Peeve O’ The Day

I’ve regaled you with so many of my pet peeves, but the list continues to grow and I would hate for you to miss anything.  Today’s annoyance?  Not spam, the filters catch most of that, but simply unwanted email.

Granted, I love email.  It goes a long way in helping me avoid the dreaded phone.  But unwanted email is super annoying, especially the incessant emails from companies that go to all the trouble to ask, politely, if I’d like to be added to their email lists, and despite the fact I specifically click the NO box, immediately send me email anyway.

Why on earth do they bother asking if they’re going to add me to the list come hell or high water?  Arrgh!

What’s interesting is that when I unsubscribe, there is frequently a multiple choice question about why I’m unsubscribing, and one of the answers is “I did not sign up to receive emails”  Really?  Irony anyone?

I think it’s time to rise up and fight back.  I’m going to start an email revolution.  These companies have “customer service” email addresses; I for one am going to start by sending a message about my dissatisfaction with ending up on their email list.  And I’m going to automatically send it day in and day out for the rest of eternity.  Possibly longer.  There will be an “unsubscribe” button that doesn’t do anything at all.

I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.  So look out virtual representatives, here I come.

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The Clueless Masses

My membership in the Writers’ Room doesn’t start until next week,  so I spent the afternoon at Panera Bread, nursing a diet soda and indulging in a lot of people watching and very little writing.

I came in right around noon, and the place was mobbed.  Dozens of impatient office workers tapping their feet, checking their watches, emailing, calling; anything other than just standing around wasting time.  Adults seem to have turned into toddlers-they need constant activity and distractions to keep them from whining while waiting in line.  How many times has that woman in front of me sighed loudly?  Wow.  Maybe I should let her play with my keys to pass the time.  Or perhaps the nice manager could bring her crayons and some crackers to prevent a complete meltdown.

The good news is that lunchtime was primo eavesdropping.  I’ve learned a lot.  Apparently everyone in the world works for a moron, with a bunch of idiots, for a completely incompetent organization about to crash and burn.  Man.  If they were running the place things would be a lot better.

First of all, what’s up with the sales department?  Those guys do whatever the hell they want all day, and when they finally get around to closing a sale they want a freakin’ parade or something.  And IT?  Do they stay awake at night thinking of ways to make sure the system sucks?

HR?  Don’t even ask.  They live to make everyone else’s life miserable.  And marketing?  Where do you even start with that crowd?  They spend a lot of time “brainstorming” which is really just code for goofing off.   When it comes right down to it, my department is the most understaffed, overworked, undervalued…you get the idea.  There are apparently a lot of heroes out there saving the world from worthless people.

Later, closer to 4:00, the after school crowd is starting to wander in, and it appears to be dinnertime for the elderly.

The school kids tell their parents all about the clueless teachers and mean principals and insane amount of homework, and the elderly complain mostly about the cost of everything, including the lousy little bowl of soup they’re tucking into as we speak.  The overall theme, once again, is just how annoying it is to deal with the world and its inhabitants.

When I was leaving I decided to grab Dan a cookie or something.  I was back in line, and when one of the cashiers waved me forward I hesitated for a moment because the previous customer was still standing there.  She waved to me again and I sort of stood to the side of the register while the guy who had already ordered and paid stood right in front of the register chatting away on his phone, oblivious.  At some point as the cashier and I shouted over him he caught a clue and very, very slowly moved forward.

The cashier gave a fairly respectable eye roll (a 7.3 on a scale of 1 to 10) and said she gets customers like that all day.  Idiots, every last one of them.  I told her I understood.  I really would have loved to tell her that the guy in front of me was preoccupied because he was singlehandedly running an organization in which he was surrounded by morons, but the timing just didn’t seem right.  Maybe next time.

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What Would Martha Do?

I’m the last person to deny that my cats run the house.  Free reign on the kitchen table, counters; whatever they want.  I’m not proud of this; I’m just telling you the reality of being outnumbered by animals.  I had a friend over for lunch today, so I spent the morning sanitizing the kitchen.  The very last thing I did was wipe down the kitchen table and put out clean, fur-free place mats.

