Dear Mr. President,
I should probably preface this letter with a warning; I haven't slept much at all this week, finals are making me crazy, and I'm currently getting my kicks by deliberately misleading the rude customers who keep approaching me in the cafe and treating me like I work here. (Ok, I do work here. But they don't know that. I'm just trying to study and drink coffee in peace. I am not a directory.) I'm a little off today, and more than a little sick of most of the human race. Perhaps it is this black humor that has me so enjoying the latest Daily Show segment on your approval rating of the American people.
That's right. Your rating of us. Right now it has to be pretty low. We're capricious, apathetic, lazy (physically and intellectually) we want you to do everything and we don't want to have to pay for any of it. Also, we're all right, all of the time. Even when we disagree with each other (and ours past or future selves.) While Jon Stewart & crew's point seems to be about public whims over health care and taxes, I read an op-ed today from Roger Cohen that says basically the same thing about foreign policy. "President Barack Obama had virtually no domestic constituency for his attempt to denounce the continued growth of settlements as unacceptable and as undermining a two-state peace at its core: land."
While I do think that some of the blame belongs to you and probably even more belongs to congress, I'm a big fan of the blame-the-voters-for-being-idiots strategy, too. And not just because they keep confusing the cafe counter with the information desk and being rude about it to boot. Because our economy couldn't possibly be this bad, our military this extended into wars this ridiculous, our jails this full and our reality TV shows this popular if a significant part of the population wasn't quite so dumb. (Before my libertarian friends get all upset, I know there are "good liberals" in the stupid category as well. I've met them. One of them called me a fucking zionist whore in comments on this blog.) So, yes, it's our fault, too. You probably shouldn't take our opinions or our approval too seriously, since clearly we don't know what the hell we're doing. We can't even distinguish a counter full of people eating and drinking coffee from a staffed information desk.
Ok, this letter has clearly veered far enough outside of seriousness for me to go back to studying. I guess what I mean to say is don't let the stupidity, the caprice, the apathy and the ignorance get you down. It could be worse; you could be working retail.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Showing posts with label retail. Show all posts
Showing posts with label retail. Show all posts
Friday, December 10, 2010
Friday, November 26, 2010
Day 330-Black Friday & health insurance
Dear Mr. President,
I've worked in retail for the last four years. Most of the time I hated it, but today is the day that usually made me love it. Especially in later years, as a manager, I'd rework my hours for the week and end up spending something ridiculous like 16 or 18 hours at work, setting up before the store opened, drinking way too much coffee, and generally racing around as though lives were at stake. I'm probably just a bit of an adrenaline junkie, but after Black Friday, the store got busier, the lines got longer, and everything just got more exciting as the urgency to build displays, refill displays, organize gift wrapping services, unpack merchandise for the floor and help customers once the doors opened increased. Working retail during the holidays was stressful and did not go well with having a "normal" holiday season, but it was the most fun I've ever had at any job. Today, while I still work in retail, I no longer have the same responsibility toward customers or toward merchandising. It was a little disappointing to roll in at 2 pm for a 6-hour shift catching shoplifters, especially knowing that my sister would be working 18 hours at the clothing store she manages. It's nice not to have lines of frantic bargain hunters surging through the doors at 6 am, but it lacks a certain glamor. (However, the sheer craziness of the shoplifter we caught today pretty much made up for any lack of excitement.)
That being said, in this economy, it was kind of nice to see all of the hilarious coverage of long lines, crazy crowds, and more than a few frantic shoppers who look like they train to find deals all year long. Yes, it still makes me a little sad, and yes, it still makes me wonder if our society has deep issues with priorities and materialism, but I like my job, I like that my friends have jobs, and I hope that many more jobs can be created this Holiday season.
