Urban Intrigue

Our assignation spot?  The bananas at Trader Joe’s.  The purpose?  Exchange of money for goods – and I’m not talking bananas.  The other person?  All I knew was the name – Sam - and the gender - male.  Age, race, religion, education, profession, address – all insignificant.  What he had was $50 and I wanted it.  Why?  I wanted to get back some of the money I had wasted trying to get good Internet connection. 

My Internet continues to work well but I am now left with the stuff I used prior to Comcast.  I had rented a USB modem from Clear but upgraded (and purchased for $100) their “Hot Spot” model the day after Christmas.  It sat on my windowsill for all of 3 weeks before I gave up and turned to Comcast.  Could I recoup some of my costs?  

Craig’s List to the rescue.  Last October I bought a brass twin bed for my attic guest room/office and that had gone well.  Stephanie was a little concerned when I told her I was driving to a stranger’s house to pick it up.  What did I know about the seller?  How safe was the neighborhood?  I really should consider taking someone with me – hadn’t I heard stories about things that happened to unsuspecting Craigslisters?  Well, yes I had but the seller was a woman, she seemed nice, it was her mother’s bed after all, and it was in an upscale neighborhood in SE Portland.  I told Stephanie I’d call her when I got home to let her know all was well.  It was and I did.  So here I was, ready to get involved with Craig’s List again but this time I was the seller and, now that I live urban, I am told I need to be careful about where such exchanges take place.  Certainly not from my home.  Dan suggested a local Starbucks.

But first I had to write the ad.  I went onto Craig’s List, read comparable ads, noted how they framed photos of their stuff, took a photo of my modem, transferred it to my computer and set up the ad.  This took about an hour.  When satisfied, I clicked “Publish” and went online to see my ad in all its glory.  I got my first response 17 minutes later – it was Sam.  He owned a similar Clear modem but it had broken so he was interested in mine.  We discussed Clear and reception issues, agreed we wanted to make the exchange and were both free in about an hour – but where to meet?  The local Starbucks would close right about that time so that was out.  What was in the public eye?  Safe?  Well lit?  Don’t ask me how I came up with the bananas at the local Trader Joe’s but it was what popped into my mind.  He was a bit startled – bananas?  Yes, I said, bananas.   In my mind it met several criteria.  It was away from the cashier lines so we wouldn’t be noticed, it was in an area that allowed for an easy flow of traffic, and how could anybody get hurt around bananas, aside from slipping on them? 

I got there first.   I had time so slowly filled my basket with things near the bananas – I wasn’t moving from the area.  I studied anyone who approached – bananas are actually quite popular.  At one point, a member of the staff asked if I needed anything as I stood there, ever so casually, with my Clear green and white box held nonchalantly in my hand.  “No,” I said, “I'm fine.”  After 15 minutes I gave up, Sam wasn’t coming; I had wasted my time.  I took my basket up to the cashier.  It was while I was putting the change in my pocket that I noticed a man with no basket (looking quite Sam-ish in my opinion) by the bananas.  I waved my Clear box when he looked my way.  He nodded.  Yes, it was Sam.  I walked over, we shook hands, examined the product and then, finally, exchanged money for modem - right there in the open.  We were doing nothing the bananas couldn’t witness.  I put the cash in my pocket, drove home and called Stephanie to let her know all was well.

An hour later Sam called.  He needed the name I had given my wireless network and the password so he could set it up on his computer.  Hmmmmm – a password?  Everything you read tells you to never give out password and account information.  I mentally reviewed the situation.  The network name is not the account name and the password will only open the network – it doesn’t get into my information.  Then I remembered what I had named it - there was no way I was coming out of this with dignity intact. The good news is that I have never used the account name before and never would in the future.  The bad news is that my children had set the name up when they were here at Christmas and thought their choice was hysterical – a reference to a family nickname and event.  Get ready:  Snot Face Broke the Horse Statue.  I mentally groaned as I announced the name to Sam and then slowly spelled it out.  Understandably there was silence on the other end.  In some ways I wish I could have seen his face – this name and a meeting at bananas? 

I also gave him the password – only used for one other thing, which was not financial – but then I started to worry.  What if somehow this COULD provide access to account information?  What if Sam was a 55ish year old identify theft expert?  What if, even now, my info was being collected and used for nefarious reasons?  Even though I doubted it, I did something I have been meaning to do for a long time.  I went in and changed the passwords and account names on all my accounts.  That took another 2 hours but I felt better afterwards.  Of course it begs the question was all this effort worth $50?  As far as loss of dignity, well, Portland is big.  The chances of running into Sam are negligible.  Of course, perhaps he has a blog and is, right this minute, writing about a crazy woman he met at the bananas in Trader Joe’s.  Ah, dignity - overrated.

