The husband said this would happen to me. I told him no way.
We recently volunteered to sell things for a relative on a well-known online auction site. I thought it was a nice gesture for us to offer assistance. Plus, the husband has been casually selling things on this site for years. But, no way was I going to get caught up in it. I don't have the patience for the whole process of taking pictures, writing descriptions, responding to questions, and shipping.
What I didn't anticipate was how my analytical mind would be fascinated with trying to figure out what sells, for what price, and why. As I researched the potential value of the relative's items, I became further and further drawn to trying to understand buyers' mindsets. Some items in the same new-in-box condition sold for drastically different amounts depending if it was posted as Buy It Now or Auction. Sometimes Free Shipping encouraged people to buy at a higher total price than if they bought the item and paid a shipping cost. Even the headline or description wording seemed to impact what people were willing to spend.
So my role in Operation Relative Assistance has become lead researcher and pricing advisor. I likely overthink it but, for each item, I try to determine the best way to list it so that it will sell and we can maximize the revenue for our relative. My recommendations haven't always worked. We're making some course corrections.
We did have one item do well recently. Based on my research, I had a feeling we could get $X for it. Not that I would spend that for it personally but it looked like those interested in it would. I agonized over Buy It Now or Auction. We went with Auction. After we posted said item, we had some offers come in that were close to $X but no actual bids. We really had to think about whether we could do better if we waited and let the auction run out. I hated turning down interested buyers - what if the item never got any bids? What to do, what to do. Ultimately, we turned the offers down and decided to wait. And then, we watched bids come in. And come in. And come in. It was crazy and I couldn't help but check every few hours what the price was at. It kept going up. The auction closed today. The item sold for almost 3 times what I originally thought we might get for it. It felt awesome. What a buzz. Sending the check to our relative this week will feel great.
And, now I've got the bug. What else can we sell?
Last week, I was at a store and saw an amazing clearance bin. I started searching prices on the auction site while standing in the store. I thought we could make some decent money on the items. So I bought a bunch. When I came home with the bulging shopping bag of things to sell, the husband laughed. The next day, I went to another location and bought a bunch more. That night, I dismissed the husband when he reminded me I wasn't going to get caught up in this activity. Little does he know that I may go to yet another location at lunch tomorrow.
Will my excitement of watching items sell last through this current lot of bargain items? Perhaps. Perhaps not.
But that's just my view. From the 33rd floor.
Sunday, March 8, 2020
Sunday, February 9, 2020
When Did Everyone Become Rude?
One of the benefits of living in the city is the ability to take advantage of the vibrant performing arts scene. That's not to say that suburb-dwelling folks are uncultured and don't go to plays or concerts, but they usually require more planning than the sometimes spur-of-the-moment decision we make to see something that's starting in 30 minutes.
Over the years, I've become increasingly annoyed by my fellow audience members. The complete disrespect they have for the people sitting around them and for the performers on stage. I sometimes wonder if they are completely oblivious or if they simply do not care. This year alone, five weeks in, we've experienced some doozies.
First, here's a situation that happened even before the show started. There's a small theater in town that holds maybe 75 people. There are no assigned seats when you buy your ticket. Instead, you pick your seat when you arrive on a first come, first serve basis. Sometimes, there's a standby line for people who want to see that night's performance but the theater staff has to wait to determine if seats appear to be available (because of no-shows) as showtime nears. This particular night, a staff member pointed to a seat to see if it was available and the audience member next to it responded that it was not available; it was for her coat. The staff member offered to hang up the coat for her out in the lobby. The woman said no and produced two ticket stubs for that night's performance to show that she did indeed buy a seat for her coat. The staff member then offered her a refund for the second ticket. The woman refused and demanded to talk to the manager. Now, granted she did appear to have two tickets but to see her flat out refuse to help the staff accommodate people in the standby line was a new level of inconsiderate to me. I have been in the standby line before so I sympathize with people hoping to get a seat. The manager appeared, it's now at least 5 minute after the show was supposed to start, and the woman is beyond agitated. The manager attempted to reason with her but instead the woman stood up, grabbed her coat, and dramatically announced she will never come there again as she stomped out of the theater. Well, at least two standby people were able to enjoy the show that night.
