[

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finished

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And speaking of Amsterdam, I have been told that the Dutch like milk. A lot. And I would have to agree. Because you don’t have flight attendants walking the aisles with pre-filled cups including champagne, beer, red and white wine, water, and milk unless you are a country that really loves milk.

We finally made it to Germany long past the time of our dinner reservation at 8 p.m. so we had to make do with the hotel bar. The hotel bar menu was heavy on drinks but light on food so our choices consisted of what appeared to be an attempt at “appetizers from around the world”.  I bypassed the fried “Asian-style” sampler and garlic bread listings in favor of nachos. Because I am a California girl. If you are in California and you order nachos, you will receive: a plateful of corn tortilla chips covered in cheese, beans, salsa, meat of choice, sour cream, and possibly guacamole, olives, jalapeños, and other assorted extras. (Or you might receive a paper tray full of tortilla chips with bright yellow runny cheez product, but I really don’t recommend that you order nachos at the high school football game.) Apparently in Germany when you order nachos you can expect to receive: seasoned, way too salty tortilla chips on a plate with a small side cup of guacamole (that was actually pretty good) and a small side cup of salsa. And in Germany “salsa” refers to ketchup with some tomato chunks in it. This was perhaps not my favorite meal. Although giving the benefit of the doubt to Germany, apparently none of the food from the bar was very good. So perhaps the good nachos can be found elsewhere.

We stayed up way too late for the second night in a row and while the first late night was rather pleasant, the second was just tedious. But alas, there are certain times in business when saying, “can we go to bed now?” is deemed inappropriate.

The next day was long. Some of us were grouchy. And some of us were really getting sick of that same presentation over and over. So after work we decided to go out and walk the square. We walked around until 8 when the shops closed (because in the height of summer tourists like to go home at 8 p.m.) and then stopped at basically the first restaurant we saw for dinner. This restaurant was another chichi option where everyone in the small dining room was drinking wine. Everyone.

But because it was Germany, and because some of us were tired of being fashionable and trendy, two of us ordered beers anyway from a rather limited selection. There was a wait for a table so we sat at the bar. It may be that they forgot about us. It may be that the bartender (who looked like he was about 16) really liked our company. Or it may be that the restaurant patrons were just really really slow. But after about 2 hours of waiting it occurred to us that we probably should have been seated and perhaps we should find another restaurant, at which point they hastened to clear off a table. The menus were in German and most of the staff only spoke German (which really had been part of the appeal of this restaurant in the first place) so we had to wait a bit for the manager to come out and translate for us. If I may say so, I was actually doing a fine job of translating the menu despite the fact that I don’t know any German, because food and I have that special bond. But under the manager’s guidance we passed over the plated dishes in favor of an assortment of Bavarian tapas. And it was very good.

Thus concludes the whirlwind European tour. I had an excruciating 11-hour flight to SFO followed by a one-hour drive home followed by a nap on the couch, dinner (which, coincidentally was Indian food), and bed. And I awoke Saturday with a newfound sense of resolve to go eat some good Mexican food.

Oh yeah, it also seems that to the European sensibilities I look like I’m German, not British. Because certainly a distinction should be made in that area.

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awake

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We arrived in Amsterdam fairly late but went out to dinner anyway at a trendy chichi restaurant downtown where dinner took 3 hours and the waiter apparently couldn’t read his own handwriting. Or perhaps he was just pretending to write down our orders. Or maybe he felt we should have ordered differently. In a meal that was basically Asian fusion tapas, he had about a 75% success rate in bringing the right dish. But the food was tasty and had we arrived at the restaurant before 10 p.m., a 3-hour dinner might have been quite nice. We’ve certainly had Small Division reunion happy hours that have lasted longer.

The next day started early and involved me giving the same 2-hour presentation four times. I’m sure my co-workers enjoyed listening to it as much as I enjoyed giving it. For lunch we went to the cafeteria. Now prior to arriving in Amsterdam, people kept telling me how bad their food is. In fact, the guy from the Amsterdam office who was taking us to lunch told us how bad the food was. And certainly it didn’t look terribly appetizing. But the food server was enthusiastic and told us what was in each and every dish. I ended up selecting the “enchilada” which was basically ground meat and kidney beans with some distinctly non-Mexican seasoning in a flour tortilla topped with Parmesan cheese and broiled. I thought it tasted just fine, but I wouldn’t have called it an enchilada. And while I enjoyed the food in Amsterdam, I did notice that I didn’t actually eat anything native to the continent while there.

