IF YOU CAN’T HANDLE SOMEONE YELLING IN YOUR FACE, YOU SHOULDN’T WORK HERE!!
A friend of mine was interviewing for a program manager position in the Microsoft Exchange development team. She was a brilliant course developer, but our training group had been disbanded. The result of our management team not properly explaining why it took 40 hours to develop a single hour of training. Teams were often created and disbanded as projects morphed or got cancelled. Janet, had been hired into the training group from outside Microsoft. This was her first experience moving to another team. It didn’t go well, but it was an example of the extremes at the company in Redmond.
In my nine year Microsoft career, I had about 20 different managers and worked in a half dozen different departments. My experience was pretty typical. Microsoft intentionally moved people around. The management goal was to keep people from becoming too comfortable in a particular role. Microsoft wanted its employees to constantly be going through that process of learning new things.
For the most part, the process worked well. During my years with the company, they were the biggest and the badest software company in the world. This was before Google and Facebook. It wasn’t before Apple, of course, but it was before the iPod and that was important.
Microsofties (yeah, not the greatest nickname) believed we were the best in the world. And often we were right. We also wanted to not just beat the competition, but crush them. So, it was surprising at one company meeting to see a simulcast from California. Microsoft was announcing a $100,000,000 “partnership” with Apple. The most popular application on the Mac at the time was Microsoft Office. We didn’t see Apple as much of a threat, but we also didn’t feel any love for Steve Jobs company. And now we were partners?
It wasn’t until much later, after I left Microsoft that the real story came out. Steve Jobs had recently taken over leadership of his company and it was broke. He had some great ideas (iPod, iPad, iTunes) but he needed a bridge loan to meet payroll until he could get those products to market. He called Bill Gates and asked for help. Gates announced it as an “investment.” Really, it was a $100M gift. And it saved Apple. Considering I’m typing this on an iPad, it’s hard to imagine what life would be like if Bill Gates had truly wanted to crush his business rivals.
The interview with the screaming program manager actually went pretty well. That PM was a jerk. (There were more than usual at Microsoft.) He decided that “testing” people during the interview process was important. I never interviewed with him, so I can’t say if it was effective or not.
Microsoft was one of the best companies I ever worked for.
Years employed: 1994-2003
Position: Program Manager
Best thing: Able to pay for kids’ adoption (They paid pretty well)
Worst thing: Lots of arrogant people
My Company Rating: 4.5 Stars
Rodney M Bliss is an author, columnist and IT Consultant. His blog updates every weekday. He lives in Pleasant Grove, UT with his lovely wife, thirteen children and grandchildren.
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It’s a cliche. I know that. The only way it could be more of a cliche is if I posted this update on Tuesday when it was Valentine’s day. But, just because it’s a cliche doesn’t mean it’s not true.
It’s far from a simple band of gold, although it is made of gold. The edges have intricate dentile indentions. It holds five diamonds across the top, inset so that they don’t catch on anything. It has a simple message and date inscribed inside the band.
Everyone has one, right? At least everyone who’s married. It goes on the ring finger of the left hand supposedly because there is a vein that runs from that finger straight to the heart. The ring itself is symbolic. I’ve heard the description that just as a ring has no beginning and no end, a couple’s love should go on forever.
Mine, of course, was chosen for me by my lovely wife. We were young by the world’s standards when we got married. I was 23 and she was still a teenager at a few months past her 19th birthday. In Mormon culture, that’s actually pretty typical. Mormons marry young and have big families. We certainly accomplished the first part and then over achieved on the second part.
I have an aversion to blood. No, really, I’ve been known to pass out just from someone talking about an operation or medical condition. When it was time for my first child to be born, I had to go to therapy so that I was fit to be in the room. It was. . .awful.
Oh sure, the miracle of birth and all that, but I watched the woman I loved in excruiating pain. I knew right there in that delivery room, that if the roles were reversed, and men had to physically bear the children, we would have one kid and then adopt.
God blessed us with three birth children, but made it abundantly clear that the third child was the last child. My lovely wife comes from a family of 15 children. I come from a family with . . .a lot of children. . .that are hard to count. The decision to adopt was an easy one.
