Category: Random

My idea of camping is staying at a Howard Johnson

~ Sarah ~ Leave a comment

It hasn’t always been this way. When I used to picture camping in my head, I’d think of wearing a backpack and well-worn boots and hiking to a gorgeous, remote vista in the mountains and sleeping under the stars. In that sense, camping sounded adventuresome and romantic. Primitive, back to basics. Who wouldn’t want to disconnect from the world and surround themselves with nature? When I was in college, more open to trying new things, and completely broke, I found that the reality of camping was a little different, at least the way Floridians do it.  

  • Step 1: Load approximately half of your house into your Ford Explorer. Bring giant coolers, tents, air mattresses, blankets, sheets, kerosene lamps. Don’t forget the out-of-tune acoustic guitar so someone can stumble through shoddy renditions of Third Eye Blind songs around the campfire.
  • Step 2: Go to Wal-Mart and buy econo-size cases of hot dogs, Miller High Life, and bags of lunch meat, trail mix, and beef jerky. Don’t use reusable shopping bags.
  • Step 3: Drive three hours with zero elevation changes to a freshwater spring surrounded by alligator-filled swamps. Swat gnats and mosquitoes away from your eyes and ears as you unload half your house onto the concrete slab that will serve as your campsite.
  • Step 4: Lament the absence of air conditioning.
  • Step 5: Go canoeing with your friends. Get appointed a canoe partner who is somehow more neurotic and uncoordinated than you. Tip the canoe over, lose your favorite sunglasses and most of your possessions. Remember that the river is filled with alligators and scramble back into the canoe while your friends look on shouting unhelpful instructions, but mostly laughing wildly.
  • Step 6: Trudge back to the campsite and take a shower in the staph-filled communal bathroom.
  • Step 7: Dig through the sea of grocery bags until you find the Great Value turkey lunch meat, cheese, and bread. Dine on a sandwich and trail mix for dinner. Wipe the sweat from your face and spray yourself with another layer of bug spray. Drink enough beer so that “Jumper” doesn’t sound half bad.
  • Step 8: Stay awake all night listening for the black bears that will inevitably dig through all your belongings and feast on your trash.

For many, this experience is an integral part of the American dream. Why sleep in a comfortable bed in a climate-controlled room when you can keep vigil lying on a partially deflated air mattress next to a loose acquaintance who is snoring like a lumber mill? Why eat a flavorful, warm, nutrient-dense meal on a real plate with a chilled glass of wine when you can suck down light beer and shove nitrate logs into your maw? While this fine for some, you’ll find me checked in at the HoJo down the street with the A/C cranked down to 62, lying under a pile of comforters and discarded pizza boxes watching the serendipitous mishaps of Lacey Chabert on the Hallmark channel. This is my American dream: exploring the boundless wonder of the great indoors.  

Jury Selection: The Olympics of Crazy

~ Sarah ~ Leave a comment

Jury duty has a magical way of bringing out the inner crazy in everyone. It turns the public into a nearly empty tube of toothpaste — as you squeeze the life out of it, it inevitably pops and splatters in your face. Being summoned is an exercise in extreme patience, but if you’re like me, it can also satisfy a year’s worth of morbid curiosity. To what extremes will prospective jurors go to prove their own incompetence, hence excusing them from their civic duty? 

As I found out last week, some people subtly stumble upon their own craziness as its teased out through a line of questioning. This is perhaps the most common. They want to seem fair and impartial in front of a room full of their peers, but when the counsel turns the screws, they crack. Others dump their mental purses out on the table Ally-Sheedy-Breakfast-Club style. They let the judge and counsel sift through the pennies, loose Goldfish, and unwrapped tampons of their minds to find coherent thoughts and opinions. Others are even more blunt, practically shouting racist epithets as they file into the courtroom. 

Continue reading “Jury Selection: The Olympics of Crazy” →

Melissa Witt | A Tribute to the Gold Standard of Friends

~ Sarah ~ Leave a comment

[Now Playing: “That Place” by The Lion’s Daughter]

“Our earthly bodies will surely fall
But the love we share outlives us all”
– “Only Memories Remain” by My Morning Jacket

Yesterday I stood at the gravesite at Rest Haven Memorial Cemetery in Louisville, Kentucky in the pouring rain and said goodbye to one of the dearest people that I’ve ever had the privilege of calling a friend.

Melissa Witt was smart as a whip, quick-witted, funny as hell, curious about the world and how it worked, a brilliant artist and designer and a kind and loving friend. She could pick up new languages and their accents at the drop of a hat. When we went to Tulum, Melissa’s accent was so impeccable that people thought she was a local.

Continue reading “Melissa Witt | A Tribute to the Gold Standard of Friends” →

I Smoked Weed in an Uber

~ Sarah ~ 2 Comments

Yesterday I had plans to meet a friend for drinks at a German joint called Der Biergarten in downtown Atlanta. Not wanting to deal with downtown parking or driving after a few steinfuls, I booked an Uber to pick me up from my house in Cabbagetown. Immediately after hitting “Request UberX” the driver calls me.