Another day, at a different show at the same theater, someone began digging into the loudest, crinkliest bag possible during a 90 minute, no intermission, one-man show. This was not the mere unwrapping of a single piece of candy and this did not last for just a few seconds. This was a steady, loud noise for the majority of the show. I wish the person making the noise had been sitting in front of me because I would have leaned over and told them to quit it but alas they were at least several rows in front of me. I kept trying to figure out who it was and secretly wishing the people around him/her would say something. I am not the only one. I distinctly heard someone in front of me mutter, "What the hell is that noise? I wish they would cut it out." I was amazed that the actor on stage tuned it out and didn't miss a beat because I was constantly distracted for almost the entire show. When the play was over, I quickly stood up and eyed up my fellow audience members trying to identify the culprit. I felt it was my duty to say something but I did not see anything that looked like it could be the noisy bag in anyone's hand. *Sigh.*
Of course, there's also the ringing cell phone. I don't know how it's still possible for this to happen after all of the reminders to shut off your phone. I usually am at the other extreme - obsessively checking my phone three times and then once more when they do the final announcement because I do not want to be *that* person. I believe it's called dramatic irony when the audience members know something before a character does. There was one night recently when a man's phone rang. His eyes darted from side to side as if looking for who the phone belonged to and then looked shocked that it actually was his. Come on - we could all tell where the noise was coming from, it's not that big of a theater. He proceeded to pretend to mute it but was outed by the distinctive chime of a voicemail being received several seconds later. What a jerk. If I was this man, or anyone whose phone rings during a show, I would be mortified but people seem so indifferent if their all-so-important phone rings. They just don't care that it's rude or it's a distraction.
Just last weekend I experienced an all-new, technology-aided bad behavior. I do not own an Apple Watch but it appears that the screen is dark until the wearer moves his/her arm, at which point the screen activates. Why do I bring this up? Because the woman in front of me at the opera was running her hand through her hair during the performance constantly and every time she moved her arm, a bright white glow lit up the entire row behind her, where I happened to be sitting. This is amazingly distracting when you're trying to concentrate on the action on stage. The rows at this particular venue don't make it easy to lean forward and ask someone to stop. And, of course, we were in another 90 minute, no intermission performance, which I normally prefer but not when there's an annoying audience member that you can't chastise during a break. I lost count of how many times her watch lit up but it was an awful lot. I think she and the crinkly bag person should go to shows together to really annoy everyone in every possible way.
Have I become a cranky middle-aged woman? Maybe. But I won't stop going to live performances and I can't make people be more considerate and less self-absorbed. So, I guess I need to lower my expectations, go to an event assuming *something* will happen, and work on tuning it out like the performers do.
But that's just my view. From the 33rd floor.
Over the years, I've become increasingly annoyed by my fellow audience members. The complete disrespect they have for the people sitting around them and for the performers on stage. I sometimes wonder if they are completely oblivious or if they simply do not care. This year alone, five weeks in, we've experienced some doozies.
First, here's a situation that happened even before the show started. There's a small theater in town that holds maybe 75 people. There are no assigned seats when you buy your ticket. Instead, you pick your seat when you arrive on a first come, first serve basis. Sometimes, there's a standby line for people who want to see that night's performance but the theater staff has to wait to determine if seats appear to be available (because of no-shows) as showtime nears. This particular night, a staff member pointed to a seat to see if it was available and the audience member next to it responded that it was not available; it was for her coat. The staff member offered to hang up the coat for her out in the lobby. The woman said no and produced two ticket stubs for that night's performance to show that she did indeed buy a seat for her coat. The staff member then offered her a refund for the second ticket. The woman refused and demanded to talk to the manager. Now, granted she did appear to have two tickets but to see her flat out refuse to help the staff accommodate people in the standby line was a new level of inconsiderate to me. I have been in the standby line before so I sympathize with people hoping to get a seat. The manager appeared, it's now at least 5 minute after the show was supposed to start, and the woman is beyond agitated. The manager attempted to reason with her but instead the woman stood up, grabbed her coat, and dramatically announced she will never come there again as she stomped out of the theater. Well, at least two standby people were able to enjoy the show that night.
Another day, at a different show at the same theater, someone began digging into the loudest, crinkliest bag possible during a 90 minute, no intermission, one-man show. This was not the mere unwrapping of a single piece of candy and this did not last for just a few seconds. This was a steady, loud noise for the majority of the show. I wish the person making the noise had been sitting in front of me because I would have leaned over and told them to quit it but alas they were at least several rows in front of me. I kept trying to figure out who it was and secretly wishing the people around him/her would say something. I am not the only one. I distinctly heard someone in front of me mutter, "What the hell is that noise? I wish they would cut it out." I was amazed that the actor on stage tuned it out and didn't miss a beat because I was constantly distracted for almost the entire show. When the play was over, I quickly stood up and eyed up my fellow audience members trying to identify the culprit. I felt it was my duty to say something but I did not see anything that looked like it could be the noisy bag in anyone's hand. *Sigh.*
Of course, there's also the ringing cell phone. I don't know how it's still possible for this to happen after all of the reminders to shut off your phone. I usually am at the other extreme - obsessively checking my phone three times and then once more when they do the final announcement because I do not want to be *that* person. I believe it's called dramatic irony when the audience members know something before a character does. There was one night recently when a man's phone rang. His eyes darted from side to side as if looking for who the phone belonged to and then looked shocked that it actually was his. Come on - we could all tell where the noise was coming from, it's not that big of a theater. He proceeded to pretend to mute it but was outed by the distinctive chime of a voicemail being received several seconds later. What a jerk. If I was this man, or anyone whose phone rings during a show, I would be mortified but people seem so indifferent if their all-so-important phone rings. They just don't care that it's rude or it's a distraction.