The Devil and Me

While I sit here typing, a Comcast rep is a few feet away installing cable.  From my perspective, I am dealing with the spawn of the devil.  Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), I can no longer remember the exact event that precipitated my phone call to Comcast on New Year’s Eve 2009.  I know I was screaming something like, “Disconnect me IMMEDIATELY.  Come get your equipment and then you can shove it  . . . .“  I think, at that point I controlled myself.  I hope so - my mother certainly taught me better.  What I do remember is that the Comcast person smugly responded, “We cannot disconnect your service until you return our receiver to a Comcast store.”  “Where’s the closest one?” I snarled.   “In Salinas – hmmm, that’s about 25 miles from you, isn’t it?” (oh, he was smug) “And it IS New Year’s Eve and we’re only open for 2 more hours so perhaps you’ll need to wait until January 2.”  “I’ll be there in 30 minutes,” I growled as I slammed the phone down but not before the horrid man said, and I kid you not, “You’ll be back.  They all are.”  And now, darn it all, I am.  The only positive thing in this whole scenario is that I am in a different state and using a different contact phone number so hopefully there is no one at Comcast headquarters gleefully rubbing hands together while chanting, ‘We knew it.  She’s back.” 

So what brought this reunion with the devil?  Total and complete frustration.  Not with my TV reception – I have been quite happy with Direct TV - but with the Internet.  When I moved from small town Pacific Grove I assumed (always dangerous) that I would have great Internet reception in Portland.  After all, this is a large city.  This is the big time. There are hundreds of thousands of people around me, not like the 17,000 in PG.  Stephanie and Dan, who live 2 miles east, have fine reception.  My sister, Mary, about 7 miles north, gets excellent reception. My sister-in-law, Lynne, 10 miles west, has no problem.  So why shouldn’t I have similar access?  

Well, not everything in life is equal and that includes Internet access.  The first inkling of a problem arose when I called AT&T back in September, soon after I arrived in Oregon.  I was so naïve.  I sat there, in my living room, pad of paper at hand, ready to start a comparison of programs.  Which company would give me the best rate for a bundled package of voice, TV and Internet?  AT&T’s response?  “Sorry, our coverage doesn’t include your neighborhood.”  That was a surprise.  Crossed them off the list and moved to the next name, Qwest.  They would give me voice but no Internet – for the same reason, no coverage in my neighborhood.  As I moved down the list I got the same response each time.  Yes for TV or yes for voice but no for Internet.  In desperation I called Direct TV – I still had several months of my California contract with them.  They would handle TV, but their Internet was too slow in my neighborhood to warrant installing it.  What was going on?

I think population density is the problem.  My neighborhood, Westmoreland, is a bit isolated.  To the west is the Willamette River, to the north, light industries, to the east a train yard, to the south the small neighborhoods of Sellwood and Eastmoreland - and then you reach the southernmost city limits.  A major boulevard separates these 3 neighborhoods from the rest of SE Portland.  I am guessing that the population density in this area is not great enough to warrant erecting the necessary towers.

My son-in-law Dan suggested Clear WiFi service and that is what I have had until today.  It worked minimally but at least it worked.  How bad was it?  The light on the modem that indicates strength of reception never got out of the “Bad” range.  It was so slow that if I wanted to update information on my new Blue Ray device for my TV, I would have to take the device to Stephanie and Dan’s house and connect it to their Internet.  Unacceptable. 

Last week I gave in and called Comcast and here is Stuart, working away, a few feet from me.  He was on time and very nice (drat!  I wanted to hate Comcast).  He even tried to make my own airport device work – but I couldn’t remember the correct passwords of course.  As a fallback I am using one of their devices to see if it will give me Internet access throughout the house.  More later - I have to hide this.  Stuart needs to use my laptop to set up my access and I don’t want him to read what I am writing.  It might affect his level of service.

Well, I am impressed.  An hour has passed and what a difference.  I have fast Internet reception throughout the house through the cable.  My TV comes in loud and clear. Stuart connected the cable to my blue ray box so I can update Netflix, etc. without having to take it over to Stephanie and Dan’s.  The little freestanding antenna that Dan connected for me still sends me the signal for the local PBS stations.  I may actually be in business.  And the devil never reared his ugly head.  I am not willing to go over to the Comcast camp quite yet but am a little more open to the possibility. Will let you know what I think a month from now, when the honeymoon is over. 

My New Volunteer Assignment

There were 2 clues that this was going to be a different volunteer experience than those I am used to – working with the Monterey Bay Aquarium, Carmel High School, Boy Scouts and the Multiple Sclerosis Quality of Life Project.  The first was the sign on the agency’s door: “No weapons allowed inside this building.” Hmmmm.  The second was when one of the men waiting outside told me that I was #3 - after him and his friend.  He then carefully pointed to himself and to his buddy to make sure I understood.  They were in front of me.  They would get service first.  Given this is an agency that distributes free food and clothing to the needy, I guess it means I did not overdress for my first day on the job.