Where childbirth was physically demanding, adoption was financially so. Our adoptions were agency adoptions, both domestic and international. The costs are staggering. Fortunately, I was working for Microsoft and money was not really an object during most of them.
We have thirteen children who span the age gap from 14 years old to 28. We’ve been blessed with four grandchildren with two on the way. It’s not an insignificant choice to decide to become mother to a baker’s dozen. I was talking to my brother-in-law,
I admire you. I don’t know if I could do it.
Do what?
Love someone, like those adopted kids, who wasn’t my own flesh and blood.
Were you related to your wife when you got married?
He laughed at my last line. But, he was serious. He had a large family but the idea of loving someone so completely that wasn’t your blood kin was hard for him to imagine. His kids have grown up now, and watching him around his sons and daughters-in-law, I have no doubt he could do it.
Mae West said,
I’ve been rich and I’ve been poor. Rich is better.
And while I don’t think she’s 100% right, it does make life easier in some ways if you have money. Over the 30 years we’ve been together, we’ve been wealthy and we’ve been so poor we lived in my brother-in-laws horse barn. We’ve had new cars and we’ve had cars with 200,000 miles on them. We’ve travelled the world and we’ve pinched pennies for gas money. But, through it all, even when I didn’t have money, I was rich. I was wealthy beyond the dreams of Solomon. Because, no matter how tough things got, no matter how bleak the future might look, I had someone beside me that loved me, supported me and trusted me without question.
I am wealthy indeed. And I’m reminded of that every time I look at the gold and the diamonds on my left hand.
This is the fifth in a five part series describing the five talismans in my life and what they mean to me.
#1 The Coin
#2 The Lapel Pin
#3 The Masonic ring
#4: The Tie Bar
#5: The Ring
Rodney M Bliss is an author, columnist and IT Consultant. His blog updates every weekday. He lives in Pleasant Grove, UT with his lovely wife, thirteen children and grandchildren.
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I never saw him wear it. I never knew he owned it until after he died. He never indicated it was meant anything to him, or that he thought it should to me. But, it does.
The collection of men’s jewelery lay spread out on the kitchen table. My mother was doing her best to cope with the recent passing of my father. Her children, and his children, and their children were gathered as families do when someone dies, and there are details to be tied up.
These were his. You guys can take something if you want. . .
The suggestion just hung there in air. My adult brothers and my sister and I kind of sat there in awkward silence. One brother took a watch. Another one took a set of cufflinks. What is the protocol for dividing up the effects of the dead? I think you have to make it up as you go.
The tie bar was one of several that he owned. I’m sure he’d worn ties, but I don’t remember it being often. I certainly had never seen this tie bar before. It reminded me of a Scouting award, with it’s square knot design. My dad wasn’t a camper. He was a scout when he was very young, but not only had I never seen him sleep on the ground, I couldn’t imagine such a thing.
But, scouting was important to me. It was really important. When I was 15 years old, I had nearly completed the requirements for my Eagle Scout award but was a little bogged down getting it completed. My dad asked me about it.
Do you want to get your Eagle Scout?
Yeah.
No, I mean do you really want to get that award?
Yes.
Are you sure?
Yes, I’m sure. It’s really important to me!
Okay, you’re grounded from all activities this summer until you’ve completed the requirements.
At the time I was annoyed, in retrospect, it was simply his way of helping me to work on something that he really couldn’t otherwise help on.
He spoke at my Eagle Court of Honor. I don’t remember what he said. I do remember that he was there and he was talking about me. Our relationship went through the ups and downs of most fathers and sons. We valued different things. I tried to understand the things important to him and he tried to understand me. We didn’t always get to that point. Our relationship ended in a really good place. There were no words left unspoken. I don’t have unresolved issues with my Dad.
I picked him to be my dad when I was 14 years old and asked him to adopt me. He’d married my mother a few years earlier. He wasn’t perfect, and never pretended to be. The tie bar represents him well. The black stone at the end of the tie bar turned out to be a ruby red; impossible to see the color without a light behind it. The tie bar has been damaged and repaired more than once.
It keeps me grounded. It reminds me that none of us are perfect. The best you can hope for is to do the best you can and be satisfied with that.
This is the fourth in a five part series on the talismans in my life.