Just last weekend I experienced an all-new, technology-aided bad behavior. I do not own an Apple Watch but it appears that the screen is dark until the wearer moves his/her arm, at which point the screen activates. Why do I bring this up? Because the woman in front of me at the opera was running her hand through her hair during the performance constantly and every time she moved her arm, a bright white glow lit up the entire row behind her, where I happened to be sitting. This is amazingly distracting when you're trying to concentrate on the action on stage. The rows at this particular venue don't make it easy to lean forward and ask someone to stop. And, of course, we were in another 90 minute, no intermission performance, which I normally prefer but not when there's an annoying audience member that you can't chastise during a break. I lost count of how many times her watch lit up but it was an awful lot. I think she and the crinkly bag person should go to shows together to really annoy everyone in every possible way.
Have I become a cranky middle-aged woman? Maybe. But I won't stop going to live performances and I can't make people be more considerate and less self-absorbed. So, I guess I need to lower my expectations, go to an event assuming *something* will happen, and work on tuning it out like the performers do.
But that's just my view. From the 33rd floor.
Saturday, January 25, 2020
Love Will Come To You
I have been a fan of the Indigo Girls for nearly 30 years, since I was in college. Something about their acoustic guitars, ability to harmonize with each other, and their introspective lyrics resonates with me. There is one song in particular, Love Will Come To You, that I used to listen to over and over again. I recall sometimes repeating the track three or four times in a row and letting the words just wash over me.
When I was in my 20s and many of my friends were getting married, I would listen to it - as a way to reassure myself that one day it would be my turn. After bad first dates, no shows, heartbreaks, I'd play it as a source of comfort.
In October 2018, I went to an Indigo Girls concert with my college roommate. I hadn't seen them live and, truthfully, hadn't listened to them in probably a decade. Song after song came back to me, like old friends I hadn't seen for awhile. I remembered all the words as if I still listened to their songs on a daily basis. When the first few notes of Love Will Come To You started, my eyes watered up. Tears starting streaming down my face. I was overcome with so many intense emotions. Why? Because love had indeed come to me. Finally.
Exactly four years ago, on January 25, 2016, I went on my last first date. Now, I certainly didn't know it at the time. Our first date actually was supposed to be on January 30th, when he was going to be in the city for his younger niece's birthday party. But, thanks to a blizzard over the weekend, his parents weren't up to trekking into the city to watch their granddaughters (our nieces) during their normal Monday afternoon timeslot. My now husband volunteered to watch them - not only because he loves to spend time with the girls, but I believe because he secretly was hoping to meet me sooner than originally planned since he was nearby.
Mondays are typically long work days for me. Plus, this particular week, I had a big presentation the next day at work that I hadn't even started working on. But, I was admittedly intrigued. I was trying not to get my hopes up too high - I figured I'd meet him, have a drink, maybe a snack, and be home in an hour.
Four hours later, I was still out with him. Neither one of us can remember much about that night. We shared fish tacos, talked about Pearl Jam (when a song came on over the speaker), and chuckled about his older niece telling him that needed to find a wife, having no idea he was heading out on a date. Beyond that, neither of us can recall. It was a nice night - easy conversation with someone it felt like I had known my whole life. Eleven months later we were engaged.
The husband thinks it's ridiculous that I want to celebrate our dateaversary now that we're married. In my mind, our dateaversary is a date we should always honor as the true beginning of our relationship. The date true love had finally come to me.
But that's just my view. From the 33rd floor.
Guess I wasn't the best one to ask
Me myself with my face pressed
Up against love's glass
To see the shiny toy I've been hoping for
The one I never can afford....
When I was in my 20s and many of my friends were getting married, I would listen to it - as a way to reassure myself that one day it would be my turn. After bad first dates, no shows, heartbreaks, I'd play it as a source of comfort.
I say love will come to you
Hoping just because I spoke the words that they're true
As if I offered up a crystal ball to look through
Where there's now one there will be two
In October 2018, I went to an Indigo Girls concert with my college roommate. I hadn't seen them live and, truthfully, hadn't listened to them in probably a decade. Song after song came back to me, like old friends I hadn't seen for awhile. I remembered all the words as if I still listened to their songs on a daily basis. When the first few notes of Love Will Come To You started, my eyes watered up. Tears starting streaming down my face. I was overcome with so many intense emotions. Why? Because love had indeed come to me. Finally.
Exactly four years ago, on January 25, 2016, I went on my last first date. Now, I certainly didn't know it at the time. Our first date actually was supposed to be on January 30th, when he was going to be in the city for his younger niece's birthday party. But, thanks to a blizzard over the weekend, his parents weren't up to trekking into the city to watch their granddaughters (our nieces) during their normal Monday afternoon timeslot. My now husband volunteered to watch them - not only because he loves to spend time with the girls, but I believe because he secretly was hoping to meet me sooner than originally planned since he was nearby.
Mondays are typically long work days for me. Plus, this particular week, I had a big presentation the next day at work that I hadn't even started working on. But, I was admittedly intrigued. I was trying not to get my hopes up too high - I figured I'd meet him, have a drink, maybe a snack, and be home in an hour.