I turned my back for one split second, and that was it.  That’s all Chrissy needed to go bounding up on the table.  Granted, she’s on the table a lot.  But I’ve never seen her skid across the table, flop down on a place mat, and roll around on it like a pig in mud.  Honestly, never.  And just as I was getting ready to yell at her and swat her down, she got unbearably adorable.  Dag nab it!  So I grabbed the other placemats before she could ruin those too, and then of course took a picture right as she was looking all innocent.  Sigh.

DSCN0926 (2)

Dan noted it could be worse, and reminded me about a baby shower I hosted many years ago.  First, my friend told me that one of the guests was absolutely terrified of cats.  No problem; our cats at the time, Sophie and Mukki, were confined to the master bedroom as guests started arriving.  The cat-phobic guest arrived and apologized for asking me to lock up the cats.  I assured her it was no problem, but she decided at that moment to conquer her seemingly irrational fear, and after repeatedly insisting that I let them out, I did.

Sophie and Mukki were social enough, friendly, but far from lap cats.  It was like watching a movie when I opened the bedroom door and they went bounding downstairs, straight into the family room, and ran like cats out of hell directly into this poor woman’s lap.  I’d never seen anything like it.  I thought the woman was having a heart attack; I’m pretty sure she stopped breathing for a bit.  I grabbed the cats and dumped them in the other room but the minute I turned around they came back at her again.

I went to lock them up again, but Mukki wriggled away.  When I went back to get her she was behaving normally, just skulking around sniffing things and certainly not jumping into anyone’s lap.  The woman had calmed down and she said it was actually good, because the cats jumped on her but they didn’t bite or do anything horrible and they were so soft, etc., etc.  Wow.  I was pretty proud to have a couple of therapy cats on my hands.  Who knows, maybe I’d even give them a treat later.

While our guest of honor went back to opening gifts, I went in the dining room to check on lunch.  I had poached a side of salmon and covered it in lemons and cucumbers; the last time I checked it looked like it was right out of a Martha Stewart magazine.  Unfortunately, this time I found Mukki, face down in the salmon, chowing away like there was no tomorrow.  Turns out she knew how to poach salmon as well.  Hmmph.  I pulled her off the fish, and there was literally a cat face shaped imprint on the salmon.  If I’d tried to make salmon look like a cat face, I honestly couldn’t have done it any better.

It wasn’t really Mukki’s fault; what kind of moron leaves a cat loose with a bunch of fish?  I’d just sort of forgotten she was out.  I put her away again, and as I had twenty guests and nothing else for an entrée, I had no choice but to cut all the way around the part she had touched, and fill it in with a lot more lemons and cucumbers.

Ever since then, the rule is that if we’re having company, the cats get locked up at least until we’re done eating.  But today I didn’t even have any food out yet!  Luckily, my friend has a whole menagerie of her own, and understood completely.

With all my leisure time now, I figure it’s time for me to train these cats and whip them into shape.  I’ll let you know how it goes…

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How Best Western Ruined My Entire Life

This Best Western thing has taken a turn for the worse, because now they think I want to continue to stay in their, umm, lodgings.  They make it sound like I’m some kind of longstanding customer!  They have my address and my credit card number so I will be stalked for the rest of my life.

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It’s not just the stalking that frightens me; now I have a skeleton in the closet.  When I become really famous Oprah Winfrey is going to ask me what my life was like before my blockbuster book hit the shelves.  Oprah is pretty hip to the whole “born a poor black child” story; I’d go with a demure statement about our upper middle class life, traveling and whatnot.  And then Oprah would whip out a copy of the Best Western bill and ask me to identify it, and just like that, the jig is up.  I try to explain, accept a follow up interview with Katie Couric, but all in vain.  Done, washed up, has been.

Surely Dan can now see why I need to stay at Four Seasons and Ritz-Carltons going forward.  Off to get some rest now.  Honestly, this whole thing has been very traumatic.

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Clean Up In Aisle 3!

It’s been a full week now since I left legal administration, but old habits die hard, and I found myself engaging in a little shop talk at dinner with friends tonight.  One of my friends was summarizing her latest firm projects, which through sheer coincidence all involved the men’s room.