#1 The Coin
#2 The Lapel Pin
#3 The Masonic ring
#4: The Tie Bar
#5: The Ring
Rodney M Bliss is an author, columnist and IT Consultant. His blog updates every weekday. He lives in Pleasant Grove, UT with his lovely wife, thirteen children and grandchildren.
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If the ring falls apart. . .sell the gold
I knew it was coming, but it was still a surprise. To wear a Masonic ring, you must be a Master Mason. There’s no law, of course. And nothing to stop someone from buying a ring at a pawn shop and deciding they like the look of the square and compasses. But, tradition says only those who have been raised to the sublime degree of Master Mason are allowed to wear the jewelry. And the reason my Masonic ring is one of my five talismans is all about tradition.
I didn’t know much about Masonry as I grew up, despite the fact that my grandfather was a Mason. (Talisman #2: The Lapel Pin.) If you know anything about Masons, it’s not a surprise that I could associate with a man and not know that he was a Mason. The Freemasons, while being one of the oldest fraternities in existence, are typically reluctant to talk about it.
If you want to know about Masonry, ask a Mason.
That was the watchword for generations. Masonry was passed down from father to son, not in a heirarchal pattern, but in a generational one. This practice of non-proselyting worked well for centuries. But, as the 20th century drew to a close, it appeared that perhaps so would Masonry. The fraternity started to age and there was a dearth of young Masons entering to carry on the tradition.
That’s what almost happened in my family. My mother’s father and her brothers were Masons. But, their children, my cousins had no interest. My father’s family had no history with Masonry. It appeared it might disappear from my family as the older generation passed on.
That was until I sent my uncle a simple email, “Can you tell me a little about Masonry?” I got back a three page reply. True to his training, my uncle believed it was not his place to share any information until he was asked. Once I asked, he was more than happy to share lessons gained from a lifetime of serving in Masonry.
Eventually, I petitioned to join the fraternity and was initiated as an Entered Apprentice, the first step on the road to becoming a Master Mason. My uncle made the trip from Coeur d’Alene, Idaho down to Provo, Utah to be part of my initiation.
It was about a year later that I completed the last of the requirements to be raised to Master Mason. To acknowledge the occasion, my uncle, a retired jeweler, sent me a gold and black onyx ring adorned with the Masonic symbol. Knowing the respect I had for family traditions and heirlooms, he also gave me the instruction to sell the gold should the ring fall apart. He knew I wouldn’t. And I knew he knew it.
We enjoyed many discussions about Masonry over the years. Never a religious man, his association with Masonry shaped his moral character and actions. He once told me that the purpose of Masonry was simply,
To make good men better.
And he lived that belief daily. At his funeral, I was asked to give the family message. And later, I was invited to be part of the ceremony to provide him final Masonic honors.
The ring, while not the most important ring I own, is worn daily on my right hand. It reminds me not only of the honorable goals of Masonry and the need to attempt to be a better man, but more importantly, it serves as a constant reminder of a man whose life was a living example of that ideal.
This is the third in a five-part series describing the talismans in my life.
#1 The Coin
#2 The Lapel Pin
#3 The Masonic ring
#4: The Tie Bar
#5: The Ring
Rodney M Bliss is an author, columnist and IT Consultant. His blog updates every weekday. He lives in Pleasant Grove, UT with his lovely wife, thirteen children and grandchildren.
Follow him on
Twitter (@rodneymbliss)
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or email him at rbliss at msn dot com(c) 2017 Rodney M Bliss, all rights reserved
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I almost never post more than once per day. I already posted about Talisman #2: The Lapel Pin. But, I couldn’t let today, of all days go by without a special added post.
Today is February 14th, and it’s a day that not enough people appreciate, but they should. In fact, given everything else that is going on, you might not have even realized that today the four most exciting words in the English language are spoken:
Pitchers and catchers report.
The ground hog may have seen his shadow two weeks ago signifying 6 more weeks of winter, but baseball fans know that Spring starts today.
Enjoy the day. Let people know. Maybe do something special for the ones you love to show them just how much today means to you. (Apparently you can buy chocolate and balloons to celebrate.)