I noticed today that you had to get stitches as a result of a basketball accident. My first reaction was something along the lines of "OH NO, POOR PRESIDENT OBAMA! I SHOULD ASK IF HE"S OK!" (which probably speaks to the near-complete delusion that we're somehow friends which I have developed as a result of all of this letter-writing.) And then I got to thinking about my hand. Yesterday, while cleaning up my thanksgiving dishes, I cut open my hand on a knife hidden in the soapy water. My near-hysterical reaction notwithstanding it really isn't that bad, I'm fine and I didn't bleed to death (or even come all that close) but it still hasn't closed up. Today I showed it to a friend who is also a doctor, and she noted that I should have gone in for stitches. To be perfectly fair, I'm terrified of doctors, hospitals, and generally anything related to blood, bleeding, or medical attention. I probably wouldn't have gone in even if I did have insurance. The fact that I'm uninsured, however, was a significant factor in my decision just to take care of it myself. I'm really glad that you are OK and that you have access to the best healthcare we can offer in this country. But, just for a moment, I couldn't help but step outside myself and realize that if it hadn't been me but my roommates or my sisters or my friends who needed stitches and chose not to get them because they couldn't afford it, I'd be pretty upset knowing that money stood between them and basic care. We've both demonstrated rather clearly that these kind of accidents can happen to any one at any time and that having the option of medical attention makes a big difference (or at least, I'd imagine our respective scars will look fairly different in a few months.)
Anyway, I am glad that you are OK and that your black friday was spent doing something leisurely (at least before elbows were thrown.)
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
I've worked in retail for the last four years. Most of the time I hated it, but today is the day that usually made me love it. Especially in later years, as a manager, I'd rework my hours for the week and end up spending something ridiculous like 16 or 18 hours at work, setting up before the store opened, drinking way too much coffee, and generally racing around as though lives were at stake. I'm probably just a bit of an adrenaline junkie, but after Black Friday, the store got busier, the lines got longer, and everything just got more exciting as the urgency to build displays, refill displays, organize gift wrapping services, unpack merchandise for the floor and help customers once the doors opened increased. Working retail during the holidays was stressful and did not go well with having a "normal" holiday season, but it was the most fun I've ever had at any job. Today, while I still work in retail, I no longer have the same responsibility toward customers or toward merchandising. It was a little disappointing to roll in at 2 pm for a 6-hour shift catching shoplifters, especially knowing that my sister would be working 18 hours at the clothing store she manages. It's nice not to have lines of frantic bargain hunters surging through the doors at 6 am, but it lacks a certain glamor. (However, the sheer craziness of the shoplifter we caught today pretty much made up for any lack of excitement.)
That being said, in this economy, it was kind of nice to see all of the hilarious coverage of long lines, crazy crowds, and more than a few frantic shoppers who look like they train to find deals all year long. Yes, it still makes me a little sad, and yes, it still makes me wonder if our society has deep issues with priorities and materialism, but I like my job, I like that my friends have jobs, and I hope that many more jobs can be created this Holiday season.
I noticed today that you had to get stitches as a result of a basketball accident. My first reaction was something along the lines of "OH NO, POOR PRESIDENT OBAMA! I SHOULD ASK IF HE"S OK!" (which probably speaks to the near-complete delusion that we're somehow friends which I have developed as a result of all of this letter-writing.) And then I got to thinking about my hand. Yesterday, while cleaning up my thanksgiving dishes, I cut open my hand on a knife hidden in the soapy water. My near-hysterical reaction notwithstanding it really isn't that bad, I'm fine and I didn't bleed to death (or even come all that close) but it still hasn't closed up. Today I showed it to a friend who is also a doctor, and she noted that I should have gone in for stitches. To be perfectly fair, I'm terrified of doctors, hospitals, and generally anything related to blood, bleeding, or medical attention. I probably wouldn't have gone in even if I did have insurance. The fact that I'm uninsured, however, was a significant factor in my decision just to take care of it myself. I'm really glad that you are OK and that you have access to the best healthcare we can offer in this country. But, just for a moment, I couldn't help but step outside myself and realize that if it hadn't been me but my roommates or my sisters or my friends who needed stitches and chose not to get them because they couldn't afford it, I'd be pretty upset knowing that money stood between them and basic care. We've both demonstrated rather clearly that these kind of accidents can happen to any one at any time and that having the option of medical attention makes a big difference (or at least, I'd imagine our respective scars will look fairly different in a few months.)