“Hi! This is Jared, your Uber driver. How are you?”
“I’m good, and you?”
“I’m great. So how are you?”
Pause. “I’m fine,” I say hesitantly, having not the slightest clue what is happening.
“I wanted to ask if it’s OK if I have a friend riding with me.” No explanation as to why.
“Yeah that’s fine,” I reply. My first thought was that he’s simply giving his friend a ride somewhere and is doing double duty. My other thought was that it’s probably just two dudes riding around like we used to do when we were in high school and the only things to do were drive around, or hang out in the Walmart parking lot or in the woods. I found out immediately that it was the latter. Continue reading “I Smoked Weed in an Uber” →

The Paper Route

~ Sarah ~ 1 Comment

 

There was a point when I was in elementary school that my mom was pretty much my best friend. When I first started school and she still had her paper route she would sometimes let me stay home sick so we could play hooky. We’d get McDonald’s for lunch and rent movies like Splash from Blockbuster. We’d laugh and joke. Probably make fun of things as we were wont to do. There’s a scene from the movie “Say Anything” when Diane Court’s father is trying to figure out what’s going on with her and he implores her, “You know you can say anything to me.” That’s how it was with my parents, I could say anything to them. 

I remember once I got old enough to start going out with friends and start making big girl mistakes they sat me down and told me: No matter what you do, what happens in your life whether you kill someone, get pregnant, rob a bank, anything. We will help you. I never forgot that.

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Trailer Haven

When I was really little, before I started school, mom worked a paper route and many times I would go with her. She would wake me up at three in the morning, make us each a cherry Pop-Tart wrapped in a napkin and a little glass of milk for the road. We would drive out to a bank where all the paper deliverers met and rolled their papers for the morning. Then we would drive through the Trailer Haven trailer park while it was still pitch dark and mom would cruise through the lanes and whip the papers out the window of her Toyota while she played Fleetwood Mac. Continue reading “The Paper Route” →

Mary Kay: Like a Cult, But Without the Animal Sacrifice

~ Sarah ~ 4 Comments

Last night I had the single most horrifying experience of my life. It didn’t involve a severed human torso or carnies with brown Chiclet teeth; those things I can handle. This experience took me completely out of my comfort zone and into some alternate universe where faces are spackled and painted, each hair is frozen into place with layers of Aquanet, and you can hear bangles jingling from down the hall.

I attended a Mary Kay holiday meeting.

Not the kind that takes place in someone’s home with friends or women you vaguely know pushing their lip glosses and hand moisturizers. Those are bad enough. But this was a whole different animal.

mary kay is evil Continue reading “Mary Kay: Like a Cult, But Without the Animal Sacrifice” →

The Fall Update: Slacktober, Root Canals and Yes, More Paula Deen

~ Sarah ~ 1 Comment

Feeling pretty guilty about not posting anything since August. However, when I write 10-12 of these suckers (blog posts) a day at work it’s kind of hard to muster up the energy to get back on the computer when I get home. Most days I come home and send hateful thoughts and glances to my computer sitting innocently unused on my desk. When you work in social media, you tend to become resentful of the things that used to bring you enjoyment.

devil facebook Continue reading “The Fall Update: Slacktober, Root Canals and Yes, More Paula Deen” →

Adventures in Bill Collecting

~ Sarah ~ 2 Comments

I have joined the ranks of the unemployed once again. Let me regale you with the tale of my most recent escapade into the frightening and confusing world of work.

It started the same way most of my jobs begin: with sheer desperation. I went over to a friend’s house one Friday night about a month ago and his girlfriend was talking about her new job and how much she liked it. She ran through everything that she did at work and said that they were hiring and that I should come apply.

What is this mystery job, you ask?

Medical bill collecting.

I know, I know. Trust me, my red flag went up too.  But the thought of a paycheck was so enticing and the fact that I could allay the calls from my own bill collectors (although I would miss talking to Sanjeev on a regular basis) pretty much sealed the deal.

So that Tuesday morning, I went in for my interview. The lobby was small and sparsely decorated save for a few back issues of  “Collector” magazine (who knew?).  As I waited, I magically concocted a desire to be a collector, and after a nerve wracking half-hour interview, I landed the job.

I started training the following Monday, and by the end of the week, I was out on the floor. I even took my first payment of a whopping $54.45! My manager announced it over the loud speaker and everyone clapped and cheered. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all, I thought.

Over the next two weeks that feeling quickly waned. The job consists of sitting in front of a computer all day that has a smart dialer that automatically pops up with an account as it calls the person. The call will usually not be picked up and with a few quick key strokes, you leave a message. Easy. But then comes the fun part: someone picks up the phone. The first thing you do is ask for the debtor. “May I please speak with John Doe?”

Some of my personal favorite responses include:

  • “OOOHH EM GEEEEE!!! WRONG FUCKING NUMBER!!!” Click.
  • “Who the fuck is that?”
  • “Who are you and what do you want?”
  • “Who dat be on my phone?!”

But then you get the not-so fun responses such as:

  • “He died last month.”
  • “He’s sick in bed; he has terminal cancer.”

In the event that you do actually speak with a debtor, once you get through the formalities, the conversation always tends to go downhill.

Me: “So you can’t pay $13,460 in full today? How much can you pay?”

Debtor: “Not much, I’m on social security income and I just had a stroke.”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that. Could you afford $25 a month?”

Debtor: “Maybe, I can’t move the right side of my body, so I can’t write you a check.”

Me: [What I’m supposed to say] “That’s O.K. if you go grab your checkbook, you can just read me off the numbers and we can do a check over the phone!”

Me: [What I actually say] “I’m so sorry. I will note the account. I hope you have a speedy recovery, have a nice day.”

 

I just couldn’t do it. I can’t call an 86-year-old woman in her  nursing home and badger her for money.  Or call people at their jobs and bother them every day. I just don’t have it.

But let me say this, I do realize that hospital bills  have to get paid in order for their doors to stay open and to keep serving their communities. Bill collectors serve a very necessary purpose. I, however, was not cut out for that line of work.

Back to the drawing board, eh?