Rodney M Bliss is an author, columnist and IT Consultant. His blog updates every weekday. He lives in Pleasant Grove, UT with his lovely wife, thirteen children and grandchildren. And he’s hoping that this is finally the Seattle Mariners year.
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It’s tiny, barely a quarter of an inch at its widest point. The edges are worn smooth by the years of use. It was old when it came to me from my uncle. And it was old when he got it from his father, my grandfather.
The detail on the pin’s post is unfamiliar to those of us used to modern style compression clasps on the back of pins. Instead it has a threaded disk that secures it to my coat. The face is made of gold. The lettering has started to fade, but the distinctive square and compasses still surround the bright G in the middle. So much detail to squeeze into such a small token. It sits on the lapel of the suit I wear each Sunday and every time I go to court.
I never knew my grandfather was a Mason. In fact, when he passed away while I was in college, I didn’t even really know what Masonry was. Despite the fact that it is one of the oldest organizations in existence today, many people still find it mysterious and shrouded in secrecy. Wearing the Masonic symbol, either in a piece of jewelry or even as a sticker on your car, symbolizes that the wearer is a Master Mason. And that says something, or at least it should say something about the man who is wearing it.
My grandfather was born in a log cabin in rural Idaho in 1913. During his life he was a dam builder. He moved his family all over the Western United States building some of the largest dams in the world. His job was to fix the equipment. I felt privileged that I got to know him.
My father passed away about seven years ago. Most of my children never got a chance to know him. My father-in-law passed away even earlier. It’s been 20 years. Only my oldest child has any memory of him. I think children miss out when they don’t get to know their grandparents.
The summer I was 16 years old, I travelled from our home in Olympia, in the Western part of Washington State, to a tiny town called Tekoa, Washington just a few miles from the Idaho border on the extreme Eastern side of the state. I went to spend the summer with my grandfather and work on a farm. It wasn’t his farm. It belonged to a friend of his and Papa and I were going to be summer help.
It was a magical time, at least in my memory. I spent my days outside driving trucks, and clearing brush, and driving his old Mazda station wagon way too fast across the Washington/Idaho line on my way to work. (Tops out at about 95 MPH.)
Papa didn’t cook. We’d come home from work, clean up and “go to town” to eat in the tiny town’s only cafe. Town was a single street that you could walk from one end to the other in about 15 minutes. Tekoa had a stated population of 550 people. My grandfather had lived there for decades. Everyone knew Julius. And from what I could see, they all respected him. I knew that whatever I did would eventually get back to him. But, honestly, when you are working on a farm, there isn’t much time to get into any real trouble.
I got strong. I got a tan. (From the neck up and the shirtsleeves down.) And I got to spend my days with one of my favorite people.
That summer was the last time I saw my grandfather. I went home in the fall. I finished high school a couple years later before going on a two year mission for the Mormon church. Then, it was college at BYU in Utah.
In the meantime, he got old. He had a stroke that robbed him of his strength and movement. I missed his funeral. I was at school and didn’t know. Nearly a year later I was talking to my mother.
How ya’ doing, Mom?
Well, when my dad died, I was kind of a mess for several months. But, I’m better now.
Ah. . .my grandfather passed away?
In the days before Facebook, sometimes family news got missed in the grief after a death, even one not completely unexpected. In a way, I’m glad that I didn’t see him that one final time. He was always bigger than life to me. A mountain of a man with a gravely voice who helped helped a young man make that transition to manhood all those years ago. That’s how I remember him. His tombstone is a plain slab of white marble. It has his name, the years he was born and died and the Masonic symbol. The same symbol that can still be seen on a tiny pin that I wear in my lapel every Sunday.
This is the second in a five part series called The Five Talismans And What They Mean to Me.
#1 The Coin
#2 The Lapel Pin
#3 The Masonic ring
#4: The Tie Bar
#5: The Ring
The other parts are coming later this week.
Rodney M Bliss is an author, columnist and IT Consultant. His blog updates every weekday. He lives in Pleasant Grove, UT with his lovely wife, thirteen children and grandchildren.
Follow him on
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LinkedIn (www.LinkedIn.com/in/rbliss)
or email him at rbliss at msn dot com(c) 2017 Rodney M Bliss, all rights reserved
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Talisman
1. a stone, ring, or other object, engraved with figures or characters supposed to possess occult powers and worn as an amulet or charm.