Actually I HAD thought about what to wear.  Having no idea what sort of place it was (other than knowing it supplied emergency services) – would I be with society do-gooders (leather jacket, nice shirt and pants, suede boots) or with community activists (jeans, hoodie, sneakers – the Portland uniform)?  I combined both – nice pants and shirt with hoodie.  Apparently I surpassed expectations.  I fit right in. 

I found this agency through the Oregon Food Bank.  Last October I read a report that identified Oregon as having the highest percentage of child hunger in the US.  I was appalled.  This should not happen.  Anywhere.  I don’t care about anyone’s views on safety net programs – no child deserves to go hungry.  I went online and signed up to be a speaker for the Food Bank.  I would use my years of teaching and passion for the issue to persuade others to donate to this worthwhile cause.  Unfortunately the 3 mandatory training sessions were in November when I would be in California.  “Okay,” I thought, “I will help pack food for deliveries.”  I envisioned myself in the Food Bank warehouse, coifed in a hairnet, sorting food as it came down a belt – kind of like Lucille Ball in the famous chocolate candy episode.  But then I found the Food Bank’s list of local organizations they support with food donations and discovered that one was within a few miles of my house.  I called last week and here I was at their front door reviewing what I had in my purse – did any of it qualify as a weapon?  Nah, I was okay.  I could go in.

I thought I was coming to meet the program director at 9:15, fill out papers, discuss options, find that perfect match of skills and needs.  I’d be home in an hour, I thought, ready to start next week.  Nope. Not what happened.  Within minutes I was ensconced in a chair in front of a telephone ready to field calls.  Yes, I had training – maybe 5 minutes.  I learned how to put a call on hold, how to transfer it to 4 possible places (nice there were so few) and how to handle the 3 most commonly asked questions (by the way, they were right).  I met fellow volunteers who handle interviews, collection/distribution of resources and assistance with clients.  15 minutes after I walked in the door,  the agency opened and we were off and running.  By 2:00, when service with the public closed, I was tired.  No breaks.  Next week I will remember to bring lunch. 

What are the 3 most common questions?  How do I get food?  How do I get clothing?  Do you have any money to help me pay my utility bills? The first two we can deal with, the last, no, the funding for the year has already run out.  If the caller did not qualify for our services (not in our service area, too much income) or needed help with the utilities, I had other agencies to refer them to.

The other volunteers are an interesting mix.  Some are here by court order – think Lindsay Lohen at the County Morgue.  Others, the long timers, are here by choice.  Some volunteer several days a week, some, like me, just on Mondays.  Everyone was gracious and helped me out when I wasn’t sure of an answer. 

What I CAN say is:

1. The need is great while resources are small.
2. My effort, although insignificant in the face of the challenge, is needed.
3. I won’t bring my purse again - I was warned things walk away.
4. Some clients aren’t here for food or clothing distributions but for a free cup of a coffee, a cookie and a warm seat.
5. The greatest need in clothing is men’s wear.  They never have enough to meet demand.
6. Although most clients were thoughtful and expressed themselves clearly, it’s best not to engage some in discussion.  I was told I would quickly learn which ones to avoid.  It reminded me of my then savvy bus-riding 12 year old son Lee’s statement to me when I asked him how the bus system worked in Pacific Grove.  He said, “Remember, Mom, the driver is your friend, but some of the passengers are not.”
7. When you overhear a client discussing how he does his own dental work with his Dremel drill, allow yourself to shudder and then move on.  I hope it’s not true.

I learned a lot in a few hours.  Right now I am sitting in my warm house, thinking about friends and family and grateful for what I have.   I also look forward to my next session at the agency.  It’s good to be back volunteering.

Stupidity

The snow arrived and it was gorgeous – I had forgotten how beautiful it can be - especially when reading in front of a fire with a great view out the window.  It stuck around for about an hour and then nicely disappeared, leaving icing on the roofs across the way but 2 hours later even that was gone.  Perfection.

