Apparently I Was In Opryland

Posted on April 29, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

Do you know what I hate about customer service?  When I can’t get it no matter what I do.  I stayed at the Gaylord National Harbor for my ALA conference.  It was outrageously priced even with our group rate, but OK.

During my stay the staff were all very nice, helpful and polite.  You know, kind of like I’m the customer and they want me to come back and spend more money with them.  But one of my friends went to her room to find someone else moved into it.  It’s true she had just a few small items in the room at the time, but it was still her room for another two nights.  She hadn’t checked out early or anything.  It was troubling, to say the least.

The important thing is nothing bad happened to me.  Until today when I took a look at my credit card bill.  Let’s see; one, two…a total of 4 charges for the day after I left the hotel.  Someone was living large on my credit card.  No problem, I’ll just call the hotel.  Well, not the hotel so much as a Marriott 800 number that rings through to the 10th circle of hell.

The first woman I spoke with was clearly annoyed that she had to answer the phone.  She was doing me a huge favor.  I started to describe the billing error but it was far too complicated for her.  When I told her I had stayed in the Gaylord National Harbor she said Opryland.  Sadly, I’ve stayed at that one too, but I repeated National Harbor, Maryland.

Annoying Clerk:  Ma’am, we don’t have a Gaylord in Maryland?  OK?  So you probably have the wrong number

Me:  You do too have a Gaylord in Maryland.  I just stayed there, it’s definitely there.  It’s huge

Annoying Clerk:  Sigh.  Gum snap.  You were in Nashville ma’am.  Now what is it that you need?

Me:  I need you to credit the incorrect charges that showed up on my credit card.  You need to go online and discover that there really is a Gaylord at National Harbor, MD.

Annoying Clerk:  Umm hmmm.  Yeah.

Me:  Can you please just reverse the charges?

Annoying Clerk:  I don’t know why you have to get smart with me ma’am.  All I’m doing is trying to help you.

Me:  OK, I’ll be dumb with you instead.  Is that better?

Annoying Clerk:

Me:  On hold for 10 minutes before I realized she was never coming back.

I took a few moments to gather myself and then called again.

Me:  Hi.  There are some incorrect charges on my credit card.  Charges for the day after I left the hotel

Annoying Clerk #2:  What kind of charges?

Me:  I’m not sure, room service I guess

Annoying Clerk #2:  Was it room service or mini-bar?

Me:  I don’t know.  I wasn’t there—they aren’t my charges

Annoying Clerk #2:  Well if you don’t even know what the charges are for, how do you know they’re not yours?

Me:  They were incurred the day after I left the hotel, and also, I didn’t have any extra charges

Annoying Clerk #2:

Me:  On hold for 10 minutes before I realized she was never coming back.

It was kind of an unproductive afternoon.

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Chuckles Would Have Been Proud

Posted on April 26, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

You know what’s interesting?  Probably not or you wouldn’t be stuck reading my blog to find out.  I wonder if insulting my readers is the brightest idea.  Hmmm.

OK, I started off with a digression so now I can focus.  In the pursuit of publishing my book I have connected with incredibly helpful perfect strangers.  I can’t even tell you how many of them go out of their way to help.  I’ve had the opportunity to speak at length with a number of published authors, and what’s interesting is how different we all are from each other, and yet how eager they are to help.

When I tell people that my book is a humorous take on breast cancer, there are three typical answers.  One is not really an answer; just silence.  Awkward.  The other is “what’s so funny about cancer?”  Really awkward, and even when I explain I don’t think cancer is funny in general, that my book is about my personal experience using humor as a coping mechanism, they’re just not on board.  They’ve all given me great advice, regardless.

Thank goodness there is a third reaction:  laughter.  So I know there are people out there who totally understand what I’m trying to do, and that keeps me going.  I had the good fortune recently to connect with Greta Nettleton, http://gretanettleton.com/ , the talented author who wrote the book The Quack’s Daughter.  The book is a true story about the private life of a Victorian college girl,  Cora Keck, who just happens to be the author’s great grandmother.  The book is beautifully written—and by the way would make a great Mother’s Day gift because it traces a matriarchy.  The thing I most enjoy about the book though is how similar Cora’s adventures at Vassar 130 years ago are to those of modern college students.  The truth is Cora probably would have been my best friend if we went to college together.  She wasn’t exactly a rule-follower, if you know what I mean.