After a long day we were off to the airport to head to Munich. And Amsterdam, which was so welcoming when we arrived, seemed to have a grudge against anyone wanting to leave. We split up to go through security under the impression that it would be faster (and maybe it was), so the four of us were in four separate lines, didn’t look like we were together, and weren’t even all from the same country. Yet we all got groped. And when I say groped I don’t mean a pat down, I mean a squeeze and shake groping. Because apparently in Amsterdam you get friendly fast. Must be the mushrooms.

Our British host was the third one through security where she claimed the dubious distinction of having the security person stick her hand down her pants and grab her crotch. She emphasizes that she still prefers men. Our fourth co-worker lagged because she had to put her clothing back on although apparently she really lost out in the attentiveness of her groping, escaping with a mere pat. Perhaps she seemed high-maintenance? Like she had some baggage or father issues? I guess we’ll never know.

Next: The Worst Nachos Ever 

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hungry

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On Monday we had a very nice breakfast and went off to meetings which consisted of a couple of vendor presentations and one presentation by me to the UK’s marketing team. All went well and it was off to dinner which lasted until about 11 p.m. This was longer than anticipated and resulted in boots being put on our two hosts’ cars because they hadn’t paid for enough time in the carpark. But a good time was had anyway. At some point during the dinner one of our hosts asked what my favorite part of our day in London was. I said the Indian food. This caused a ripple of excitement among both the British folk at the table and the wait staff. It was followed by a dating offer from one of the servers. May I point out that I don’t think any of them are actually Indian. So our host asked if I remembered what I had ordered. And of course I remembered what I had ordered. It’s the same stuff I normally order, just spelled slightly differently. And since I had ordered for my co-worker as well I remembered what she had. Then he asked how I had developed “this great love of Indian food.” At which point I decided they must not be aware of how prolific Indian food is around here, since I hadn’t actually professed a love of Indian food specifically. All in all I found the conversation amusing and promised to take them out for Indian food when they visit us next.

We had a couple of meetings on Tuesday and then headed to the airport to fly to Amsterdam. The core group had become me, my boss, our co-worker from the US, and my European liaison from the UK who had arranged the trip for us. We arrived in Amsterdam without incident. The guy at customs spent an inordinate amount of time talking to me about the merits of marketing as a profession but then passed the British person through without a second look. He spent a lot of time talking to my boss too so our host concluded that everyone wants to talk to the Americans and the Brits just get ignored. She perhaps might have appreciated that dynamic the next day in the Amsterdam airport, except it turns out that the Brits aren’t always ignored. (Heh, heh)

Next: Amsterdam meets Mexico and Big Company vs. the Airport

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sleepy

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Friday afternoon my boss and I carpooled to SFO (she drove). Upon checking in we discovered that due to a long boring story, her flight reservations had been cancelled. So I proceeded through security while she tried to get another flight. This left me alone for a long period of time in which I contemplated why the airport would have bins labeled: Recycle Paper, Recycle Bottles and Cans, and Litter. Why not trash? Or rubbish? Or garbage?  Doesn’t litter refer to dropping something on the ground (or in my truck bed) outside of the bin? Couldn’t litter also be a recyclable?

So anyway, the flight left late which gave me exactly two minutes to make my connection in Denver. Luckily the gates were pretty close to each other. I arrived at Heathrow at noon on Saturday and spent an eternity waiting for my shuttle. One could argue that this was good because it’s unlikely that I’d fall asleep while standing on the sidewalk trying to read the shuttle numbers as they pass by. I have fallen asleep standing in line at the Tower of London before though, so one should never assume too much.

As it turns out, my boss couldn’t get another flight for the weekend (good thing I didn’t drive to the airport) and had to fly out arriving 6 a.m. Monday morning. So Saturday afternoon I checked my email, met up with another co-worker for dinner around 4 p.m., and couldn’t stay awake past 7 p.m. My goal had been to hold out until 9, but the plan was also that my boss would keep me awake. Somehow staying awake was harder when I was actually in pajamas lying in bed trying to read. But I’m sure it was fun for the maid who tried to come in and turn down the bed around 6.

Sunday morning I set out with my co-worker to see London. My goal was to eat Indian food. Her goal was to see ornate buildings. We managed to accomplish both quite satisfactorily. We found an Indian restaurant for lunch, which was very good, although not that different from what you’d find around here. By the time dinner rolled around we were tired of walking and stopped at the closest restaurant outside the tube stop where we randomly decided exit. It was a steak restaurant but they had Chicken Kiev – a dish that I only eat in London. So I decided to keep with tradition (or maybe establish a tradition is more accurate) and order the chicken. It was just fine.