The Dribbler

Several people were quick to report a recurring issue in one of the men’s rooms…a puddle.  My friend, the consummate professional, responded with “Ooooh.  Yuck.”  Normally she would be inclined to let the men wallow in their own filth, but this rest room happens to be in the conference center where it is frequented by clients.  And, as she wisely pointed out, she didn’t want the men tracking their dirty sticky shoes across her nice clean carpet.

She considered sending an email to all the men in her firm, but that’s just a recipe for disaster.  She thought about hanging signs over the urinals, but then clients would be in their fancy lawyer’s office reading placards that said “Please aim carefully; no dribblers tolerated.”  Nope, that wouldn’t work either.  So she did what any administrator would do; set a trap.  She has eyes and ears everywhere, and sooner or later they will be able to identify The Dribbler.  She’s not sure exactly what she’ll do when she finds him, but trust me, she will find him.

Trash v. Urinal

The men in my friend’s office also have a misunderstanding about the function of trash cans as opposed to urinals; which is presumably why the urinals are frequently clogged with candy wrappers.  So there is a male creature roaming around her office who multitasks by combining snacks with restroom breaks.  Umm, appetizing.  I guess the biggest concern though is if he knows that the urinal is not just a place to hold trash; if heaven forbid he looks at the trash can and decides that’s where he should pee?  Yikes.

This bathroom was on a different floor, so up went the signs “Please do not put trash in the urinals.”  So far the signs have met with limited success.  I suggest that she might want to be clearer and label the urinals and the trash can, as well as specify the appropriate use of each.  I’m waiting to hear how that works out for her.

The Bathroom v. The Library

Each morning the receptionist places The Washington Post and The Wall Street Journal on the table in reception, presumably for the enjoyment of clients and other visitors.  Unfortunately, a certain partner has decided to grab one or both of the papers on his way to the men’s room, where he either leaves it on the counter or worse, places it back on the coffee table after it has been, well, sullied.

At least with this one she knew the culprit, so it called for the kind of one-on-one conversations that administrators just love.  She patiently explained that if he wanted his very own subscription, which would give him the freedom to use the paper each day as he saw fit, the firm would be happy to order the paper and charge it to his personal account.  My friend assured him that one of the office staff would lovingly deliver the paper to his desk each and every morning, and then he should just keep it.  Seriously, no one else wanted to see the thing.  He continues to waver and has not committed to any final decision.

Administrator v. Caretaker

Hard to believe, but my friend actually has responsibilities beyond that of bathroom monitor.  Running the office and all like that, as is her job as an administrator.  She would love to focus on her management duties, but she’s too busy being a caretaker, hunting down dribblers and paper thieves and all the rest.  She checked her job description and figures this all falls under “other duties as assigned.”

Another friend at the table, a retired teacher, points out how much less work it was to keep kids in line.  Apparently they knew better than to pull stunts like this.  Then, in as compassionate a way as possible, we both giggle uncontrollably and say “it must suck to be you!”  That’s just the kind of friends we are.

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From Bad To Worse

You know that I’m always keepin’ it real here people, so no matter how hard, the truth must be told.  We stayed at a Best Western “Hotel” last weekend.  It worked well with our budget but was an affront to my sensibilities.  In my mind Best Western is only a slight step up from camping.  So OK, it wasn’t horrible.  The concierge was very accommodating, and the piano bar was the perfect spot for a nightcap. The lush robes, elegant turndown service, spacious marble bathroom, perfection.  Everything just the way we like it…when we used to stay at nice hotels.

As I gazed around the room in the hopes of finding some redeeming quality, I couldn’t help but wonder; if this was the BEST Western, were there a Good Western and a Better Western?  What would one expect from those establishments?  That’s when it hit me; finally, a business idea that would revolutionize the hospitality industry.

Today’s consumers are looking for something a little different when it comes to an all-inclusive vacation.  The time has come for a resort that offers an alternative version of paradise.  I am pleased to introduce CLUB MEDiocre.