Greta was gracious enough to spend quite a bit of time talking to me about the process of getting a book published, and gave me lots of great advice.  But more importantly, she totally gets what I’m trying to do.  When I described my book she had no problem laughing along with me at my breast cancer adventure.  We just clicked.  She restored my faith that there are people out there who are willing to join me in laughing at my own hapless tales.

I get that there are people out there who think I am Morticia Addams, as if that was a bad thing.  Morticia was hilarious, right?  Because if you can’t laugh at death, what can you laugh at?  A classic clip illustrating my point…

chuckles the clown funeral – Bing Videos.

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And Thousands Cheered

Posted on April 23, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

I’m going to admit that I am not particularly religious, but I have now witnessed the power of prayer.  I know no one would specifically pray for me to get laryngitis, but surely many people have fervently prayed that I would shut my trap by any means necessary.  My Hebrew isn’t as bad as you think Temple Beth Shalom; I noticed when you slipped this prayer into the service.

Anyway, after all the planning and build-up for our annual conference, I was frustrated to lose my voice on the very first day.  So I went with my typical problem-solving technique…I ignored it.  Sure I sounded like Minnie Mouse, but many people found it endearing.  OK, OK, no one found it endearing, but I’m sure as hell incapable of shutting up, so I talked until my voice was down to a pathetic little squeak.  People kept saying “you poor thing” and “you should get some rest,” but I didn’t have a cold or anything, just laryngitis.

I guess the worst part is that Dan, who is more deserving of a break than anyone else, didn’t even get to enjoy it.  He’s bitter and I don’t blame him.  He keeps telling me he doesn’t believe I had laryngitis and asking me to show him how it happened, but I’m not going to fall for that one.

The bottom line is that in all likelihood this was my last ALA conference, and I had a lot to say before I left the legal community altogether.  But what was to have been my Swan Song turned into a duck honk…complete with rubber ducks.  It was an anticlimactic end to my career of 23 years.  Can everyone please take a break from your oh-so-busy lives and feel sorry for me?  Thanks, much better.

There is hope though.  Surely there is a group of writers whose conference will be just as exciting.  As with ALA, sooner or later I will be immersed in a new world.  Eventually I will get the lingo and the inside jokes, maybe join a committee or two.  It will be exactly the same while also completely different.

No worries; I’ll keep you posted so you don’t miss a thing.

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Just Ducky

Posted on April 20, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

For the last 15 months I’ve worked on the planning committee for the Association of Legal Administrators (ALA) Annual Conference.  The long awaited conference was April 14-17, and I’m left with a bittersweet feeling of relief because it’s over and a twinge of regret because of my newfound knowledge of my peers.

Legal administration is not for the faint of heart.  Bravery, fortitude, selflessness, masochism and alcohol abuse are the hallmarks of a successful administrator.  All of these traits were on display at the annual conference.

One of my jobs at the conference was to run a Hospitality Booth.  That’s me, hospitable to a fault.  In order to capture my colleagues’ attention we devised games and prizes and giveaways and clowns and ponies and ice cream and paper hats…oh wait!  That was a birthday party for a three year old.  The booth was much more sophisticated and professional.  We nixed the ponies completely for lack of liability insurance.

The first issue wasn’t even attributable to my peers.  The booth had signage that said “Welcome to National Harbor.”  This understandably caused some confusion among the 8,000 guests attending 12 different conferences who decided we were the general information booth for the hotel, convention center, travel, accommodations, babysitting…you name it.

On Sunday afternoon I was berated by a gentleman for not knowing the location of the Magnolia Ballroom.  I said I didn’t work at the hotel and he rolled his eyes.  He said that since I was so unhelpful as to not even point him in the direction of the ballroom, at least I could tell him where he could find a house phone.  I explained again that I didn’t work there.  He was thoroughly disgusted with me and announced he was going to find the hotel manager immediately to let him know that the information desk was worthless.  I hung my head and told him I accepted my fate.  I may have made an inappropriate hand gesture; I was so upset I really can’t recall.

