Best. Résumé. Ever.

I [try to] make it a habit to not mock people. Truly.

But every now and again, something simply amazing crosses one's desk. Namely mine. And even though I cannot say whose impressive stats these are- nor how I received this gem- I felt that I had to share.

I give you Julia: 
 
But Keely, you say. That's nearly impossible to read! I know. Apparently in whatever region of the world in which this chick resides, the mimeograph machine is still alive and well. Adding to the background distortion is the unfortunate stationary choice of small, grey, musical notes.

I shall sum up.

Julia is looking to be a secretary. Or something in the "sales/manage" field. (Very lucrative, that.) She offers to furnish recommendations, but they are not attached- oh no, not our Julia. Keep 'em guessing. This seems to be a skill that has served her well in her past TWELVE FULL-TIME JOBS. And considering that she has a newborn son (we'll get to that later), I can't imagine she's geriatric.

She offers to work weekends- with notice. Don't go pulling out the last minute phone calls here, no sir. That will not play.

However, she was let go from her first listed job because she had to care for the aforementioned newborn son. The manager wouldn't accommodate her. Those fragrance counter bosses are jerks.

Her second most recent job was as a server (where she "served food to customers"- ah) which had to end because she wanted to work nearer to home. Also, "business slowed." Legit.

The next server job ended when she moved- this happens.


The restaurant job right before this told her she was "not needed." Right. Okay, Julia, I'm on your side.

Listed after that one was a restaurant where she she "served food and beverages." Emphasis mine. Good for you, J! Except- oh man- the cook "served too hot a plate- reheated" and you were "burnt and hurt." I would've quit, too. (Except my Dad would've told me to wear long sleeves and buck up. Whatever. Different styles, that's all.)

Then comes a waitress and bartending gig that turned out to be too far to drive in winter. You're killing me here, Julia.

This was preceded- incongruously enough- by a UPS job as a loader where you lost your job because of pneumonia. This sounds...improbable. BUT I WISH FOR HER TO SUCCEED so I continue reading on to...

...Another restaurant job where she left to- "care for son." Hmm. This wouldn't be the newborn, would it? Did she have all of these jobs within four months of giving birth?!

Then we've got bartending at Applebee's. And the reason we left- again- is "childcare." I'm starting to doubt either that a) Julia desires to work outside of the perimeter of her yard and b) that these "children" are real. Photographic evidence, please.

Another server job- except that this place was closing. I hear that. And she wanted to "work closer to home." JULIA!

Right before this was a semi-successful stint as a server and "inline dancer" that was abruptly ended when she was "hurt at dishwasher broke glass cut deep and manager not aware of problem in restaurant." Was he inline dancing? Was he also aware of the grammar problem in résumé ?

The oldest job was- yet again- a waitressing job gone bad. (Where the heck did UPS come from?) This time she had to leave because there weren't "enough computers to get work finished for serving." Which is compelling. Yet I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that maybe one's kids were involved. Or the proximity to someone's home. Maybe they made her dance.

She sums all of this up in a tidy paragraph reiterating that the aforementioned are all places at which she has worked. Adding to this list of skills are the curiously capitalized Secretary, Engineering Science, Architecture, Piano, Saxophone, 4-H, Modeling, Manager, and Assistant Manager (at a Mall.) Of lesser importance- and thusly not capitalized- are drafter, estimator, sewing, crafts, and makeup.

She has [unlisted] "retail experience."

Oh, and that year of Saxophone? She was privately tutored by someone who "graduated the Julia rd [sic] Music School."

I think she'll be just fine. How could she not? After all, she was a model.

And an estimator.

I have an estimation or two right now. More an "odds" kinda thing.

I've always been good with numbers, especially if they're of the two-step variety. But before you get too excited...

...I'm no Julia.

Whine and Jeez.

Magical cookies.

I totally jinxed myself.

Why oh why would I put it out there to the cosmos that I was relaxed- especially after my drama-free flight? And how about the fact that yesterday afternoon I actually mentioned that I had NOTHING to blog about for Monday morning?