Next post: The Work Begins

During my flight to London the flight attendants came by offering coffee or tea. Going on the assumption that selecting tea meant I would get a cup of hot water and a teabag, the following conversation ensued.

Letseat: What kind of tea do you have?

Attendant: The normal kind. What do you mean by that?

Letseat: (Realizing at this point that she probably doesn’t want tea after all.) I mean, is it black tea?

Attendant: I don’t know. It doesn’t have milk in it if that’s what you mean.

Letseat: That’s ok, I’ll pass on the tea. Thanks.

Attendant: (Still trying to figure out the question.) Did you mean, like is it green tea or something?

Letseat: Yes, that’s what I meant.

Attendant: Oh no, we don’t have that.

Letseat: I’m from California.

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Last week…

The plan for Monday:

• 8 a.m. meeting
• Work until 5 or so
• Jujitsu
• Rehearsal

The real Monday:

• 8 a.m. meeting
• Missed lunch
• Worked late
• Missed jujitsu
• Rehearsal

The plan for Tuesday:

• 8 a.m. meeting
• Work until 4:30
• Exercise leg
• A little more work from home
• Laundry

The real Tuesday

• 8 a.m. meeting
• Missed lunch again
• Didn’t exercise leg
• Worked late
• 2 loads of laundry
• Introduced Molly’s cat to Simon and babysat for awhile
• Went out to buy replacement shower parts

The plan for Wednesday:

• 8 a.m. meeting
• Home by 1 to meet the plumber
• Performance

The real Wednesday

• 8 a.m. meeting
• Missed lunch
• Home to meet the plumber
• Plumber is missing part needed to fix shower
• Work until evening
• Decide to inventory suits a day early, just in case
• Discover no shirts work with suit jackets, run out to the store
• Plumber comes back, discovers the new part doesn’t fit
• Work until 8:15
• Eat dinner quickly and feel sick
• Off to perform

The plan for Thursday

• 9 a.m. meeting
• Lunch!
• Leave around 4:30 so that plumber can come back
• Pack for trip

The real Thursday

• 9 a.m. meeting
• Lunch! 
• Embarrassing Meeting (more on this later)
• Leave around 6, plumber doesn’t show up
• Pack for trip

The plan for Friday

• Sleep in
• Leave for the airport at 1:30
• Fly to Europe with co-worker 4:15

The real Friday

• Plumber calls at 7:30
• Plumber shows up and fixes shower (mostly) at 8
• Decide to clean out refrigerator and pantry for Molly at 10:30
• Discover a dropped egg had splattered not just on the refrigerator and floor, but also on pants at 11:30
• Quick load of laundry
• Leave for airport at 1:30
• Fly to Europe all alone at 4:15

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I inherited a coffee maker awhile back along with half a bag of coffee filters. When I used up the filters I bought more of the same, and when I wore out the coffee maker, I inherited another one. And since the shape of the container that holds the coffee grounds was the same between the two machines, I continued happily using the same filters.

As it turns out, one odd characteristic of my new coffee maker is that it occasionally causes the side of the filter to fold over, thus making the grounds overflow and go into the coffee. This is a rather annoying characteristic. But after a year and a half of this happening I finally figured out why. I’ve been using the wrong size filters.

I discovered this while walking through Longs one day where I noticed itty bitty filters – just right for a 4 cup coffee maker, which is what I have. Rather than buy the filters for about $1.50, I decided to continue using my current too large filters, being very careful so as not to allow the sides to fold over. It’s not so much that I’m cheap (although I am cheap) as much as it seemed like a waste to throw away the rest of my existing filters.

So the other day I was at my parents’ house and I decided to peek at my dad’s coffee maker to see if he could use my current coffee filters. He caught me looking at it and asked why so I explained about the wrong size filters. He then pulled out a bag of itty bitty filters. It turns out that he had accidentally bought the wrong size filters, and rather than going back to purchase large filters, he had been very carefully trying to keep the grounds from overflowing the small ones. So we’re going to trade.

And not even two full months past the wedding I found an occassion to wear my bridesmaid dress again. Our swing venue had a "dress for the prom" theme night. Molly and I wrote ourselves onto the ballot as "cutest couple" but seem to have lost by a vote. Which means the winners of the various categories got about 3 votes each? Yeah, that sounds about right.

If only Molly had worn her matching bridesmaid dress, I'm sure we would have won!