When the ALA attendees began to flood in I had bigger fish to fry.  Our grand prize was a helicopter ride, and that’s why we had a big sign that said “Drop your card in to win a helicopter ride!” Lots of people wandered by and tossed their card in before reading the sign.  “Oh, I hope I don’t win.  I’m terrified of helicopters.”  I smiled politely.  That’s when we decided to stop people before they put their card in and ask if they were willing to go on a helicopter ride if they won.

As it turns out, an informant told me that 5 minutes after the first group of lucky winners were in the air one of the passengers announced that she was claustrophobic and needed to go back.  In my opinion this is the time to strap someone into a parachute and shove them out, so they can have plenty of room and fresh air.  Maybe it will permanently cure their claustrophobia issue.  Perhaps that’s why I’m not in charge of stuff like this.

The helicopter prize was not nearly as difficult as our duck game though.  Remember when you were a little kid and one of the boardwalk games was to pick a duck out of a little bucket?  The number on the bottom corresponded with the prize you won for being a dumb kid who couldn’t do anything but grab a duck.  I’m slow, but I’m pretty sure that even I caught on to this game pretty quickly.

“Pluck a duck and check your luck!” People who seemed perfectly intelligent meandered over, “wait, what do I have to do?”  I explained slowly that if the bottom of the duck said YOU WIN, well…you win.  Without fail those who chose a duck that said Oriental Trading Company on the bottom would show me the duck and ask if they won.  I started to sound like a 2nd grade teacher.  “Does that say ‘you win’ on the bottom?” Contestant number 283 shakes his head no.  “Well then you didn’t win!”  Puzzled look.

But here’s the bottom line:  people love free stuff.  Any kind of free stuff.  By the second day of the conference we had a line of people waiting to pluck a duck.  Every time someone picked a YOU WIN duck they screamed and we clapped and said“big money!” just for the hell of it and it drew even more people to the booth.  Most of the people had no idea what they had won, but they were unbelievably excited to win it.  We would hand them a little box, with no clue as to what was inside and they would walk away shouting to their friends that they won something.

The fact is, we could have been giving out rat poison and people would have been excited.  The skill and mastery involved in the duck game, along with the promise of a valuable and glamorous prize, was just enough.

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So Sue Me

Posted on April 15, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

I know you would never have guessed this, but when I grow up I want to be Judge Judy.  First, it is well established that I can judge people; quickly and sometimes even correctly.  Second, she says everything I would want to say to the idiots who stand before her.  Third, are you concerned that I’m watching more TV than ever?  Well, 30 minutes of Judge Judy helps loosen the old writer’s block, I can tell you that.

I wrote recently about the abnormally low IQs of retail customers, but they’re nothing compared to these litigants.  The cases typically center on the following themes:

The Jilted Lover:

Boy meets girl.  Girl infatuated with boy.  Boy goes to jail and girl puts bail on her credit card to get him out, because who could live without this catch?  Boy cheats on girl and winds up being someone else’s Baby Daddy.  Girl finds out and blames other girl.  Sues Baby Mama for stealing her man.  Judge Judy speaks slowly and carefully about the concept of birth control; dismisses the case and says they all deserve each other.

Neighbor From Hell

Neighbor is a freak and his dog keeps coming into the other neighbor’s yard.  Said dog, perhaps a Chihuahua, is portrayed as a killer animal.  The neighbor who owns the dog says that the other neighbor’s child is worse than his dog and he’s countersuing for damages from the chalk drawing on his driveway.  Judge Judy reviews picture of dog and child and tells Plaintiff and Defendant they are both idiots.

Roommate From Hell

A variation on the neighbor theme, but usually juicier.  Each roommate accuses the other of trashing the place, breaking a lease, not paying their share of rent or in some other way being total scum.  When things get heated, you can count on the person who seems to be losing to blurt out that the other person was doing drugs in the residence.  The other person immediately denies the statement and goes on the defensive, accusing the other roommate’s boyfriend of threatening her life and then flirting with her.  Fortunately this is Judge Judy, not Jerry Springer, so she yells at them and dismisses the whole case.