That'll show me.

United Airlines Strike Number 1: The flight was delayed. For mechanical reasons. In fact, it hadn't even left Chicago by the time I got to the airport, less than an hour before takeoff. (Kid at the counter: Uh, we updated the flight status twenty minutes ago. Me: I usually give myself a little more transit time than that. Do you think I live in the airport parking lot?) Also- To Whom It May Concern, rounding an hour and forty minutes delay down to "an hour" is NOT whimsical nor is it refreshing.

Nora Jane Point 1: "Mama- dat!" This was exclaimed happily toward every single piece of artwork, display window and ceiling installation...which, truth be told, I would have entirely missed due to grumpiness.

United Airline Strike Number 2: The kid at gate counter (what, is it Take Your Surly Tween To Work Day?) was eye-poppingly rude. Because of the late hour in which we'd be landing, I wanted to check on the availability of two seats together and the Economy Plus seating- which, hilariously enough, was the same free option on the fight out east. He snapped that they don't just GIVE those seats out, there's a reason people PAY for them. (Blink, blink.) Really? Is my money no good here? Am I a little match girl begging for crusts of bread? HAVE I OFFENDED YOU BY ASKING YOU TO DO YOUR JOB? He also demanded to see my boarding pass before he'd let me put a gate tag on Nora's stroller. Yes, because during all of this fun, I'm going to pointlessly hand over the easiest method of transporting my kid onto a flight which I have no intention of taking. Would you also like her sippy cup and spare diaper?

Nora Jane Point 2: She rustled up some good will amongst the cranky passengers, hopefully buying us some time on the flight for peace, love and understanding. She also attempted to share what appeared to be the best shortbread cookies in the history of the world, ever.

United Airlines Strike 3: The gate kid refused to acknowledge priority boarding between groups 1 and 2- which the flight heading east most certainly did. I realize that this is not a humongous deal except for the pain in the buttitude for those boarding directly after me having to wait and watch me heft two carry-ons, my child, and fold a stroller for AN OBVIOUSLY GOVERNMENT-REGULATED GATE CHECK. And this is before we even get on the darned plane. And- and- I could've just sucked it up and acknowledged the fact that we were all running late, let's get on the plane and shut up, if not for the fact that he was giving me The Eye during the boarding process (and I am not normally paranoid), daring me to say or do something. In terms of Example Making, he wanted me to be the Piggy to his Jack. (Anyone?)

Nora Jane Point 3: She let me hoist her under one arm with nary a peep during the boarding shenanigans.

United Airlines Strike 4: (Seriously, if I had had any other options at this point, I would've lit someone on fire. Maybe this is unwise to post in conjunction with an airport story?) United seated me in a two seat row next to an extraordinarily obese woman. (No joke- she needed two seatbelt extenders. I didn't know that EXISTED!) And, most magically of all, she was holding a nine month old baby. Two kids on the whole flight and they're wedged together. (Also, I do believe that United's rules prohibit that kind of thing in one row, but I wasn't about to whip out the rule book at this point.) I had to sit sideways with Nora's legs dangling over my armrest into the aisle. This is no exaggeration- the woman took up her seat and over half of mine. NOT COOL. I asked an attendant if there were any other seats so that the kids didn't keep each other up during the flight- she said she'd check.

Nora Jane Point 4: Babies! We love babies!

United Airlines Strike 5: There were multiple single seats open next to people who really really wanted extra space for their Kindles and nap pillows. The flight attendant asked if anyone would be willing to move or have a baby next to them. NO ONE WOULD. So we took off. And did I mention that the massive woman reeked of stale smoke and her kid was already starting to do that hehhhh whine of extremely overtired babies? (I know it well. I was doing it, too.)

Humanity Point 1: Some generous soul reluctantly agreed to be moved to Economy Plus- IN HIS OWN ROW- and this allowed Nora and I to take the back row of seats before the toilet. Win. The rest of the flight progressed as follows: snacks, books, twenty second increments of Dora the Explorer on iPhone, five minute increments of app deleting, snacks, books, stickers, snack of stickers, Chex mix massage for laptop, hiding of blueberries (later to be found directly on the butt of jeans), the hour long version of Itsy Bitsy Spider, tweaked laughter, no sleeping.