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Two weeks ago:

Asked for help by a co-worker who needed to merge content for two different product lines into one website. The completion date for this project is May 1. Letseat gave suggestions on how to start the project.

Ten days ago:

Determined that a new interface was needed to house the new content. Letseat gave direction to co-worker to pass on to project owner.

One week ago:

Co-worker doesn’t know how to put together a website. Letseat becomes defacto liaison between project owner and new website creation process and vendor.

One week ago:

Project owner sets up strategic meeting and invites Letseat, but not co-worker. Strategic project contributors discuss strategic implementation of new website. No decisions are made.

Six days ago:

Letseat’s boss tells Letseat that since she is now helping to manage new website process, her own project can take a second priority.

Five days ago:

Letseat begs time with corporate website owner to discuss logistics and implementation of new site. They meet over lunch which is the only time available. They formulate a rough website implementation plan.

Friday afternoon:

Letseat meets with IT to discuss all implications of pending new website plan. IT from all departments approves plan.

Monday noon:

Letseat sets up a meeting over the lunch hour because of the short notice for all website stakeholders, makes an implementation proposal, receives approval by all involved to execute new plan. Letseat queries whether the project owner will create an action plan. It is suggested by others involved that Letseat do this instead.

Tuesday morning:

Letseat informs vendor of their role within project and requests phone meeting with them to further discuss. Letseat reviews project with original co-worker and sets up timeline for him to make content decisions.

Tuesday noon:

Project owner sets up two-hour meeting over the lunch hour to discuss website implementation. All items agreed upon are opened back up for discussion. No decisions are made. It is decided that another meeting is needed to make a decision. The instructions that Letseat had provided to the vendor that morning are now obsolete. Letseat is asked what she thinks about the situation. Letseat states that a May 1 deadline is impossible. Those present agree.

Tuesday 1:30 p.m.:
Letseat drowns her sorrows in half of a leftover burrito.

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I've been firing vendors left and right lately. With the elimination of our division I no longer need graphic designers, web people, multimedia, giveaways, tradeshow booths, photos, printing, etc. It's going to be a sparse Christmas this year...

Anyway, I was talking to the vendor who hosts our company store and trying to figure out what to tell him to do with our 30 pallets of stuff. He told me that I'm the best one to work with. And mumbled something  to the effect that not everyone around here is that easy to work with. Aw...how sweet.

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cheerful

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I’m getting a new job. I’ve been doing this one for almost 8 months now and it just seems like it’s time for a change.

Reality is I sunk my division. When I came to Big Company no one thought I could take it down. “It’s too big!” the naysayers said. But what some people work on for many years, I accomplish in 8 months. What can I say? I’m efficient.

So my division is being absorbed into corporate and converted to a product line. Although the division is located at corporate headquarters, we operate like a little mini company with our own separate marketing department, sales team, etc. This means that while the corporate marketing people are segmented by function and support all products, my division has a team with one product person, one channel person, one lead generation person, two Marcom people, etc. You would think that eliminating the division would make our team redundant—at least I would think so. You would also think that I would be the first to be laid off—at least I would expect to be.

But this is not the case. Big Company has decided to find a place for all of the division employees. For some reason this was very hard to do with the marketing team. So while the rest of the division basically knows what they’ll be doing and whom they’ll be doing it with, marketing has been in limbo. It would make sense to just send us off to our respective functional areas, but apparently it wasn’t that easy.

Finally on Friday evening my boss called me at home to tell me where everyone was going—everyone except for me. Because I usually work for small companies, I tend to do lots of different things, and the fact that my title is currently Marcom doesn’t mean I want to do only that, or even that I’m particularly good at it. So my boss was trying to position me to oversee a few channel-facing programs in her new department. So on Friday, she called to tell me what the people I’m supervising would be doing because she was planning to tell them on Monday. Then she mentions that I’m the only one they haven’t found a place for. Do you hear the layoff music playing in the background yet?

It turns out that corporate marketing and channel marketing were fighting over me. Ostensibly to up their headcount before budgets were set, but I’m going to keep believing it was because of my cutting wit and charming personality. Oh and my job skills. Finally today it was settled. I will be heading to the channel side and working for my current boss.

So my boss was telling me about my new position today. She mentioned determining needs, selecting a vendor, building out the program, high visibility, conducting trainings, yadda, yadda. Then she casually threw in there that travel would be required and, by the way, I need to go train the Germans at some point. And as I made a face, she clarified just a little bit of travel and only at the beginning. And then bribed me with a trip to Prague as an incentive to go conduct training in Germany.