Picture a secluded beach, with concrete instead of sand, a nice clean filtered ocean, and sailcloth providing shade and protection over the entire works.  I think that, unfortunately, I have to give my friend Betsey credit for 51.3% of this concrete beach idea.  But Betsey wanted to add a Kohl’s, and shopping is where I draw the line between her dream and my nightmare.  No retail establishments unless they sell food.  And I mean real food, no salads, fat-free frozen yogurt or organic anything.

As a resort we would of course serve girly little umbrella drinks.  The Skinny Girl Margarita has been done to death.  The rest of us need a product that fits our lifestyle!  I’d like to introduce the world to Fat Chick Concoctions.  Not only tasty adult beverages, but with added trans-fats and high fructose corn syrup (no matter what you’ve heard about it) they are sure to keep you at your fighting weight.

Accommodations will be very special too; prepare to settle in at the (concrete)beach-front Worst Western Hotel.  Inside the sparse lobby, the clerk at the front desk will be someone uniquely un-helpful, with extremely poor hygiene.  Guests will help themselves to luggage carts featuring at least 1 bad wheel, making them impossible to steer.   Once in their rooms, guests will relax on air mattresses…just as soon as they find linens.  The modular plastic showers will feature a mélange of soap chips and plenty of fresh, cold water.  Shampoo?  I think not.

Naturally we’ll round out the resort with world-class entertainment such as generic sloppy drunks and teenage girls who just broke up with their boyfriends and need to talk it out with someone.

And last but not least, yours truly as activities director.  I can’t wait to share all my favorite pastimes, including sleeping, eating, watching TV and avoiding all physical activity.

Be sure to sign up now for a getaway guaranteed to be, umm, unique!

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A Midwinter Tale

Well, we had quite an eventful trip to Chicago.  We met CJ and Lisa at O’Hare, and then drove out to Evanston, home of Northwestern University.  We were there to see Sean in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. 

The first problem was CJ.  Channeling Rainman, he kept telling us he had a routine, he knew exactly how to get to the hotel, he knew where he was going to park and eat and blah blah blah.  I’m used to ignoring him so it wasn’t much worse than the usual buzzing sound in my ears when he’s talking.

The second problem was of course CJ.  As an all-knowing being he had a vision of which building on the sprawling campus housed the performance, so he pulled over and parked somewhere in Indiana, certain it was close, and easier to get to on foot.  Well, at least it was a nice evening for a long walk—2 degrees, high winds, snowing.  Oh yeah, and I wore heels because I didn’t know we were going to be hiking cross-country in search of the abominable snowman.

I did get to see the enormous Kellogg School of Management building.  Three times in fact—each time we walked around it, frozen and still lost.  Oh my, were we getting yet another tour of the library building architecture?  I would have suffered in silence but then I wouldn’t be me.  So I whined bitterly the entire time and didn’t stop until we split off at the airport this morning.  Then I called CJ and whined some more.  He hates not being able to slam down the phone.

At long last, merely 53 miles from where we parked the car we finally found the venue.  Not a theatre so much as a squat, remarkably shed-like building.  I was looking forward to the chance to warm up and get off my feet.  And then we walked into…a dance club.  Flashing strobes, girls wearing little tiny bits of nothing, loud house music.  There was even an impressive drag queen, who turned out to be Puck.

CJ said it was an avant-garde production.  He didn’t mention how experimental the kids might have been in reinterpreting Shakespeare, like setting the action in a loud, crowded club rather than in the woods.  No seats for the audience or anything too traditional like that.  And the part where different scenes would take place simultaneously at various spots around the loud crowded room.  But in fairness, he didn’t really know the full details.

Sean mentioned in advance that his character, Bottom, takes a long nap in the middle of the show, so we would have to watch the other kids perform and pretend we found them interesting.  I don’t know if he mentioned that his “nap” took place while he was wearing a leather donkey mask, handcuffed to a rope over his head, with a dominatrix in a bustier and fish nets sitting in his lap from time to time.  She was a little clingy for my taste, but Sean seemed pretty content.

I looked at Sean chained up, wearing that donkey mask, and asked CJ and Lisa to remind me how much they paid a year for this school?  I know it was a proud moment for them as parents.  So we went and saw the play again for a second night, and we were all slightly better able to follow various scenes and knew where to find Sean if we wanted to see him sleeping through part of the play.