Four hours later, I was still out with him. Neither one of us can remember much about that night. We shared fish tacos, talked about Pearl Jam (when a song came on over the speaker), and chuckled about his older niece telling him that needed to find a wife, having no idea he was heading out on a date. Beyond that, neither of us can recall. It was a nice night - easy conversation with someone it felt like I had known my whole life. Eleven months later we were engaged.
The husband thinks it's ridiculous that I want to celebrate our dateaversary now that we're married. In my mind, our dateaversary is a date we should always honor as the true beginning of our relationship. The date true love had finally come to me.
But that's just my view. From the 33rd floor.
Monday, January 13, 2020
Adventures in Home Ownership
In July 2019, my husband and I became first-time homeowners. Condo owners to be more precise. While this is a big deal, it feels as though it's a somewhat bigger deal because we're older than most first-time homeowners - me (mid-40s) and him (early-50s).
I've grown accustomed to calling maintenance over the 20-something years I've spent as a renter. Have a leak, plumbing emergency, weird sound coming from the garbage disposal? Pick up the phone or enter a ticket online and get on with my life. So, why did we buy? The short answer is that we were renting a condo and the owner decided he wanted to sell it. Being newly married, we knew the next logical step was to buy something. We ran around looking at a bunch of places and, at the end of the day, we decided we really liked where we were the best. We let the owner know we wanted to buy the place and the rest is history. Plus, we figured one of the big advantages of buying the place we had rented for the previous few years is that there were no hidden issues. We knew all of the quirky things that we either could live with or change.
I grew up being the handiest person in my family. That's not saying much. But I have distinct memories of coming home from college and there being a "to do" list for me - bookcases to assemble, technology to fix, and so on. I was just good at figuring things out. And, this was before Google and YouTube. My husband also prides himself on being somewhat handy. He recounts stories of home repair projects he worked on with his grandfather. So, when the lower left vanity doors in both of the bathrooms ganged up on us and decided to fall off within days of us signing the official paperwork to buy the condo, we were fairly confident that our first home repair would be simple. We had the doors, we had the old hinges - how hard could it be?
On a hot summer Sunday afternoon, we drove to the local mega hardware store armed with examples of what we were looking for. We wandered endless aisles looking for hinges. We finally found them and, boy, there were a lot. Tons of them. I started picking one up after another - comparing to the examples we brought with us - and got more and more confused. One looked right but then the next two looked right too. They had different product numbers - what was different about them? We finally called someone over for assistance. We explained the situation to him - showed him the existing one and he quickly pointed out the most popular/ standard one that would work. We grabbed what we needed, thanked him, and walked proudly up to the cashier to buy the hinges. We couldn't wait to get home and conquer our first home repair.
Well, we got home. The husband pulled out his power tools. (He has power tools!) He got to work and he quickly called me into the powder room. The hinges weren't the right ones. He attached them but when he closed the door, there was a two inch gap between the doors. I, of course, didn't believe him at first that they were wrong. I mean we asked the hardware store employee after all. I started in, providing suggestions on things to try instead, but it became pretty clear that this easy home repair was a bit more of a challenge than what we expected.
On his next day off, the husband decided to venture back to the mega hardware store to return the wrong hinges and buy the right ones. We live in a city and only have one car, which I drive to work 30 miles outside of the city. So, the husband's trip to the store was a bit more of an adventure because it entailed him taking one bus and transferring to another and doing the same on the reverse trip back. But, he was on a mission. He marched into the store (or so he later told me), confident that he would be successful this time. And, he did all of this without telling me because he wanted to surprise me with two reattached vanity doors when I got home from work. So, imagine my surprise when I got home and there were expletives coming from the powder room. Yup, you guessed it. These hinges were also wrong. They caused the doors to overlap by 1/4 of an inch. My husband was in complete disbelief. We were defeated by two stupid vanity doors.
To this day, we still have not tried again to reattach them. We have them leaning precariously in place so it's not obvious to someone that the left doors are unattached. But, if you should accidentally bump one of them, like I seem to do on a somewhat regular basis, it comes crashing down. If I'm lucky, I move my foot out of the way first. Using the bathroom sink shouldn't be as dangerous as it is in my condo.
But that's just my view. From the 33rd floor.
I've grown accustomed to calling maintenance over the 20-something years I've spent as a renter. Have a leak, plumbing emergency, weird sound coming from the garbage disposal? Pick up the phone or enter a ticket online and get on with my life. So, why did we buy? The short answer is that we were renting a condo and the owner decided he wanted to sell it. Being newly married, we knew the next logical step was to buy something. We ran around looking at a bunch of places and, at the end of the day, we decided we really liked where we were the best. We let the owner know we wanted to buy the place and the rest is history. Plus, we figured one of the big advantages of buying the place we had rented for the previous few years is that there were no hidden issues. We knew all of the quirky things that we either could live with or change.