I'm not entirely sure how I managed to birth a better traveler than myself, but I'm eternally grateful. Another fun fact: Did you know that certain economy jets do not come equipped with a changing table in the bathroom? None. Nor do some flights offer any dairy products aside from powdered creamer? The combination of apple juice and nary a spot for diaper swapping inspired some awfully creative changing action. It didn't phase her.

Nor did the fact that during this quick change, I got a nose bleed.

I'm amazed she's even talking to me today.

Upon getting home, I became a pile of Useless and was promptly tucked in at 10pm CST- if it was even that late. I inexplicably woke later on to check on Nora and make sure tags were displayed somewhere. I checked the clock, thrilled that I had gotten such a good night's sleep so far and that Nora hadn't yet stirred.

It was 11:41pm.

          I made the Top Five for Parenting Blogs! Go vote!

January must be Customer Service Month.

It was a good, albeit frigid, weekend here. We actually saw more people than we do for some combined weeks.

We went with one pal to an awesome creperie up the street from here- I highly recommend it. Nora also gave it two miniature thumbs way up- but they're covered in cheese, so I wouldn't shake her hand or anything. There was a bit of a language barrier, so my Moroccan chai latte actually came as a fresh mint infusion- but happily, I'm a superbly easygoing diner. Also- he must have known that I actually needed mint more than all that sugar.

Our neighbor friends invited us over for dinner- again! (Okay, for any newcomers: we have one set of friendly neighbors that a) are sober, b) speak some semblance of English- heck, I'd take sober Spanish at this point, and c) have repeatedly made plans with us. This is great. What's even better is that, beyond those three stellar qualifications, they're actually superbly cool people who have an adorable one year old. That's right- they even come with a friend for our kid. And sure, Nora and Emily spent the better part of the evening shrieking directly into each others' faces...but I think that toddlers have a really intricate and evolved way of communicating. Besides- they made TACOS for dinner!

Another good friend came over for sugary treats a la El Trigal Bakery- the place where I get a a tote bag full of pastries and cookies for under five bucks total- and gabbed about her currently preggo form. Attention friends: a really cool way to be in my heart forever? Walk in the door and announce- Keely, you were right. Pregnancy is work! (Now, I don't want to be a Negative Nancy, nor do I want to take credit for others' hardships...but every now and again it's nice to be reminded how much of a hypochondriac I am not.)

Here's what else made this weekend deserving of a super silver star: I went shopping. Alone. For fun. Sure, it was at the Marshall's at Harlem and Irving (read: not "fancy" or "clean"), but boy oh boy, do they have clothing for grownups that aren't necessarily hoodies and sweatpants! Although they have those, too! In fact, I specifically went out for items that were cheap, pretty, and "grownup." (Is the fact that it's in quotes give away how novel that type of clothing might be?)

I filled a cart with sweater dresses, ruffled tops, skinny jeans (hahahahahahaha), and soft wrappy-type things that should not be anywhere within the vicinity of a child's hands. Even though I intended to only buy four items, I wanted to make sure I tried on everything in the Misses, Petite and Juniors section. (Shush.) When I went to try them on, though, I encountered a problem in the form of a really elderly, really non-English-speaking woman. (Seriously, I don't even know what language she spoke. She was THAT old.) She was, however, perfectly clear about the Ten Items Or Less rule. It was even written on the tag. No worries, I'd just take ten items and move the cart to- nope. That angry finger didn't want me to leave the cart anywhere near the changing room. Certainly not by the entrance. We compromised by having me shove it behind a rack of shoes, one store section away.

Now I couldn't enjoy the art of shoving myself into questionable clothing- complete with nerve-destroying staticky hair- because I kept thinking about the THIEVES who were at that very moment STEALING CLOTHING FROM MY CART.