2. any amulet or charm.
3. anything whose presence exercises a remarkable or powerful influence on human feelings or actions.
– dictionary.com
They don’t have magical powers and certainly not occult powers, but they do exercise a powerful influence on the actions and feelings of at least one human: me.
I was teaching a class to a group of teenagers. I was trying to explain symbols and their importance in our society. Things like the flag, the scales of justice, the Statue of Liberty. Things that symbolized something. I realized that I was carrying five items that were symbolic to me. I talked about a few of them and then asked my co-teacher if he had anything like them that he carried.
No, Rodney. Not a single thing.
It made me think the symbols I had chosen to assign value to and use as touchstones in my life. As a rational person, I know that they are just bits of metal and stone. There is nothing magical about them. As a person of faith, I know that supernatural power comes from a Higher Being, not a piece of metal, no matter how precious it might be.
But, as an emotional being, these five things are immensely valuable to me. Literally, beyond price. While the metal in each one is either base or precious, their value is not in what I could get in exchange for them, but what they symbolize. I’ll talk about them a little this week.
#1 The Coin
You’ve probably never seen this coin before. They are very rare. In fact only about 200 of them were ever struck. The obverse says,
HYPERNODE MEDIA CORPS OF VOLUNTEERS
The reverse has these words,
RUNNING WITH SCISSSORS FOR NO MONEY SINCE 2006
It’s a coin struck by my friend Howard Tayler. Informally it’s called the “Minion” coin. Howard’s wife and business partner, Sandra organizes the operations side of their business. She occasionally calls for volunteers. It’s a highly sought after role, to be able to help them during a big shipping event. These helpers are informally called “Sandra’s Minions.”
Howard created many coins to accompany his Schlock Universe storylines. In-universe they are challenge coins. There are coins for each ship. There are coins for Tagon’s Toughs, the primary para-military unit he writes about. There are silly coins. There are more serious coins. You can buy them at his website. You can buy all but one. The minion coin cannot be bought. It can only be awarded.
Among Howard’s fans, the orange and white Tagon’s Toughs coin is a status symbol. The lower your number, the more prestigious. I own number 789 from the third series. (Not a particularly low number.) The theory is, although I’ve never seen it in practice, that if two Schlock Mercenary fans meet at a bar, they can show their Tagon’s Toughs coin and the one with the higher number treats the other fan to a beverage of their choice. Series two coins beat series three. Series one coins beat series two and the smaller the number the better. Howard carries a coin with a single digit. From the three series, there are 3000 Tagons Toughs coins.
The theory also says that a Minion coin trumps all others. I carry mine at all times. I’m not sure I’ve ever even shown it to another Schlock Mercenary fan.
But, it’s not the hope of one day winning a Diet Coke that keeps the coin in my pocket. The fact that it is rare isn’t why I find it valuable. It’s the fact that my friend gave it to me. Howard and I have known each other since before he ever started doodling a comic every day and giving it away for free on the internet. In fact, we’ve known each other since before there really was an internet. We all meet people in the course of our lives. Be it at work, or church, or just in the neighborhood. Most of these chance meetings last as long as we maintain a physcial proximity. We move, or they move. Someone leaves the company.
Occasionally relationships stick. In those cases, our relationship is no longer defined by the roles we each play (coworker, neighbor, fellow parishioner.) Instead, our relationshp is defined by our friendship. I’m not sure when Howard and I became friends. It was long after we met. In fact, it was long after he started Schlock Mercenary. It may have been around the time his first book came out and I was in a position to help promote it. It may have also been around the time I made one of the worst business decisions in my life and Howard provided support both financial, but more importantly emotional, as I worked to get back on my feet.
The coin acknowledges that I have volunteered to help Hypernode Media. (Howard and Sandra’s business.) But, it symbolizes the importance of friendship and being willing to sacrifice for others. It’s a constant reminder not only that the Taylers are there to support and help me, but so are others. And just as there are those willing to help me, it also reminds me that I need to help others. Not for recognition, but because it’s what good people do. So, mostly it’s a reminder to be that good person.