I grew up being the handiest person in my family. That's not saying much. But I have distinct memories of coming home from college and there being a "to do" list for me - bookcases to assemble, technology to fix, and so on. I was just good at figuring things out. And, this was before Google and YouTube. My husband also prides himself on being somewhat handy. He recounts stories of home repair projects he worked on with his grandfather. So, when the lower left vanity doors in both of the bathrooms ganged up on us and decided to fall off within days of us signing the official paperwork to buy the condo, we were fairly confident that our first home repair would be simple. We had the doors, we had the old hinges - how hard could it be?
On a hot summer Sunday afternoon, we drove to the local mega hardware store armed with examples of what we were looking for. We wandered endless aisles looking for hinges. We finally found them and, boy, there were a lot. Tons of them. I started picking one up after another - comparing to the examples we brought with us - and got more and more confused. One looked right but then the next two looked right too. They had different product numbers - what was different about them? We finally called someone over for assistance. We explained the situation to him - showed him the existing one and he quickly pointed out the most popular/ standard one that would work. We grabbed what we needed, thanked him, and walked proudly up to the cashier to buy the hinges. We couldn't wait to get home and conquer our first home repair.
Well, we got home. The husband pulled out his power tools. (He has power tools!) He got to work and he quickly called me into the powder room. The hinges weren't the right ones. He attached them but when he closed the door, there was a two inch gap between the doors. I, of course, didn't believe him at first that they were wrong. I mean we asked the hardware store employee after all. I started in, providing suggestions on things to try instead, but it became pretty clear that this easy home repair was a bit more of a challenge than what we expected.
On his next day off, the husband decided to venture back to the mega hardware store to return the wrong hinges and buy the right ones. We live in a city and only have one car, which I drive to work 30 miles outside of the city. So, the husband's trip to the store was a bit more of an adventure because it entailed him taking one bus and transferring to another and doing the same on the reverse trip back. But, he was on a mission. He marched into the store (or so he later told me), confident that he would be successful this time. And, he did all of this without telling me because he wanted to surprise me with two reattached vanity doors when I got home from work. So, imagine my surprise when I got home and there were expletives coming from the powder room. Yup, you guessed it. These hinges were also wrong. They caused the doors to overlap by 1/4 of an inch. My husband was in complete disbelief. We were defeated by two stupid vanity doors.
To this day, we still have not tried again to reattach them. We have them leaning precariously in place so it's not obvious to someone that the left doors are unattached. But, if you should accidentally bump one of them, like I seem to do on a somewhat regular basis, it comes crashing down. If I'm lucky, I move my foot out of the way first. Using the bathroom sink shouldn't be as dangerous as it is in my condo.
But that's just my view. From the 33rd floor.
Sunday, January 5, 2020
They Say There's No Such Thing As Bad Pizza
On January 2nd, we ordered our first pizza delivery of the new year (and of the new decade) for dinner. Actually, the husband ordered it while I napped on the couch, totally exhausted after my first day back to work in over a week. I was only clued in that dinner was being handled when his phone rang. The pizza place had not received mushrooms in their delivery that day and they wanted to know if we wanted another topping. The husband selected a different topping and hung up, slightly annoyed that the call had woken me up and ruined the surprise.
Through the magic of technology, we can track the delivery person as he/she makes their way to us. We saw that the person was right outside our building and we waited to get the call from the front desk confirming that we were, in fact, expecting a food delivery. We waited and we waited. No call. I started to get nervous because we had quite a few delivery issues in 2019 (which will likely end up being its own future blog post). The husband reached out to the delivery person via the app - were they lost? did they need assistance? We received an immediate response back - he (as we would later learn) apologized and then explained he had just received a message from the pizza place that they had given him the wrong pizza for us. He had to go back and bring us the right one. We understood and I felt a slight sense of relief - we were starting off 2020 food delivery with a delay, but not an issue with the actual food.
About 35 minutes later, he was back. The front desk called to confirm. He brought us the pizza, apologizing again, and we tipped him. I was hungry and ready to dig into my first slice. We sat down, opened the box lid, looked at the pizza and then at each other. This was definitely not the right pizza. The box was marked with my husband's name but the contents - pizza with bacon, chunks of chicken and ranch dressing - was certainly not what he ordered. I sighed. It looked gross but given how hungry I was, I actually thought for half a second that maybe I would give it a try. I just couldn't. The husband called the pizza place, they apologized, said they would make us a new pizza and credit us the order. Great, except of course the delivery company knew nothing about this new order and so we were unsure if/how we would actually receive this new pizza.
Before you think we're entitled millennials and/or completely lazy, this pizza place is not located within a block or so of our place. One of the advantages of living in the city and having a variety of food delivery companies is that we can try food from a wide range of places, even places that don't hire their own delivery people. This pizza place happened to be located in Philadelphia's famed Italian Market, at least a 30-40 minute walk, one way, from our condo. Yes, we could have gotten a cab or Uber but then that's a lot more to spend for a simple pizza that they messed up. Besides, it's pizza. Isn't pizza supposed to be delivered?
