offered MANY more opportunities than were those of yester-year--which is probably what started the whole "30 is the new 20 / 40 is the new 30" sentiment in the first place. These days, of course, men and women are free to choose if, when, and how to walk the path of successful career persons, parents, both, or neither. This sense of freedom, coupled with the vast availability of medical technology and health information, has afforded Americans to live life on THEIR terms.

BUT, what happens when all of these choices become too much for one to handle? You may have gathered from my last post, that I'm experiencing a slight ontological meltdown. Just to put it out there, if it's possible anyone's even reading this who doesn't know me, I'm 26, single, no kids...and NO Earthly idea what I want to do with myself.

I feel entirely compelled to add that my my highly intelligent (and arguably telepathic) ex-boyfriend just texted me, for the first time in two months, these words: "look up, you should be happy." (I swear he really did just text that). And when I responded with usual dry sarcasm "why, all I see is the bathroom ceiling?" he then replied "um, the future is an open ticket." Wow.

Despite that highly comforting (if not totally crazy) prophecy, the issue still remains. I don't think I'm alone in the feeling of utter confusion when faced with life's many decisions. Right now, I want to (and feasibly could): be single, be married, be a mother, be childless , own a home, travel the world, live in a great city, live in my hometown again, go to grad school, continue being a career woman, etc... Such chaos! A large part of me yearns for a time when things were simpler, and (*reversal of all feminist movement progress in T minus two seconds*) we didn't have to THINK about what we wanted to do with our lives. Of course, my grandmother has something different to say about it: "You women are so lucky today...you live such exciting lives...I'm so happy to live vicariously through you." The grass is always greener.

We humans will never stop 'til we're satisfied, and my guess is--we never will be satisfied. We're the executors of our own destiny, and consequently, will be the executors of our own demise. We live life as veritable Veruca Salts--wanting and wanting and yearning and striving--not even realizing that all the while, the whole damn show is passing us by. Anyway, until some dramatic epiphany descends upon me, I'll be graciously accepting donations in the form of words of wisdom and divine comments.

"Do not squander time. That is the stuff life is made of."

Wake up. Hit the snooze. Weird dream. Wake up again. Feet hit the floor. Brush teeth. Run a comb through the hair. Examine nude body in mirror. Squeeze both breasts simultaneously. Wash face with mild soap. Look at the clock. Have to hurry. Glaze over eyes slowly fades. Stumble aimlessly between bathroom and bedroom. Grab cell phone. Reach for thoughtfully prepared vegetarian lunch. Yell "goodbye babe, love you!"

Start the engine. Rat race begins. Mind turns to gel. Drive fast. Tell myself, silently "I need to fix those struts." Look toward right to see sunrise conquered by dirty city. Give look of astonishment as asshole cuts me off. Hand dollar to bum at stoplight. Slap on eye makeup at same stoplight. Park car. Carefully place tin foil-like thing in windshield. Walk past ordinary male office worker. Try to circumvent cigarette smoke.

Say hello to enormous receptionist. Wash dirty coffee cup. Pour cup of weak, cheap Sam's Club coffee. Say "hi, how's it going?" "...yeah, it's almost Friday." Scoff silently at co-worker's choice of breakfast. Toast 70 cal slice of whole wheat breat. Drag ass to desk. Smile at people in my immediate vacinity. Talk to co-worker about latest horror film. Eat. Work. Check email. Munch on some almonds. Work some more. Laugh a little. Tune out obnoxious new girl. Open email about cat dressed in little boy's clothes.

Drive home (same rat race- only less tense). Chastise boyfriend for messy house. Water the plants. Change into gym clothes. Gym plan thwarted by horny boyfriend. Have 6.5 minutes worth of sex. Scurry off to gym. 30 minutes of cardio, 20 minutes strength. Wonder what it would be like to date the guy in the blue basketball shorts. Chug heavily chlorinated water. Puruse Travel mag. Cringe at gay circuit music whispering from overhead speakers.

Prepare nutritious snack. Sit on couch. Endure shitty TV show at boyfriend's will. Beat myself up for not being more productive. Counter prior thought by commencing mad cleaning fit. Lay back on couch. Shoot boyfriend dirty look for having smelly feet. Pop birth control. Set up trap to foil mouse. Floss. Look at the clock. Time for bed. Deadbolt the doors. Wash face with mild soap. Examine naked body in mirror. Squeeze both breasts simultaneously. Crawl into soft, purple bed. Think about people I miss. Toss. Turn. Eyes are heavy. Think about work! No- time to think peaceful thoughts.

Wake up. Hit the snooze.....