This is the first of a five part series on the talismans I value.
#1 The Coin
#2 The Lapel Pin
#3 The Masonic ring
#4: The Tie Bar
#5: The Ring
Rodney M Bliss is an author, columnist and IT Consultant. His blog updates every weekday. He lives in Pleasant Grove, UT with his lovely wife, thirteen children and grandchildren.
Follow him on
Twitter (@rodneymbliss)
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LinkedIn (www.LinkedIn.com/in/rbliss)
or email him at rbliss at msn dot com(c) 2017 Rodney M Bliss, all rights reserved
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Troll. . .In the dungeons.
They have a cave troll.
Trolls are the only ones telling the truth.
They are a staple of fantasy stories. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone and The Fellowship of the Ring both came out in 2001. Being a fan of both, it was fun to see how the two movies depicted trolls. It’s clear that the cave troll from Lord of the Rings would eat the troll in Hogwart’s girls bathroom.
In both cases, the troll was defeated by force of arms, or wands. In The Hobbit An Unexpected Journey, Bilbo Baggins simply took advantage of trolls aversion to sunlight and let the warmth of the sun turn them to stone. It’s clear how to kill trolls in fantasy worlds.
How do you kill a troll in the modern world?
Today’s trolls aren’t affected by sunlight, and since they primarily exist online, swords and arrows are pretty ineffective. In fact, there’s really only one way to fight a modern troll, starve it.
Trolls are people who intentionally make provocative statements to get a reaction from people. To be a true troll, you have to not believe whatever outrageous thing you are saying. But, that definition seems to be softening in our age of hyper-partisanship.
Last week there was a violent protest at a major university in California in opposition to a “self described” right-wing troll. The protesters felt that not only didn’t his views match the views of the student population, that his views were radical enough that it was dangerous to have him speak on campus. I’m, of course being deliberately vague about the person involved. Because, honestly, he’s not the story.
This same troll has been banned from Twitter. He was awarded a book deal and immediately people started protesting his publisher. He supported a particular candidate for president and much of the vitriol that might have been a directed at the candidate, got directed at the troll instead.
In fact, the troll is happy to be called a troll. He’s turned it into a job.
How do you defeat this type of troll?
Those opposed have tried several methods. They have staged protests online. They got him banned from Twitter. They staged protests in the streets. Some of the more radical protesters damaged buildings and set fires.
The result?
The troll went from being a minor celebrity to being one of the most famous people on the planet. Despite being banned from having a Twitter account, he now has an inordinate amount of influence on the platform. After protests to his publisher, preorders for his book pushed it to #1 on Amazon. After the protests last week on campus, the sales for his book increased 12,000%. Having written books, I’m sure his publisher is overjoyed at the publicity.
So far, the more the protesters try to shut him down, the louder his voice becomes.
I have a house full of kids. It gets loud. If I try to get them to be quiet by raising my voice, it just gets louder. I typically cannot overshout them. Instead, I need to stop feeding them. Well, I need to stop feeding their conversations.
It works a lot better online.
The way to kill a troll is to starve it to death.
Anyone who’s ever wandered into the comments section of a newstory knows that there are plenty of not nice people online. It used to be that trolls were emboldened by their anonymity. The popularity of Facebook has forced many of those trolls into the light. And while, like the trolls in The Hobbit, the light of day has silenced many of them, there are others who revel in the spotlight. Rather than hiding, they have figured out that fame follows controversy. Most are minor league amatures. Volunteers who believe that any publicity is good publicity and are more than willing to sacrifice their own online reputations to garner LIKES and SHARES.
And then, there are the professionals. They’ve figured out how to monatize their fame. It doesn’t matter to them if people believe what they are saying or not. In fact, I’m not sure they believe it. Tevya, in Fiddler on The Roof remarked,
And it won’t make one bit of difference if you answer right or wrong. When you’re famous they think you really know.
We’ve always had provocateurs. There have always been those people standing on the street corners shouting the message, be it one of destruction, or hate, or love, or whatever. Most of us ignore them and drive on. The internet, and Facebook, Twitter and blogs have provided virtual street corners for those who want to shout out a message. Too many of us are pulling over to the side of the road to engage them in discussion. Or, worse yet, trying to get them banned from sharing their message.