Meanwhile, I was trying to think of what we could do with the whole pizza sitting on the table in front of us. It was not appealing in the slightest to us, but we did not want to waste it. We decided to bring it outside to one of the several homeless people usually hanging out on the block. When you're hungry, you're hungry - you're grateful for anything. And, the homeless man we spotted that night was indeed grateful. He repeatedly said "God Bless" and seemed to appreciate the good fortune of receiving the box of pizza from us on a drizzly night.
We turned to head back inside when I saw the man stand up off of the grate, put the pizza box down and proceed to sit right on top of it. Hmm. Not what I was expecting and I began to immediately try to figure out why he did that. Was he heating up the pizza? Was this a way to protect "his" food from other homeless in the area? Did he even know we gave him food or did he think we just brought him cardboard to sit on? This was our discussion for the whole elevator ride back up to 33. I had to let it go and feel good that we tried to do something nice.
When we got back inside our condo, we prepared to eat a lovely dinner of cheese & crackers and other miscellaneous snacks. It was clear that we were never going to get that new pizza and we had already confirmed that we received our money back.
The next morning, as I headed out to work, I saw the pizza box, sitting nearly in the exact same spot. No homeless man in sight. I was curious but too afraid to peek inside - did he eat any of it? Were there perhaps rodents or other pests inside now? Did he possibly use it as a toilet? I snapped a picture of the box and texted it to the husband. I felt bad we had contributed to litter on the street. I guess there is truth to the old adage that no good deed goes unpunished.
But that's just my view. From the 33rd floor.
Through the magic of technology, we can track the delivery person as he/she makes their way to us. We saw that the person was right outside our building and we waited to get the call from the front desk confirming that we were, in fact, expecting a food delivery. We waited and we waited. No call. I started to get nervous because we had quite a few delivery issues in 2019 (which will likely end up being its own future blog post). The husband reached out to the delivery person via the app - were they lost? did they need assistance? We received an immediate response back - he (as we would later learn) apologized and then explained he had just received a message from the pizza place that they had given him the wrong pizza for us. He had to go back and bring us the right one. We understood and I felt a slight sense of relief - we were starting off 2020 food delivery with a delay, but not an issue with the actual food.
About 35 minutes later, he was back. The front desk called to confirm. He brought us the pizza, apologizing again, and we tipped him. I was hungry and ready to dig into my first slice. We sat down, opened the box lid, looked at the pizza and then at each other. This was definitely not the right pizza. The box was marked with my husband's name but the contents - pizza with bacon, chunks of chicken and ranch dressing - was certainly not what he ordered. I sighed. It looked gross but given how hungry I was, I actually thought for half a second that maybe I would give it a try. I just couldn't. The husband called the pizza place, they apologized, said they would make us a new pizza and credit us the order. Great, except of course the delivery company knew nothing about this new order and so we were unsure if/how we would actually receive this new pizza.
Before you think we're entitled millennials and/or completely lazy, this pizza place is not located within a block or so of our place. One of the advantages of living in the city and having a variety of food delivery companies is that we can try food from a wide range of places, even places that don't hire their own delivery people. This pizza place happened to be located in Philadelphia's famed Italian Market, at least a 30-40 minute walk, one way, from our condo. Yes, we could have gotten a cab or Uber but then that's a lot more to spend for a simple pizza that they messed up. Besides, it's pizza. Isn't pizza supposed to be delivered?
Meanwhile, I was trying to think of what we could do with the whole pizza sitting on the table in front of us. It was not appealing in the slightest to us, but we did not want to waste it. We decided to bring it outside to one of the several homeless people usually hanging out on the block. When you're hungry, you're hungry - you're grateful for anything. And, the homeless man we spotted that night was indeed grateful. He repeatedly said "God Bless" and seemed to appreciate the good fortune of receiving the box of pizza from us on a drizzly night.
We turned to head back inside when I saw the man stand up off of the grate, put the pizza box down and proceed to sit right on top of it. Hmm. Not what I was expecting and I began to immediately try to figure out why he did that. Was he heating up the pizza? Was this a way to protect "his" food from other homeless in the area? Did he even know we gave him food or did he think we just brought him cardboard to sit on? This was our discussion for the whole elevator ride back up to 33. I had to let it go and feel good that we tried to do something nice.
When we got back inside our condo, we prepared to eat a lovely dinner of cheese & crackers and other miscellaneous snacks. It was clear that we were never going to get that new pizza and we had already confirmed that we received our money back.
The next morning, as I headed out to work, I saw the pizza box, sitting nearly in the exact same spot. No homeless man in sight. I was curious but too afraid to peek inside - did he eat any of it? Were there perhaps rodents or other pests inside now? Did he possibly use it as a toilet? I snapped a picture of the box and texted it to the husband. I felt bad we had contributed to litter on the street. I guess there is truth to the old adage that no good deed goes unpunished.
But that's just my view. From the 33rd floor.