After the show, Sean introduced us to his director, producer, and several other cast members, including Ms. Clingy Dominatrix.  The show was over yet she was still sort of clinging to Sean and telling us how much she loved him.  How much she REALLY and truly loved him.  She assured us that she checked on Sean from time to time to make sure the handcuffs weren’t pinching him or anything.  Sean showed us how, while chained up and in a donkey mask, he would jingle his chains to reassure her he was just splendid.

As if that wasn’t enough, Ms. Clingy noted that her Aunt was there for the performance as well.  I didn’t want to get too defensive, but I did make it clear that there are Aunts and then there are AUNTS, and I am the latter.  I told her I knew I was a better Aunt than her Aunt.  She said she’d try to find her and introduce us—we should look for a woman in a bustier and garters.  Fine, she wins for most devoted Aunt.  Happy now little Ms. Fishnets?  Geez, what some people are willing to do to compete.  Just ridiculous.

All jokes aside, it was a pretty ambitious and interesting interpretation of Shakespeare, and Sean, when awake, was very impressive.  It seems to me this kind of creative license is exactly why a kid would go to a school like Northwestern.  I would give it two thumbs up but I can’t.  My fingers are still frozen.

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Gone Fishin’

Wrapped up at work and off to Chicago.  In the meanwhile, ponder two statements I heard recently that gave me pause:

  1.  “She sends me weird, opaque emails”
  2. “It’s really weird.  The hamster smells like pretzels.  In fact, it smells like Snyder’s of Hanover sourdough pretzels”

Take time to slow down and smell the hamsters…and know that I will be back!

 

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When Pigs Fly And Phones Go Down

Getting so close to my last day…just two days to go now. Slowly but surely I’ve been packing up my stuff; the things I brought here in 2007, the things I’ve acquired since then. My beloved solar operated waving Queen, magic wand and all. I started plowing through old emails and my life with the firm has been flashing before my eyes. How could I have forgotten the time the kitchen flooded, or that holiday season when I approved every single secretary’s leave request and then all the attorneys came in to work, or the day I brought down the entire phone system trying to “fix” the programming?

I’m going to go out on a limb and say that someone like me should not be learning the phone software by trying different things and seeing what happens.  I was offered programming training but that stuff is for sissies who can’t take a little pressure when it all comes crashing down.

The fact is, I was a large firm snob before I worked at my current firm. I remember coming in for my first interview and hesitating at the door wondering what kind of fly-by-night operation they were running here because I’d never heard of them. They didn’t even have branding or a logo for crying out loud. I just prayed that I would not see advertisements for them on late night TV; Lawyers R Us. I was laughing with my boss the other day telling her that at that moment I almost turned around and went straight back out the door, but so glad I came in and discovered this great law firm. She said that the minute I left her office she started calling the other partners and telling them she found someone great. And you know, she was so right on that.

Prior to joining a small firm, I shared a perception with my mega-firm colleagues that our counterparts in small firms had it easy. I mean what the hell do you do all day with only 30 attorneys? Well, quite a bit as it turns out. Just about everything, in fact. I looked around for quite some time trying to find the marketing department, recruiting department, IT department, but they just didn’t exist. I was it.  Of course when I got to know other small firm administrators they said that with such huge staffs they didn’t know what the hell large firm administrators did all day. I explained that somehow, no matter what size the firm or the staff, we’re all working our tails off.

A couple of years ago a partner brought me an RFP and asked that I give it to whoever handles proposals.  I said no problem; I’ll drop it off in the marketing department.  My partner said “great!” and wandered off down the hallway.

I went in the other direction, asking everyone to point me in the direction of the marketing department.  People here are pretty used to me wandering down the hallway babbling to myself, so they humored me and then rolled their eyes when they thought I wasn’t looking.  I eventually wound my way back to my office, where I proceeded to ask myself if I was the marketing department.  I am not a sane person who should be left to her own devices, but I sure do have a lot of fun.