As every author knows, the best thing that could happen to your book is that it gets banned. People want what they are told they cannot have. And with the Trolls, as you attempt to silence their message it simply amplifies it.
Who are your protesting?
Bob.
I’ve never heard of Bob. Why are you protesting him.
Let me tell you about all of the terrible things Bob wants to do.
And now I’ve heard of Bob.
Hard as it is, the best answer is to simply ignore them. Modern trolls love the light. Move the spotlight somewhere else and they go back to being that guy standing on the sidewalk yelling at the passing cars. You cannot stop him from shouting. You, or rather we, do have control over how loud his microphone is.
Rodney M Bliss is an author, columnist and IT Consultant. His blog updates every weekday. He lives in Pleasant Grove, UT with his lovely wife, thirteen children and grandchildren.
Follow him on
Twitter (@rodneymbliss)
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or email him at rbliss at msn dot com(c) 2017 Rodney M Bliss, all rights reserved
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They were all crazy. These people that I thought I knew. Maybe we weren’t on a first name basis. Okay, honestly, we never talked. But, we spent a lot of time together. I had come to understand them and a certain amount of trust had built up, and I liked to think that they had reason to trust me too. That trust was seriously shaken and I worried about what that meant for my safety.
How do you get to work? Do you carpool? Take the train? Drive alone? Maybe you’re self employed and “going to work” means wandering downstairs in your pajamas. (I have more than a couple of friends in that category. Yes, it’s as awesome as it sounds, they tell me.)
I like to take the train, but I also spend a lot of time in the car. I commute to two different locations. One of them is about 45 minutes away the other is about 30. Both involve lots of freeway driving.
What time do you head out to work? I’m an early bird and like to be at my desk by 7:00am. Most days, whether it’s the train or the car, I make it. Occasionally, if I’ve had a late night, (Working! A late night working, I gave up partying many children ago), I’ll end up heading into the office later than normal. Yesterday was one of those days. And it was like driving in a different country.
If you typically commute at the same time everyday, you have a good idea of what to expect. On my commute from Pleasant Grove, Utah to 5300 South in Salt Lake City, the commute is like this:
Leave my house and head to the freeway taking 200 South through town. It goes right past the high school, but the kids don’t start making the road congested for another 20 minutes.
Get on the freeway at exit 275 and merge across 5 lanes of sparse traffic to get to the carpool lane. I’m typically ready to merge just about the time I get to the dotted white line indicating it’s okay to merge. (I have an express pass that let’s me buy my way into the carpool lane. Yes, I do sometimes feel guilty about using my privilege.)
The freeway will slow down around 2100 South in Lehi, and then again at Point of the Mountain down past Bangerter Highway, around 123rd South and again just before the 215 exit at 72nd South.
Then, I exit the carpool lane, and get to the right to make my exit at 5300 South.
I’ll listen to the first couple of traffic reports to find out if there are any crashes that might affect my commute and then I switch the radio over to either a “modern country” music station or an “oldies rock” station. Sometimes they sound remarkably similar.
My commute is predictable. Enough so, that I can often use the cruise control for much of the way. I know what to expect from the other drivers. They know what to expect from me. We may not be able to see each others’ faces in the early morning darkness, but we trust one another.
Yesterday that trust was severely tested.
Utah’s carpool lanes are designated by double white lines.
Those lines are sometimes all that separates the carpool lane moving at 70 MPH and the bumper-to-bumper mainlines stopped or creeping along at 5 MPH. (That’s why I’m willing to buy an Express Pass to get there just a little sooner.) It’s illegal to cross the double white line. It’s a $175 fine.
Every few miles the double white lines turn to single dotted white lines and people can merge in and out of the carpool lanes. All my commuter buddies understand this. I’ve seen maybe one violation in a month. And it’s typically someone who forgot to get out of the lane before their exit and then has to scramble to avoid a lengthy detour.
Yesterday, as I headed into work an hour or so later than normal, my commuter buddies must have already been at work. In the space of about 5 miles, just as the traffic starts to slow at Point of The Mountain, cars freely merged and exited the carpool lane, crossing the double white lines on a whim. Mainline going 68 MPH and the carpool lane is at 72? Jump across the double white line! Guy in the carpool lane wants to drive 75 MPH and you think you can do 79 in the mainline? Jump the lines to get back out.