Tuesday, December 31, 2019
Tis the Season
Tis the season for people to make their New Year's resolutions.
According to Wikipedia (a somewhat legit source, right?), people tend to resolve to change an undesired trait or behavior, to accomplish a personal goal, or otherwise improve their life. Wikipedia also cites a 2014 study that revealed 35% of participants who failed to accomplish their resolution admitted they had unrealistic goals, 33% of participants didn't track their progress and 23% forgot about them. And, one in 10 respondents claimed they made too many resolutions.
So it is with great pride that I announce that my husband and I beat the odds and accomplished our 2019 resolution. It was easy to track our progress and, since we only had one resolution, it was easy to remain focused. So what was this extraordinary resolution? To eat at 52 "new to us" restaurants in one calendar year. I know, I know, this flies in the face of what most people pledge to do - lose weight or workout more. But, we succeeded and most people fail. So there.
Early on, we had to establish some guidelines. This was especially important because I've known my husband for less than 4 years and we each had decades of meals without the other. The following were our mutually agreed upon ground rules:
On December 3rd, we ate at #52. And, on December 7th, we ate at #53. What overachievers we are. We're still at #53 and that's probably where we'll end up unless we squeeze in another new place in the next 6-ish hours.
Being the math nerd that I am, I'm personally content with staying at 53 - prime number that it is. And, of course I had to do a full data analysis on our list:
So what are my biggest takeaways from this year-long project? You can eat at 53 new places and still lose weight. There's a certain level of motivation to achieve the goal when it's something that is a bit of a challenge, yet fun. Philly has an amazing restaurant scene - what a great way to force us not to go to the same places over and over again.
I believe most people probably fail to follow through on their resolutions because it's something they think they should do instead of something they really want to do.
But that's just my view. From the 33rd floor.
According to Wikipedia (a somewhat legit source, right?), people tend to resolve to change an undesired trait or behavior, to accomplish a personal goal, or otherwise improve their life. Wikipedia also cites a 2014 study that revealed 35% of participants who failed to accomplish their resolution admitted they had unrealistic goals, 33% of participants didn't track their progress and 23% forgot about them. And, one in 10 respondents claimed they made too many resolutions.
So it is with great pride that I announce that my husband and I beat the odds and accomplished our 2019 resolution. It was easy to track our progress and, since we only had one resolution, it was easy to remain focused. So what was this extraordinary resolution? To eat at 52 "new to us" restaurants in one calendar year. I know, I know, this flies in the face of what most people pledge to do - lose weight or workout more. But, we succeeded and most people fail. So there.
Early on, we had to establish some guidelines. This was especially important because I've known my husband for less than 4 years and we each had decades of meals without the other. The following were our mutually agreed upon ground rules:
- a restaurant where one of us ate at before would count as a "new" one if it had been at least 5 years since that meal
- takeout or delivery would not count under any circumstances
- no chain restaurants, unless it was one not located in our geographic region or was new to it
On December 3rd, we ate at #52. And, on December 7th, we ate at #53. What overachievers we are. We're still at #53 and that's probably where we'll end up unless we squeeze in another new place in the next 6-ish hours.
Being the math nerd that I am, I'm personally content with staying at 53 - prime number that it is. And, of course I had to do a full data analysis on our list:
- 21% of our meals were brunch - thanks to husband having most Sundays off this year
- 32% of the meals were Italian or Mexican - obviously we love these cuisines or Philadelphia has an abundance of these restaurants
- 7 of the restaurants were introduced to us through the Tasting Collective, which offers private chef-led dinners. We're members and it's been a great way to try restaurants we've never been to before.
- only 5 of the restaurants were ones where one of us had eaten at before, more than 5 years ago.
- 35% of the restaurants we agreed that we'd like to go to again, although it's hard to do that when there's a neverending list of new places opening that we want to check out.
So what are my biggest takeaways from this year-long project? You can eat at 53 new places and still lose weight. There's a certain level of motivation to achieve the goal when it's something that is a bit of a challenge, yet fun. Philly has an amazing restaurant scene - what a great way to force us not to go to the same places over and over again.
I believe most people probably fail to follow through on their resolutions because it's something they think they should do instead of something they really want to do.
But that's just my view. From the 33rd floor.
Monday, December 23, 2019
Is This Thing On?
Testing....Testing....1-2-3. Hey, is this thing on?
Phew. Well, here I am. Officially writing my first blog post. Now, I have mentally composed blog posts over the years but there's a difference between thinking through the sentences (while in the shower or during my long driving commute on 95) and actually putting them down on paper. Or, more precisely, these days that means typing on a computer.
People who know me in real life know me as a math person. I fully admit I am primarily numbers-oriented. I find my mind wandering off doing calculations to esoteric questions - how long would it take.... And, nothing gets me more excited than figuring out a complicated formula in Excel and watching everything automatically recalculate every time I change one value. Yes, I'm a math nerd and proud of it.