The next problem came when two of the items actually fit me in the first round. Uh oh. Now I had only eight items that I could take in for the next bunch. Because, as the lady sorta babbled at me, I couldn't have more than ten. And they wouldn't watch my cart. (Basically, her job was to stand there and irately fling tags at people. And yell 'no.' Nora would rock that job.) Unfortunately, a couple of other items fit me as well- and though I couldn't afford to buy everything that fit, I wanted the good stuff on hand for the Lightning Round. So the next handful only contained six items. And so on. Eventually I was taking pieces in one at a time, getting fully dressed and putting my boots and coats back on, because NO PERSONAL ITEMS LEFT IN STALL.

I finally approached the woman in a Not Very Polite way, one boot half on, my hair standing up to the fluorescent lights and pointed at an empty rack. "I am putting my clothing here. I am buying them." (I lied.) "All?" "Yup." (Nope.) "And I am taking these items from my cart into the stall. I am trying all of them on, all in the same go-round." "Only ten." "I KNOW."

Tried them on, feeling pret-ty proud of my ability to stand up for myself after half an hour of abuse. That is, until, I came out of the changing room to find multiple girls taking items from the clothing rack! Again, channeling my daughter, I pleasantly grabbed the items from their arms with a big 'ol smile.

And I bought six. (Which, as P.J. pointed out, is totally fine for my once a year shopping trip.)

We rounded out the weekend by having a decidedly grownup date night after N.J. went to bed. We made Manhattans- extra cherry juice, thankyouverymuch- and put on a DVD of 'Double Wedding,' a glorious old movie with Myrna Loy and William Powell. We loved it so much that we...

...conked out and drooled on each others' sweats before the opening credits finished.

Happy Monday, grownups.

Maybe we'll just take a boat.

Nora and I are taking a trip in a couple of weeks. But this post is not regarding air travel, nor does it concern my staggering amount of arrogance to think I can wrangle a toddler solo in an airborne contraption.

No, this is about customer service. Or rather, customer disservice.

I live about twenty minutes down the highway from O'Hare International Airport. This is important to note because yesterday, whilst dealing with a booking representative, it occurred to me that it might have been easier to walk up 90/94 and throttle the agent rather than speak with her any longer. This would've proved extremely difficult as: a) I am a pacifist, and b) SHE WAS IN INDIA.

And I had to call, you see, because there was no way to add Nora on to my ticket during the purchase without speaking to United. Which has their major hub in Chicago. Where I live. But not the booking agent. She does not live here.

And even though the website informed me that there was NO WAY a lap baby could be added without speaking to someone, my helpful representative warned that there "may be a surcharge" for speaking with her. (The previous recording also told me that call volumes were "higher than average" and asked me if I wouldn't just rather try out their website.)

The helpful overseas woman asked me to spell my name and list my mileage number- despite having been forced to punch in such information before I was even allowed to hear the proper recording. (Why do they make me do this? Are they giving me brain teasers to stave off boredom/dementia?) And even though I spoke it, dialed it and repeated it, she still got the last name wrong, mucking up any hopes of pulling up the correct itinerary. (Where are you flying from? Chicago. Where I live. That should be in the ol' file, too.)

She seemed really confused when I told her I wanted to bring my daughter with me. (You're bringing your baby?! Yep. I like her. We go places together.) I then began spelling out my kid's first and last names to expedite the process- N like Nancy, O as an orange, R as in rhinoceros... She then snapped at me to use "real phonetics," as the connection was "very bad." This was said accusingly. Well gee, KAREN, I can see United's office from my house. But you're right- it's most likely trouble on Chicago's end. (Also, we are not in the Army. Rhinoceros is a perfectly fine R word.)

I then attempted to spell out Nora's names with "real" phonetics. This is awfully hard! I had enough trouble coming up with "orange," it took me darn near a year to remember "Oscar." Finally, towards the end she asked- "Oh, Schoeny? Like your last name?" YES! JUST LIKE MY LAST NAME.