All In The Family

I guess it’s not really a family until someone sues someone for something stupid. Mom loaned son $450 to buy a car, and he’s only paid back $200.  She now sues him for $4,982.59.  That’s the balance, with interest, as well as a little something for her emotional distress.  Judge Judy yells at mother for suing her son and yells at son for not paying mother.  Final judgment, $250 owed from son to mother.  Mother and son talk smack about each other in the post-trial interview.

Driving Me Crazy

People love love love a suit involving a car accident.  The car is never insured; the alleged driver never has a license; the real driver has a suspended license, and nothing was anyone’s fault.  No your honor, no alcohol involved.  Nervous laugh.  Judge Judy explains that everyone is responsible for his or her actions.  Litigants clearly confused.  Judge Judy gets disgusted and throws them out; she does not suffer fools, drunk or otherwise.

Anyway, I’m desperate to get on Judge Judy but I don’t really have anyone to sue.  Who’s up for a fake lawsuit involving and all-expenses paid trip to NYC?

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Lost Dogs and Lucky Cats

Posted on April 12, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

Am I a magnet for weird people?  Answer that question carefully.  I was just eating lunch, that’s all.  Lots of people do that right?  I was minding my own business-hovered over my laptop and not even looking up.  A gentleman walks right up to me and says “Where’s Lost Dog?” and after a moment it dawns on me that I’m wearing a Lost Dog Café t-shirt.  I told him there were several in the area, gave him the location of the closest and mentioned that their food is great.  I then went back to my laptop, but the gentleman wasn’t going anywhere.  “I’ve got six.  Six dogs.”

And here is where I made my fatal mistake.  I know better than to engage but he hit my sweet spot and before I knew it I was telling him I had four cats.  “My six are all dachshunds.  You know that kind of dog?”  I nodded yes but in a very non-committal way.  No dice.  He was determined to continue to talk to me, and I would have been fine with that if he hadn’t started telling me a lively story about his dogs and the cats that foolishly wander into his yard.  I knew where this was headed and I tried immediately to stop him.

Prince Charming continued to tell me the story, leading up to the dramatic moment, and I begged him to stop.  He looked at my face and finally realized how upset I was, so he patted me on the arm and assured me the cat got away.  OK, first of all, no touching.  Secondly, why am I having an inane conversation with a stranger?  I can have inane conversations with my loved ones if I’m in the mood for that kind of thing.

I finally told him I was on a tight deadline and really needed to get back to work.  He patted me on the arm again, and the one time I’ve ever been grateful for a cell phone—his phone started ringing.  He excused himself to take an important call.  He looked at me with the can you excuse me look, and I gratefully waved him on and he left the restaurant.

If you stayed awake while reading this it might cross your mind that I actually have my own little space at the Writers’ Room in Tenleytown.  I worked there quite peacefully for 1 hour and 58 minutes on a 2 hour metered space.  Absolutely nowhere to move the car.  It was lunchtime so I drove back down to Arlington and ate at a restaurant that has a good old free parking lot.

I have learned one thing.  The next time I feel weirdness approaching, I no speaka the English.

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Stevie And Company

Posted on April 10, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

I know it’s been a few days since I posted and you all miss me terribly (I would too), but I’ve been somewhat busy.  Last night was set aside for Fleetwood Mac.  Yes, they were phenomenal.  Our girl Stevie sounded great, looked great and is still the world’s best twirler.  But it wasn’t all about Stevie, just mostly, because Lindsey Buckingham was on fire.  Mick Fleetwood was a maniac, but what else is new.  That’s nice for them and all, but I don’t need anyone cutting too much into Stevie Time.

So just a few negatives:

  1.  Where the f*** is Christie McVie?  Sorry for the language, but I’m very emotional about this
  2. I forget a scrunchy and couldn’t pull my hair back, and it was pretty hot in there
  3. Drunk, loud, obnoxious and sitting behind us.  The story of my life.  There was Stevie doing an incredible rendition of Landslide, and these two girls are “singing” at the top of their lungs.  I asked myself, did I buy a ticket to hear two off-key drunk girls?  I answered myself, no I did not.  If I wanted to hear that I could have done it for a lot less money at a karaoke bar.