It wasn’t just that my trust was shaken. It was that I now didn’t know what to expect. As I’m cruising along at 70 MPH next to the stopped mainline, is someone going to cross the double white line and pop into the carpool lane unexpectedly? If they do, will I have time to slow down enough to avoid hitting them?
The cruise control was a luxury I could no longer afford. My commute went from boringly predictable to a turn at the track with drivers jockeying for position and thinking that 2 second advantage they gained is going to be the difference between the checkered flag or finishing out of the money.
Fortunately today I’m back to my normal commute time. Life went back to normal. I wanted to wave at the cars on the other side of the double white lines and say, “Hey, I’m back. Sorry I missed y’all yesterday.” But, of course, I couldn’t really do that as I sped past them at 70 MPH.
Rodney M Bliss is an author, columnist and IT Consultant. His blog updates every weekday. He lives in Pleasant Grove, UT with his lovely wife, thirteen children and grandchildren.
Follow him on
Twitter (@rodneymbliss)
Facebook (www.facebook.com/rbliss)
LinkedIn (www.LinkedIn.com/in/rbliss)
or email him at rbliss at msn dot com(c) 2017 Rodney M Bliss, all rights reserved
Tell your friends about this!
I intentionally broke my Apple headphones. I cut off the left earbud. It was surprisingly hard to do. Apple products are very well made. More wasn’t better. It was worse.
My grandaughter is staying at our house for awhile. We have clothes from her mom in addition to clothes from another daughter with young kids, and some people from church. My toddler granddaughter could easily become a clothes horse. More isn’t better. It’s wasteful.
My brother is 6’5″. His sons will not make it to 6’0″. More (taller) isn’t better. It’s just taller.
We live in a materialistic society. We venerate people like Mark Zukerberg, Bill Gates and Warren Buffett, who have amassed huge fortunes. Sports stars are “graded” on how much they make. For that matter, so are we. We live in a “super-size me” world and it’s difficult to practice restraint.
I saw an episode of the TV Show “The Twilight Zone” called “Last Night Of A Jockey.” Legendary actor Mickey Rooney plays an out of work jockey, banned from the sport for cheating. He gets a chance to make a wish. His wish? “I want to be BIG!” And because it’s the Twilght Zone, he gets his wish. A man who had always been the smallest person in the room, suddenly starts to grow. He becomes a huge man. And as he’s revelling in his new stature, the phone rings. His suspension has been lifted. And they want him to race again.
Bigger isn’t better. It’s just bigger.
With 8 kids at home, seven of them high schoolers, we go through a lot of food in our house. We try to buy in bulk. My lovely wife will buy 10 lbs of bananas. And my kids will eat them. But, there’s a limit to how many we can buy. If we bought 20 lbs of bananas, we would end up with some of them going bad. In this case, more wouldn’t be better, it would just be more. . .and worse.
I have a good friend who had a very successful six-figure job in the software industry. He walked away to take a third of the salary and become an artist. He had a lot less money and a lot happier time. More money couldn’t make up for being unhappy in his job.
My granddaughter is a joy to visit with. And yet, as a toddler, she’s growing, as kids do. If we buy too many clothes for her right now, she will outgrow them before she gets a chance to wear them all.
In the case of my Apple headphones, I use them daily. Multiple times per day. I’m often on two phones at the same time. Apple headphone in one ear, my deskphone in the other ear. The second earbud got in the way. More wasn’t better. It was worse.
As you look at the things in your life, remember that often quality that is important. Quanity can sometimes make things worse.
More isn’t better. . .it’s just more.
Rodney M Bliss is an author, columnist and IT Consultant. His blog updates every weekday. He lives in Pleasant Grove, UT with his lovely wife, thirteen children and grandchildren.
Follow him on
Twitter (@rodneymbliss)
Facebook (www.facebook.com/rbliss)
LinkedIn (www.LinkedIn.com/in/rbliss)
or email him at rbliss at msn dot com(c) 2017 Rodney M Bliss, all rights reserved