Towards the end of our relationship, she had a bit of a sneezing fit. She then apologized. "I have a very bad cold." There was a weighty silence. I did not acknowledge it.

I'm pretty sure someone owes me money. Surcharge, indeed.

*

And how about this gem? I was having trouble logging into an account which I needed to close. The email was correct, but I just couldn't finagle the password. Finally, I hit the 'email password' button, which I hate doing- I'm pretty sure doing so signs you up for mailing lists for the next eighty years- and I got this reply:

Retrieved lost password: bYdRfaPxcWzQduaQMda7Mba3dtvJgjzg


Ah, there it is! My ol' password! Good old...that thing. 


I don't know what kind of shenanigans those people are trying to pull since a) that is no automated password that I've ever seen, and b) there is no way I'd ever choose that monstrosity since I've been using BillyIsHott since roughly 1991.


*


And I promise promise promise that this is last time I'll blog about this (here, anyhow): Head on over the The 2011 Bloggies site and vote for your favorite inane Blah Blah Blog in multiple categories. One ballot per email address, per favore! Here are categories that I like: Most Humorous, Best Writing, Best Kept Secret, BEST BLOG EVER...and ones I don't have crazy odds of winning: Science, Religion, Asian. Put Lollygag Blog as the name, www.lollygagblog.com as the URL...and wait by the mailbox for your congratulatory corn dog. Need rec's for the other two blog slots in each category? Leave a comment here and I'd be more than happy to help you out. I read a lot.


Sometimes there aren't even pictures.

All is true.

Why, Amit, WHY?

[Note: As I sit here in the drafty front room of my chilly abode in the downright frozen town of Chicago...I am having a really hard time keeping my chenille blanket about my shoulders as I type. That's right- I CLEARLY NEED A SNUGGIE AS I AM COLD YET ACTIVE. 

Note note: I did not get paid for this post. (Nor for the mentions of Snuggies or any other product herein.) This is not a review. It is a love song from my heart to a business' ears.

Thank you.]

And now, An Open Letter To Amazon.com.

Dear Amazon.com,

I love you.

You have changed my life, and- more importantly- my shopping habits. Before you came along, I used to actually have to go to the store. If I wanted something, I had to search for the best deals and varieties on foot. In person. Usually with a baby and diaper bag and something else really heavy in my arms. 

Your site sells everything. EVERYTHING. In a relatively short period of time, I've come to think of the word 'Amazon' as one of those wonderfully ubiquitous things like 'Google' or 'Kleenex' or 'Bandaid' or 'Jello.'

And guess what? You've recently made my instant gratification instantlier and infinitely more gratifying. Simply by guessing that since I buy diaper rash ointment vats large enough in which to backfloat, I must be a Mom.

And your new program Amazon Mom allows me to have Amazon Prime for free. For doing nothing. Nothing, that is, besides buying really awesome stuff for my kid and having it within two days. And now I get it completely free of charge, with no strings or fees or anything ever. Twenty five bucks worth of qualifying purchases for each free month of Prime? Yeah, I think I can swing that. (Especially since you guys are wonderfully loose in your definition of what a 'Mom' should buy. Proving that you are intelligent as well as convenient.)

Here's the truth: I've done 120% of my Christmas shopping on your site. I've made over thirty individual orders and had them all within 48 hours- again, with free two day shipping- and with lower prices than other sites. Trust me, I know. (I'm a Mom, remember? We know stuff.) Some of my purchases have even raced me across the country in my travels- and won.

One purchase didn't make its destination. You guys replaced it, no questions asked. My husband doesn't even give me that kind of leeway, and he likes me a LOT. 

Yesterday morning we realized that we had forgotten a present for one of our nephews- and ten minutes later it was out the door before I had managed to even shower. That's right, besides being good for our wallet, you have also ensured we are not going to be the awful relations this year. 

The other day as I was driving home with my daughter, singing Christmas carols along with the radio and feeling full of the holiday spirit, I gave thanks for you, Amazon.com. I am so serious. I actually felt such a welling-up of gratitude that it gave me a chill. Being a person who does not consider The Mall an integral part of the holiday process, I have so thoroughly enjoyed browsing and hand-selecting gifts for eleven million people (all with completely opposing tastes), sending them on their way within moments, and then being done with holiday shopping forever and ever, Amen.