However I celebrated by doing 2 incredibly stupid things.  The first occurred on my outing to the grocery store.  Yes, I drove.  It was not at all icy so I get no credit but that wasn’t the stupid part.  The stupid move was slamming the trunk lid down after storing my bags of groceries – with my keys tossed inside one of the bags.  And of course I hadn’t unlocked the car door prior to opening the trunk – no, of course not.  So there I was, stuck in a very cold grocery store parking lot.  The house key was in the trunk so even if I walked the mile home, I couldn’t get the spare car key.  This is very different from my life in Pacific Grove where the movie Turner and Hooch (filmed in downtown) so perfectly captured our town crime scene – nothing happens.  Everyone who visits at my house knows where to find the spare key. It is such common knowledge, and so many copies are in the hands of friends and relatives, that I felt obliged to have the locks changed when I moved to Portland.  But here I am, living urban, so no spare key hidden under the car, no spare house key stashed outside.  Yes, I was truly stuck.  Granted I have AAA but like to save that for true emergencies and I remembered I had a backup – my precious daughter, Stephanie.  I called her and she ever-so-nicely drove over, picked me up, drove me to my house where I used her copy of my house key to get in, drove me back to the grocery store and made sure I found my keys inside the trunk before she left.  She didn’t even groan (well, she may have internally, but not for me to hear).  The problem was solved – except for my feelings of stupidity.

But that was not all – the next stupid decision was right around the corner – well, downstairs in my basement. That evening I tossed my dark clothes in the wash forgetting to check the pockets.  And yes, there was something important in one of the jeans – my thumb drive.  The thumb drive with the thousands of photos from the albums of my adult life. The ones I had carefully scanned – and let me tell you, it took HOURS and HOURS and HOURS over the past year and a half.  Yep my cute little red 8 GB thumb drive had had the ride of its life.   And it didn’t just go through the wash cycle – it went through the dryer cycle as well.  When I spotted it lying inside the empty dryer drum I felt sick.  I walked upstairs numb – yes, the photos are still around somewhere – I gave some to Stephanie, some to Lee and some were here in the house but I just can’t do it again.  How stupid could I be?  Checking pockets is rule #1 of laundry.

It was only when I was in bed that I remembered how, about a year ago, my other precious child, Lee, had been somewhat insistent that I get an external hard drive to back up my computer.  I had been quite proud when I was able to set it up myself with no help from my techno-savvy children and son-in-law.  And, yes, I had recently backed up my computer and had transferred all the photos onto the hard drive.  I had another copy.  All was not lost.  It’s amazing how easily sleep can come once a problem is solved.

Today I took a chance and plugged the thumb drive into my laptop and, incredibly, it still works.  All the photos are there.  Truly amazing. 

And I figured out a solution to the key problem.  I put my keys on my UC Davis lanyard and it works well.  I just take it off when I drive then stick it around my neck when I go into a store.  Can’t happen again. 

What a foolish thing to say – especially if the gods are listening.  I didn’t mean it.

Snow????

It’s COLD and snow is predicted for Sunday.  I am not amused.  I did snow for 16 years in Connecticut and know how snow affects my driving.  I don’t like to feel the car shift into a skid when I apply the brakes on snowy streets – especially if the only thing in front of me is another car waiting to be hit.  I hate how I end up hunched over the wheel, looking for a safe way through the slush, praying that I can get home in one piece.  Now, granted my part of Portland is not terribly hilly as was my neighborhood in Connecticut but it also doesn’t get a lot of snow here.  I suspect the number of show plows is limited - and given that my neighborhood is somewhat isolated, I suspect my street will NOT be on any priority list!

The other challenge is walking on anything icy.  I never figured out how to do it.  I would watch in amazement as my students in Connecticut strode carelessly across sheets of ice while I minced.  I minced while waving my arms for added stability.  I minced while I held on for dear life to anyone or anything nearby.  I suspect I made quite a show.  Even so I STILL slid and landed on my tush with some regularity and that was in my 20s – not interested in doing the same in my 60s!  I have these thingies that strap onto the bottom of my shoes that are like mini car tire chains.  I keep one set in the trunk and one set inside so now the mincing will be even more interesting.  Kind of like training wheels for the hopelessly klutzy.  The challenge – which steps to use?  The front steps are cement with no railing in sight – not going to happen.  I can see me hitting the ice and sliding right down the 4 steps.  The back steps are wood – again no railing but at least they aren’t cement.  I think the wiser thing to do is to not go out.  I can do it.  I have heat, I have soup in the freezer, I have books and TV.  And maybe it won’t snow. 

You know, there is one thing I do miss about snow in Connecticut – the wonder of snow days.  I remember waking up, noting the snow outside then eagerly tuning the radio to the local news station.  Every 5 minutes or so they would read the updated list of school closures.  I taught in Norwalk, Gary taught in Stamford and they read the list alphabetically.  I started praying around Milford – “please, please, please, dear God, let Norwalk be on the list!”  Then we listened for Stamford.  I was most annoyed if his school were closed while mine stayed open – and vice versa of course.  Most times if one were closed, so was the other.  And then we would smile in delight, collapse back into bed and pull up the covers.  The children were equally delighted.  Once we were all up, time to pull out the skates, sleds and mittens.

But that was then and this is now – no snow please.