Anyway, I am glad that you are OK and that your black friday was spent doing something leisurely (at least before elbows were thrown.)
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Day 154- The Millennials
Dear Mr. President,
I was pleasantly surprised to learn tonight that my generation has a name. We are, apparently, the Millennials. (I don't recall being asked for input when this name was chosen. I doubt I'd have approved, but I suppose it's better than "Generation Y") Timothy Egan is calling on us to "save" our country from the boomers. I have a lot of respect for Mr. Egan, and I did find it surprising to learn that more 18-29 year olds voted in 2008 than those over 65. This has clearly not escaped the notice of Organizing For America, which almost daily contacts me asking for participation or support. I am comforted by this. Demographics are on my side, as the ruling class of this country grows (slowly) younger, my hope is that things will (slowly) improve. I think Egan's points are well-taken; my generation's views on gay rights, environmental issues and the wars launched under President Bush may have been ahead of our time and now widely accepted. However, our participation has done little to fundamentally change the system or the way we ourselves are perceived by those in power. (Evidenced even here, by Egan's quip about our ability to leave our facebook pages long enough to elect you, forgetting, perhaps, the role that social networking and blogs played in that election.)
This thought strikes me most often when I am asked about my tattoos. I have seven, and will soon have eight. According to a recent post on the freakonomics blog, 36 percent of 18-25 year olds, and 40 percent of 26-40 year olds have tattoos. When people express their concern that the body art I have no will be detrimental to my professional success, I like to consider this statistic. I currently have a job where, despite making less than $10/hour and having little to no consequence in society, I have to keep my tattoos covered up. I respect that, as my employer, this company can make me wear whatever it pleases. I do not generally find that my tattoos affect my ability to make coffee, or my customer's enjoyment of said coffee. While I do think that my tattoos say something about me as a person, I don't think that having tattoos in general does. I reject the notion that they make me less professional or respectable, and that is because I respect myself (and my professionalism) more than I care for the opinions of those who would judge me on what they see. (Arrogance? Perhaps. I'll call it self-assurance and be quite content to keep it. ) My generation's willingness to accept a person for what is on the inside may largely be attributed to the often-faceless modes of interaction we have with one another online, and helps us to get past the kind of appearance-based prejudices that still hinder our parents.
But my generation has our faults, too. We often mistake awareness for action; blogging about something or updating our facebook status to support a cause is fine and good, but we vote most effectively with our dollar, and too many of us forget our idealism once we have to put money on it. Our demographic being among the most targeted by advertisers, we ought to have a greater impact on the policies of those companies whose products we consume than we do our government. I have many friends who are game for any kind of political discussion or debate, but who grow defensive and angry when their own purchasing decisions are called into question. If we're really going to steer this country in a better direction than our parents, we have to put our money where our well-intentioned tweets are.
I respect your and OFA's efforts to engage us; I can offer my personal pledge to do my part to help elect progressive candidates in 2010. But beyond voting, beyond organizing voting efforts, my generation has to do more. Egan, and OFA, are not asking us to save the country with our progressive vision, they're asking us to do so by electing the last generation of progressives. To show up on election day, and then to let the grown-ups take things from there. I think it's time that more of us ran for local, state and federal office ourselves; that we begin shaping our destinies through direct participation and not just by voting.
Finally, I'd like to acknowledge the death of one Millennial, Turkish-American Furkan Dogan, who, at 19, was killed on the Mavi Marmara, attempting to do bring hope and aid to the people of Gaza. His death ought to remind all of us, young and old, to honor those giving their lives for justice. If we had more elected officials willing to demonstrate this kind of courage, perhaps the youth of this nation would not be called upon to do it for them.