Positives:  Absolutely everything else.

Just like when I saw them a couple of years ago, Lindsey and Stevie looked at each other without too much irony or bitterness when they played Second Hand News and The Chain, and only slightly disturbing that those were the first two songs.  So for a band that could have been the storyline for a soap opera, not too shabby.

You know how some children of divorce harbor a secret hope that their parents will get back together?  That’s how I feel about Stevie and Lindsey.  Can they not just make it work for the sake of the fans?  I don’t care so much about John and Christie’s break-up, except to say that if they had to lose one of them from the band it should have been John.  Maybe then I’d have a shot at hearing Songbird live.

Stevie was as usual changing from one black, winged dress to another, crystals hanging from her microphone, tambourine in hand.  It got me thinking…hey, I bet I could play the tambourine!  That’s the only thing I might be able to do, but maybe I could be in a band.  Then I tried to remember if there had ever been a band with someone who only played the tambourine, no singing.  I came up with Tracy Partridge; I don’t think this is happening for me.

I have a friend whose life-long ambition is to go to the Betty Ford Clinic while Stevie is there.  Well, duuh, who doesn’t fantasize about that…but Stevie seems pretty clean and sober.  Umm, and so am I.  Bummer.  But a girl can dream.

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Judgment Call

Posted on April 6, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

If there’s one thing I can’t stand (no worries, there are dozens more) it’s people who pass judgment on other people.  Who do these people think they are?  Me?

Of course I judge people, but I’m a professional with years of specialized training.  I have an opinion on everything–what you should name your kid, where you should go on vacation and what color you should paint your kitchen.  Naturally, when people ignore my opinion I’m left with no choice but to judge them,  because what kind of moron doesn’t heed my advice?

CJ and Lisa tell me they belong to a “no judging” gym.  In fact, they tell me they actually don’t judge others around them.  And although they’re perfectly nice people, I don’t believe them.  We’re talking about a gym, second only to the beach as the best place on earth to judge people.  Absolutely everyone is too fat or too thin or too tall or too short.  There are people who should or should not wear lycra and lipstick; if they’re too quiet they should speak up and if they’re too loud they should pipe down.  And for the sake of all that is good and right, people need to turn off their damn phones.  Good grief, do I have to explain everything?

It’s only fair that I judge myself all the time too, and believe me I hold up that end of the bargain.  For one thing there’s the question of the gym.  What kind of fat person just marches into a gym?  On the other hand, what kind of fat person sits on their ass and doesn’t go to the gym? And you have to be at least a little crazy to have 4 cats running your house.  I conservatively estimate that I watch 67 hours of reality TV each week.  Who does that?  I’m glued to Bravo while other people go out in the world and do smart stuff and cultural stuff and all that other stuff people do that makes them better than me.

Meanwhile, I’m getting dumber by the day.  I can describe, in detail, every fight a Real Housewife has ever had with another Real Housewife.  But can I reset the clock in my car?  Not so much.

Fortunately all I have to do to make myself feel better is judge someone who’s even worse than me.  Let’s say there’s a woman who also has 4 cats, but doesn’t know how to use a computer.  I win!  I’m the better person!  But it’s tricky.  I later find out that she’s been too busy taking care of her bedridden aunt for the last 20 years to take time for computers.  Crap.  I’ll have to recalculate the points, but she may have just taken the lead.

Does anyone need me to walk their dog?  I could really use the extra points.

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Killer Cats

Posted on April 4, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

I don’t want to be dramatic, but I’m pretty sure my cats are trying to kill me.  First Helen throws her tail right under my foot trying to trip me, then Jack and Janet take naps stretched out across the steps and Chrissy sneaks up and stands right between my feet when I’m brushing my teeth so that I either jump, fall or both.

But nothing is as bad as the toys.  Their toys are everywhere, and they particularly like to drag everything into my bathroom so they can make the most noise possible while we’re trying to sleep.  It’s just darling.