So, what the heck am I doing writing? Good question. As much as I love numbers and math, I have always enjoyed writing as well. Perhaps because I am a bit of an introvert so it's easier for me to express myself in written words versus verbally. Need to write an angry note to a company? I am your woman. Or, maybe it's because everyone needs a creative outlet and writing is one of mine.
Around 20 years ago, I started writing an annual letter to include with my holiday cards. I found it a good exercise in reflecting back on the year to try to put some meaning or lessons learned to what I did or experienced. I remember my beloved grandma complimenting me every time she received one of these letters. I thought it was just a grandma being a grandma but over the years I have received positive feedback from many recipients. And, the couple of years I decided to "not bother" writing a letter because I felt like I didn't really have anything to say? Some people expressed disappointment. To those people, sorry that I haven't written one for 2019. Maybe my blog will make up for it?
When my grandma died in 2007, I decided to keep writing as a tribute to her, my number one fan. I enrolled in a noncredit writing course at Temple University and wrote a few stories. Then things got busy and I put everything on the backburner and thought one day I'll get back to it.
Several years ago, when I met my husband, he encouraged me to start writing again. I think he was surprised that someone who identifies primarily with numbers can also express herself so clearly in words. I told him I wanted to start writing regularly...that I thought about writing a blog...that I had ideas...that I had no idea what to call my blog...that I didn't have the time to put into it...that... You know, one reason after another why I wanted to do it but just couldn't. Well, here I am, making that recommitment to writing. I don't want to make any grand promises that I will post something every week at a certain time because the moment I say that and miss a post, that's the moment I can see myself saying that I messed up and the whole thing is over. I know I am going to try to post on a regular basis. I've already created a list of topics so if I find myself struggling with what to write about, hopefully something on the list will provide inspiration.
So, welcome. I hope you enjoy what you read. And, if you don't, that's fine. Just don't tell me. I know there are some of you who know me well who would have expected me to make my first post on the 11th of the month. Yes, eleven is a special number to me but instead I decided to post for the first time on December 23rd - the date my grandma died 12 years ago. I think of her often. I know how much she enjoyed my writing and encouraged me to do it more. So, this one is for you grandma. It may have taken me some time to get going, but I never stopped hearing your encouragement.
But that's just my view. From the 33rd floor.
Phew. Well, here I am. Officially writing my first blog post. Now, I have mentally composed blog posts over the years but there's a difference between thinking through the sentences (while in the shower or during my long driving commute on 95) and actually putting them down on paper. Or, more precisely, these days that means typing on a computer.
People who know me in real life know me as a math person. I fully admit I am primarily numbers-oriented. I find my mind wandering off doing calculations to esoteric questions - how long would it take.... And, nothing gets me more excited than figuring out a complicated formula in Excel and watching everything automatically recalculate every time I change one value. Yes, I'm a math nerd and proud of it.
So, what the heck am I doing writing? Good question. As much as I love numbers and math, I have always enjoyed writing as well. Perhaps because I am a bit of an introvert so it's easier for me to express myself in written words versus verbally. Need to write an angry note to a company? I am your woman. Or, maybe it's because everyone needs a creative outlet and writing is one of mine.
Around 20 years ago, I started writing an annual letter to include with my holiday cards. I found it a good exercise in reflecting back on the year to try to put some meaning or lessons learned to what I did or experienced. I remember my beloved grandma complimenting me every time she received one of these letters. I thought it was just a grandma being a grandma but over the years I have received positive feedback from many recipients. And, the couple of years I decided to "not bother" writing a letter because I felt like I didn't really have anything to say? Some people expressed disappointment. To those people, sorry that I haven't written one for 2019. Maybe my blog will make up for it?
When my grandma died in 2007, I decided to keep writing as a tribute to her, my number one fan. I enrolled in a noncredit writing course at Temple University and wrote a few stories. Then things got busy and I put everything on the backburner and thought one day I'll get back to it.
Several years ago, when I met my husband, he encouraged me to start writing again. I think he was surprised that someone who identifies primarily with numbers can also express herself so clearly in words. I told him I wanted to start writing regularly...that I thought about writing a blog...that I had ideas...that I had no idea what to call my blog...that I didn't have the time to put into it...that... You know, one reason after another why I wanted to do it but just couldn't. Well, here I am, making that recommitment to writing. I don't want to make any grand promises that I will post something every week at a certain time because the moment I say that and miss a post, that's the moment I can see myself saying that I messed up and the whole thing is over. I know I am going to try to post on a regular basis. I've already created a list of topics so if I find myself struggling with what to write about, hopefully something on the list will provide inspiration.
So, welcome. I hope you enjoy what you read. And, if you don't, that's fine. Just don't tell me. I know there are some of you who know me well who would have expected me to make my first post on the 11th of the month. Yes, eleven is a special number to me but instead I decided to post for the first time on December 23rd - the date my grandma died 12 years ago. I think of her often. I know how much she enjoyed my writing and encouraged me to do it more. So, this one is for you grandma. It may have taken me some time to get going, but I never stopped hearing your encouragement.
But that's just my view. From the 33rd floor.
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