Sieh Sie in Deutschland!

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There is a Catholic lady who goes to our church sometimes. Well not just ours, she seems to church hop all over. But this is a long story for another time. This past Sunday she was trying to explain why she prefers the Catholic mass to a Protestant service. Her reasoning was basically that Protestants have no reverence and will hang out talking, eating, chasing their kids, or whatever in the church building while Catholics have a sense of decorum. This was how that thought was expressed.

Catholic Lady: I really like the Catholic church because the building is just filled with a sense of awe. I mean, right when you walk in, you just look around and go "ah!"

Luckily since she didn't realize how funny that was, she won't mind me walking around saying "Ah!" for the next few months.

I spend $400 per year on clothes on average. This includes Halloween costumes and jujitsu uniforms. And this incorporates the fact that I have a separate work wardrobe vs. rest-of-my-life wardrobe and therefore need to buy for both of them periodically.

And it crossed my mind recently that there's a very distinct possibility that I look, how can I say this, like I get my clothes from my little sisters' goodwill bags. And it also crossed my mind that getting your power clothes used from the 20-year-old set doesn't exactly scream "executive in the making". Not that I was particularly wanting to be an executive. In fact, what my outfits probably do scream are "trying not to end up on welfare" which is much more in line with my life goals. But that's a story for another blog entry.

Bottom line is, I'm not really interested in clothes and I hate shopping, which means I can't really tell a $40 suit from a $400 suit. Or at least, it wouldn't occur to me to think about it if I saw someone else wearing a suit. And since I'm not interested in clothes, people talk to me about other things (with the exception of various past and present co-workers who have unhealthy obsessions with my pants). This means that I don't really know how the average person rates someone else's wardrobe, since it's never really discussed in my presence. And I've started to wonder if I look a little dumpy. Or frumpy. Or 1980s.

So this is my question. If you have seen me in work clothes, going by looks alone (and knowing that I'm on the business side, not engineering), what would you guess my salary is? Feel free to give me your answer in person. :p

Not that being told I need new clothes is going to make it any easier for me to actually break down and buy them. I mean, $400? That's three months of meals! (The fact that my family has dubbed me "even cheaper than my dad" is also another story for another blog entry.)

I've been opening Christmas cards lately. It's nice to enjoy the holiday cheer throughout the year. Of course the decision to wait until now to open the cards wasn't entirely mine.

When I first started working for Big Company, I didn't have a mailbox. And I continued to work without a mailbox until finally I received a piece of mail (a generic coupon from one of my vendors as I recall). All of a sudden there was a frantic series of emails from our mail delivery people about where to put my mail. This resulted in me getting a mailbox. A few weeks later my mailbox disappeared.

There is a person who works for Big Company who has the same exact name as me (minus a few letters on the end). And until a week ago, she also worked in the same building on the same floor as me. But recently she was moved to another building.

And the other day I noticed that my mailbox was back. And I had received Christmas cards. Coincidence? I think not.

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I agreed to help our former head of operations, who transferred to another department several months ago, with his intranet site as a favor, because I’m nice like that. So I sat down with him and his web person and they told me what they wanted their site to look like and then sent me a link to their files.

Lest I delete something they actually wanted to keep, I made a copy of their site and only made changes to the copy, which I saved in html and shtml formats so that they wouldn’t need to ask me to convert anything. (And if anyone wants to discuss the various file formats that one can/does/should use for our intranet publisher, it will cost you a bottle of wine and about an hour of your time.) I then told their web person to rename his old site for safekeeping, then rename the pages I provided to the active name, and publish as usual.

He eventually contacted me to tell me that one of the links was showing up in a different color from the rest and that when he “went in to change it” he couldn’t figure out how. I asked him which file he was working on. He replied telling me to go look at their website to see that one link was a different color. He described the two colors. Then he helpfully copied the pertinent code that set the style for the offending link as well as one link that was showing properly. (Incidentally, the style set for the two links was the same, including the color.)

Since this problem hadn’t shown up when I tested my original files, I went looking for their site on the intranet, which he unhelpfully hadn’t included a link to. Finally I found it, probably more through luck than anything else. Sure enough, one link was wrong. So again I emailed back asking WHICH FILE HE WAS TRYING TO CHANGE. And then I gave him choices of the files that he might feasibly have been looking at.

This was not a hard question.

Thank God I talked them out of the flash interface. Not that I wasn’t intrigued to try to create one, but the entire site is being redesigned by actual web people next month.

Yes, they asked me to redesign their site a month before it goes away.