And now, I return to my mindless social networking. See you on Election Day.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
I was pleasantly surprised to learn tonight that my generation has a name. We are, apparently, the Millennials. (I don't recall being asked for input when this name was chosen. I doubt I'd have approved, but I suppose it's better than "Generation Y") Timothy Egan is calling on us to "save" our country from the boomers. I have a lot of respect for Mr. Egan, and I did find it surprising to learn that more 18-29 year olds voted in 2008 than those over 65. This has clearly not escaped the notice of Organizing For America, which almost daily contacts me asking for participation or support. I am comforted by this. Demographics are on my side, as the ruling class of this country grows (slowly) younger, my hope is that things will (slowly) improve. I think Egan's points are well-taken; my generation's views on gay rights, environmental issues and the wars launched under President Bush may have been ahead of our time and now widely accepted. However, our participation has done little to fundamentally change the system or the way we ourselves are perceived by those in power. (Evidenced even here, by Egan's quip about our ability to leave our facebook pages long enough to elect you, forgetting, perhaps, the role that social networking and blogs played in that election.)
This thought strikes me most often when I am asked about my tattoos. I have seven, and will soon have eight. According to a recent post on the freakonomics blog, 36 percent of 18-25 year olds, and 40 percent of 26-40 year olds have tattoos. When people express their concern that the body art I have no will be detrimental to my professional success, I like to consider this statistic. I currently have a job where, despite making less than $10/hour and having little to no consequence in society, I have to keep my tattoos covered up. I respect that, as my employer, this company can make me wear whatever it pleases. I do not generally find that my tattoos affect my ability to make coffee, or my customer's enjoyment of said coffee. While I do think that my tattoos say something about me as a person, I don't think that having tattoos in general does. I reject the notion that they make me less professional or respectable, and that is because I respect myself (and my professionalism) more than I care for the opinions of those who would judge me on what they see. (Arrogance? Perhaps. I'll call it self-assurance and be quite content to keep it. ) My generation's willingness to accept a person for what is on the inside may largely be attributed to the often-faceless modes of interaction we have with one another online, and helps us to get past the kind of appearance-based prejudices that still hinder our parents.
But my generation has our faults, too. We often mistake awareness for action; blogging about something or updating our facebook status to support a cause is fine and good, but we vote most effectively with our dollar, and too many of us forget our idealism once we have to put money on it. Our demographic being among the most targeted by advertisers, we ought to have a greater impact on the policies of those companies whose products we consume than we do our government. I have many friends who are game for any kind of political discussion or debate, but who grow defensive and angry when their own purchasing decisions are called into question. If we're really going to steer this country in a better direction than our parents, we have to put our money where our well-intentioned tweets are.
I respect your and OFA's efforts to engage us; I can offer my personal pledge to do my part to help elect progressive candidates in 2010. But beyond voting, beyond organizing voting efforts, my generation has to do more. Egan, and OFA, are not asking us to save the country with our progressive vision, they're asking us to do so by electing the last generation of progressives. To show up on election day, and then to let the grown-ups take things from there. I think it's time that more of us ran for local, state and federal office ourselves; that we begin shaping our destinies through direct participation and not just by voting.
Finally, I'd like to acknowledge the death of one Millennial, Turkish-American Furkan Dogan, who, at 19, was killed on the Mavi Marmara, attempting to do bring hope and aid to the people of Gaza. His death ought to remind all of us, young and old, to honor those giving their lives for justice. If we had more elected officials willing to demonstrate this kind of courage, perhaps the youth of this nation would not be called upon to do it for them.