I have here real, unretouched photos of everything I found on my bathroom floor just yesterday morning.  You can see the precarious situation I’m trying to negotiate.  Warning:  this carnage may be disturbing to some people

Next to my sink:

mouseball

In front of my sink

purplemouse

In my shower

shower1

Miscellaneous areas

twomice

Janet’s beloved weasel

weasel

That’s something, huh?  Keep in mind these are just the toys in my bathroom on a single morning.  Every room in our house has at least this many toys, not to mention tunnels and towers and cubes and real furniture they have now claimed as their own.  And I guarantee you that there is a mouse waiting in the toes of at least half my shoes.

I can’t imagine how lovely it would be to just wake up every day with nice things, and nothing to do but eat and sleep.  What do they know that we don’t?  Then suddenly I remember…someone else had this same problem and got to the bottom of it.  The wisdom of Steve Martin:

Cat Handcuffs – YouTube.

And now we know why they’re trying to kill me.

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Happy Birthday Aubrey!

Posted on April 2, 2013 by Jill Foer Hirsch

Today is the anniversary of when I first became an Aunt.  I held Aubrey when she was just a few hours old. Her skin was still translucent; she was warm and snuggly and tiny and smelled good and I’d never loved anyone so much in my life. My brother Barry, the newly minted Uncle, was no less impressed.  Later in the day when he and I looked at her through the window in the nursery, in the middle of a sea of other babies (yep, they still did that then) he commented on how she was the most alert, a fine kicker and clearly the most beautiful.  I could swear I saw a tear come down his face but I’m sure he just had something in his eye.

That was 25 years ago today; I cannot imagine how a quarter of a century could go by so quickly, but the years seem to fly by faster and faster.

I never could have imagined how much Aubrey would change my world, just like her brothers who came after her.  Of course with her curly red hair, quick wit and hilarious self-deprecating humor she reminds me vaguely of someone I know.  Only so much better.

When Aubrey was little, I taught her how to put her hands on her hips and roll her eyes, and as if that wasn’t enough, I showed her air “quotes” and instructed her on how to use them when she was talking to her Daddy.  She took to it like a duck to water.  I delivered her back to her parents and by the time I got home my message light was blinking like crazy.  I remember CJ’s voice sputtering out of control “What did you do to my daughter? She’s just like you! You turned her into you!” as if that was a bad thing.  It was a proud moment for me.

Since she was very small Aubrey has always been in the middle of a gaggle of giggling girls (say that fast three times!)  She and her friend Samantha spent the weekend with us at the very height of the Spice Girls short-lived fame.  I am not exaggerating when I tell you that by Sunday afternoon Dan and I both knew the words to all the songs on the CD, considering the girls had been playing it all weekend.

In fairness, Aubrey’s always been a good sport too. When we took her to Paris and Amsterdam for her Bat Mitzvah, she was already morphing into a pouty teenager.  Her one word answer to everything was “what-ev-er.”  At the airport we presented her with a big cardboard sign that said WHATEVER.  The pictures are priceless.  Aubrey in front of the Eiffel Tower, WHATEVER.  Aubrey in front of the Louvre, WHATEVER.  You get the idea. She went along with it, and the pictures were on display at her Bat Mitzvah.  I’d love to post some of those pictures, but I love Aubrey more-and she’ll kill me.

As much as I enjoyed Aubrey as a child, what a pleasure it’s been to see her grow into an amazing young woman.  She is smart, funny, beautiful and very accomplished.  Not that I like to brag or anything, but she did earn her undergraduate degree summa cum laude and just completed her master’s degree at NYU.  Aubrey is the first person in our family to graduate college with honors (the rest of us made it through, but we aren’t too b-r-i-t-e), and maybe we got a little out of control at her graduation, but hey, things happen.

Aubrey’s passion is teaching autistic children, and she has an amazing natural gift for her chosen profession.  She is making the world better every day, and I could not be prouder.  It is my joy and my privilege to be her Aunt.

I think I’ve earned the right to continue to call her my little sweet pea.  Happy Happy Birthday Sweet Pea!!

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