This frees up more time for drinking mulled wine out of boots, crying over children's movies, and badgering my husband about my present. I think it's safe to say that we all thank you.

In closing, you are fast and powerful and I will never pay for shipping ever again. 

Exuberantly,

Keely

***

And now, to be fair and balanced, here is my sister Kate's actual transcript with Amazon.com customer service when she was trying to hook up her credit card to her rewards points. The conversation took 27 minutes and, at one point, the rep didn't respond for 8. Also, check out some of his gems. I've put my favorites in bold. Enter, Amit:

Kate: Hello. This evening I linked my AMEX membership rewards points account to my Amazon account. I see that they are linked, however, when I go to check out and pay, I am not given the option to select that credit card/points for purchase. Thanks.

Amit: Hello, my name is Amit. I will be happy to help you today. Please allow me a quick moment while I pull up your account. You do not see that option, correct?

Kate: Correct. I have three credit cards saved in my account. When I go to check out, only one of them in visible/able to be selected and it is NOT the one linked to my rewards points.

Amit: I too see that. Are you selecting a different address this time Kate?

Kate: For delivery, you mean? Yes, they are going to different addresses. If you mean something else by different address, I'm not sure what it is.

Amit: I mean place the orders with your address, let us see if we see that credit card. I can always change the address.

Kate: I'm still not understanding what you mean. Do you mean that I should try to place the order all going to my billing address? And if that works then you will change the shipping addresses for each item? I have 18 items going to different addresses, so I'm not sure that's an easy way to go ahead. Is there no way to instead get all of my credit cards to prepopulate on the payment page?

Amit: I do not have to change them individually. All are Amazon items.

Kate: Please explain to me how doing this process will affect the ability for my stored credit cards to show up on my account. It seems to me that no matter where I want to send my purchases, all of my saved credit cards should be available to me at check out. [Eight minutes later.] Amit? Are you there?

Amit: For security reasons when you enter a new address credit card should be entered in full. I am here.

Kate: I do understand that. None of these were new addresses. Yet only one credit card is available.

Amit: How can it be?

Kate: I just went back through and changed them all to my home shipping and billing address. This time, only two of the three credit cards were available, but not the one linked to my AMEX rewards. It seems as though something isn't working properly on the checkout end of things. 

Amit: If you select your own billing address as the shipping address then what is happening?

Kate: How can it be? That is why I'm chatting with you. I was hoping to get help resolving this problem. YES, precisely. If I select my own billing address as the shipping address for all 18 items, only two of the three credit cards are available. However when I go into my account and look at payment options, all three credit cards are there. When I have the items going to different shipping addresses, only one credit card is available.

Amit: I did not mean to hurt you Kate. I see three cards also.

Kate: All that I am trying to do is pay for my purchases but I need access to all of my credit cards.

Amit: Would request you to try to place the order after some time. There might be a technical issue now.

Kate: Is this something you could report then, in hopes that it could get fixed promptly? Thanks.

Amit: I will surely escalate it to my manager Kate.

After all of this, Kate filled out a survey for 'Amit' and was asked if she would like a call to resolve this issue. She said what the heck and agreed...only to find out that the call back was unavailable. Shortly thereafter she received another super secret number to call and reached a gal named Kristy. Who fixed everything, and- I'm assuming- didn't take things quite so personally.

Ah, Amit.

You're like the friend of the sixth grader I'm dancing with (I'm in sixth grade in this scenario, too) who keeps butting in and asking if we're in love yet. No, and STOP RUINING EVERYTHING. 


I still think Amazon Mom trumps The Amit Defeat (get it? Get it?)


And yeah, sure, maybe I pulled up that middle school scenario way too easily. But I think we can all agree that it caused a pretty visceral and instant recognition, yeah? Yeah?


Merry Christmas week.