And now, I return to my mindless social networking. See you on Election Day.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Day 41- Small businesses
Dear Mr. President,
I'm not an economist. I don't know how small businesses are defined, or how they affect the economy or anything like that. I don't know what taxes hurt them or which policies help them. Today, I went to the cafe down the street from my house, which is owned by 3 sisters. They've been open for a year, but they've been making coffee in Seattle since before I was born. They love their customers, good beer, and loud music. The cafe has a bar, a ping-pong table, and video games; it's a local haunt for university kids and a friendly space for LGBTQ gatherings. It's one of my favorite places to go. One of the owners and I got into a conversation about the difference between working for yourself, as she does, and working for a large corporation, like I do. My job might be considered "safer" than hers, or at least, I have much less to lose than she does, but we agreed that her interactions with people are more genuine and more meaningful because of the sense of community created by a small business.
I know small business are important to you, and I'm grateful for that. I may not work for one, but when I shop, I always try to shop local, or to support small business, when I can. My favorite coffee shops, my grocery store, the best restaurants and bars are all small, locally-owned institutions. They are a source of pride. I'm glad you're willing to advocate for small business, to defend these last vestiges of local color in a world increasingly smeared with strip malls full of the the same corporate logos. I know you'll do your part, legislatively. I think people need to be reminded of their own responsibility, their own power as consumers. If we don't want every one in our community to work at Wal-Mart, then we shouldn't shop there just because it's more convenient than making many stops. We must sometimes be willing to forgo the cold efficiency and lower costs of the corporate model.
As the cafe owner and I were talking, she began to talk about the obstacles faced by small business owners. Her greatest concern wasn't the government, it wasn't taxes, it wasn't even corporations. It was consumers. People who would rather have the consistency of corporate coffee served by clean-cut youth in collard shirts. She may have found her niche, may have enough customers who love the informality, the out-of-this-world espresso and the smart-mouthed bar tenders, but she knows she's one of the lucky ones. It is, once again, proof that the quest for the cheapest, most convenient things in life has a hidden cost, a toll taken on all who forgo complexity and contradiction for thoughtless repetition. Thank you for advocating for small businesses, Mr. President, and I hope that you keep reminding Americans how important they are.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
I'm not an economist. I don't know how small businesses are defined, or how they affect the economy or anything like that. I don't know what taxes hurt them or which policies help them. Today, I went to the cafe down the street from my house, which is owned by 3 sisters. They've been open for a year, but they've been making coffee in Seattle since before I was born. They love their customers, good beer, and loud music. The cafe has a bar, a ping-pong table, and video games; it's a local haunt for university kids and a friendly space for LGBTQ gatherings. It's one of my favorite places to go. One of the owners and I got into a conversation about the difference between working for yourself, as she does, and working for a large corporation, like I do. My job might be considered "safer" than hers, or at least, I have much less to lose than she does, but we agreed that her interactions with people are more genuine and more meaningful because of the sense of community created by a small business.
I know small business are important to you, and I'm grateful for that. I may not work for one, but when I shop, I always try to shop local, or to support small business, when I can. My favorite coffee shops, my grocery store, the best restaurants and bars are all small, locally-owned institutions. They are a source of pride. I'm glad you're willing to advocate for small business, to defend these last vestiges of local color in a world increasingly smeared with strip malls full of the the same corporate logos. I know you'll do your part, legislatively. I think people need to be reminded of their own responsibility, their own power as consumers. If we don't want every one in our community to work at Wal-Mart, then we shouldn't shop there just because it's more convenient than making many stops. We must sometimes be willing to forgo the cold efficiency and lower costs of the corporate model.
As the cafe owner and I were talking, she began to talk about the obstacles faced by small business owners. Her greatest concern wasn't the government, it wasn't taxes, it wasn't even corporations. It was consumers. People who would rather have the consistency of corporate coffee served by clean-cut youth in collard shirts. She may have found her niche, may have enough customers who love the informality, the out-of-this-world espresso and the smart-mouthed bar tenders, but she knows she's one of the lucky ones. It is, once again, proof that the quest for the cheapest, most convenient things in life has a hidden cost, a toll taken on all who forgo complexity and contradiction for thoughtless repetition. Thank you for advocating for small businesses, Mr. President, and I hope that you keep reminding Americans how important they are.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
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