I have a small framed drawing of happy pink pigs with big sparkly wings.  It’s kind of my totem—here’s who I am, be prepared for a little silliness.  A few firms ago I hung my pigs in an inconspicuous corner as I settled in to the new job.  A partner came by and asked what, and why.  I laughed and explained that sometimes when I think about my job it’s sort of as absurd as flying pigs and hee hee ha ha…but I was the only one laughing.  He made me take it down, and I knew it wasn’t the firm for me.  I never even bothered unpacking my desktop claw machine with the little dollar store parachute soldiers.

My current firm has always taken me exactly as I am; flying pigs, Halloween decorations, candy, toys and everything else.  For that I will always be grateful.  I don’t know what my next adventure will be like, but I’m having a lot of fun watching my own highlight reel as I move forward.

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Attack Of The Killer Accounting Managers

Liquid courage.  We’ve all seen it in action; some of us even remember our own acts of drunken “bravery.”  As the only sober person at a business dinner, my downfall was that I believed the sloshed slobs surrounding me.

I was working as an accounting manager in a branch office of a large law firm, and my counterparts from other offices and I were all at HQ for a “retreat.”  The first evening, a dozen or so of we branch office types went out for a nice dinner.  The wine flowed, laughter pierced the night, and the conversation turned to trash talk.

Every year, the meetings at the retreat included an “open forum” in which we were all encouraged to speak freely about what was on our minds.  Ha.  Lovely little trick that, let me tell you.  A big fat trap designed to ferret out the rogue spirits and shut them down.  It was the same thing every time; some idiot (mostly me) would decide to actually speak up during the open forum and would quickly discover that no one at HQ had any interest whatsoever.  The idiot was labeled a dangerous dissident and cut out like a cancer.  Well, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but it was almost exactly like that.

So that evening at dinner, I mentioned some things I thought HQ should be asked to address.  A dozen colleagues were slurring “you know it Jill,” and “I agree completely Jill.”  OK, so tomorrow at the meeting everyone is going to speak up?  “Damn straight!”, “Hell yes!”, “We’re not going to take this anymore-united front!”  Looking around at my fellow rebels, tears in my eyes, I felt like the Lech Walesa of the law firm branch office accounting manager world.

The next day I seemed to be one of the few people not wearing dark glasses and washing down Tylenol with mimosas.  But wouldn’t it all be better when we cleared the air?  A couple of hours of looking at white boards that  mapped out the way various general ledger transactions flowed through T accounts (it was the perfect time to take a quick nap), and there it was on the agenda…Open Forum.

I cleared my throat, looked the CFO straight in the eye and said, “the branch office managers have some issues we’d like to discuss”  He gave me a look that said a) I probably can’t get you fired for this and b) but I will die trying.  I stood up and threw out a couple of items.  Not adversarial mind you, just advocating for our right to think rather than blindly follow orders like sheep.  Baa.

When I finished speaking the CFO said he thought I was the only one who felt that way.  Smug, hands on my hips, I said “No, we all spoke about it last night and we stand behind this.”  Sweeping my arm grandly around the conference room, I was straining to hear the sound of my colleagues cheering me on…but it was just the sound of silence.  I looked around, starting to feel a little desperate.  Crickets.  “Cathy, did you not bring up this very point last night at dinner?”  Cathy shrugged her shoulders, mumbled something incoherent, and stared down at her lap.

“Joe, weren’t you fired up about that new software being shoved down our throats?”  Joe stared at the ceiling and looked like someone who had never been fired up about anything in his life.  And so it went as one colleague after another denied all involvement.   I did have one partner in crime who spoke up, but with no other momentum we were shut down, turned off, and kicked to the curb.

I stood up at Open Forum every year and spoke out against the hypocrisy until I was cited for war crimes and sentenced to a lifetime of accountancy.  Thank goodness I later broke free.  After I left the firm I begged my friend to play a video at the next retreat of me whining and complaining…but it seemed like a wasted effort.  Annoying the CFO was one of my greatest pleasures in life, but it wasn’t the same unless I was there.

Let this be a cautionary tale; friends don’t let friends down one bottle of wine after another while plotting a coup d’état.

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