see as i saw

It can be frustrating and difficult when you catch yourself in a client-facing or independent situation  without answers.  Especially when you can remember knowing nearly every conceivable answer in your past position.

I always told trainees that they would pick it up quicker than they realized and shouldn't feel embarrassed to tell a client, "I don't know, I'll get back to you".  But admitting that you don't know has this way of planting a seed of doubt in your mind.  Will they think I'm unqualified?  Incompetent?  Just plain dumb?

Here's the thing that I have to remind myself, the people on the other end of the phone weren't born knowing everything either.  Some of them would like to think that they did, but most of them are completely open to a follow-up call or email.

Case in point, I was handling a rather technical call on my own today and quickly realized that while I understood his questions, I was oblivious to most of the correct answers.  I decided to own up and tell him that I would have to follow up, because I was only two months in and these details weren't things that came up in my daily routine.  Wouldn't you know it, he was in the same boat.  Trying to figure out the answers to things that are totally outside of his wheelhouse.

So, we had a good laugh about the blind leading the blind, came up with a list of follow-ups, and plans to sync up tomorrow.  And I didn't even have to spend the whole call feeling incompetent.

 Yes, I know, I've been a neglectful parent to this blog baby of mine.  Although I had the photo and the content idea all mentally mapped out, the actual execution just didn't come to fruition.  Can I be extended a pardon, though?  Based on extenuating circumstances, such as day three of a new job?


I'd like to see you learn about writing xpath, optimizing for CPCs, and figuring out where the permalink goes in the nano code...then coming "home" to your hotel room to blog.  Yeah, that's right.    And I may have, ahem, had other priorities.  Moving on.  So today is going to be a joint post, melding yesterday's topic with additional thoughts I ruminated on today.


Even though the majority of my hours in New York have been spent working, I'm still enjoying learning the little things about life here.  When I travel, I generally make an effort to put myself in a local's shoes instead of waltzing around from one tourist destination to the next.  If I wasn't living in a hotel, I think that my daily routine here might actually make me feel like a local.

To that end, I've actually been buying several of my dinners from the food bars at Whole Foods (conveniently located two blocks away).  The check-out lines are long during the evening commute hours, but space is limited.  So here's what I learned as I went along.

There are 30 registers, two rows of fifteen facing one another and separated by a single aisle.  There are three lines of customers, each assigned a color.  A monitor at the front of the line coordinates - blue, yellow, green.  When a register opens, the number flashes on the monitor within one of the colored boxes.  Whomever is in that line scuttles over to that register.  For some reason it feels like a game every time I do it.

And maybe it's the just the US Open coloring my opinions, but I'm kind of loving New York.  I never imagined it as a city I would be comfortable living in, but after even three days I'm starting to reconsider.  Today I walked home from work, down 5th Avenue, and walked to the north end of Madison Square Park.  Because in New York, they do things like set up a jumbo screen in the park with a feed of the US Open.  And people actually gather to watch it.  You know what else?  They're seriously engaged, applauding and cheering after points.

I'm not saying that it's time to head out of Chicago, but I'll be happy to spend more time in New York City - both during the remainder of my training period and in the future.

 I was so close to a dream come true, my idea of an ideal night and a possible perfect ending.

When Andy Roddick won his third round match, I was just excited by the prospect of being in the stadium for the next round.  As I kept my eye on the weather reports each day, it wasn't promising.  But after work today, it looked like the front would pass and maybe we'd sneak in some tennis before another one arrived.  Worst case scenario, I'd waste some time trekking out to Queens.

Here's where things got interesting.  I took the 1 up to Times Square, where I was supposed to transfer to the 7 Express.  I got a little perplexed by the signage telling me that 7 trains were coming on both tracks.  Not wanting to end up opposite of my destination (I later realized that Times Square was the beginning of the route and there was only one direction to go), I engaged in an activity that I spurn - asking directions, essentially.  There was a woman next to me who seemed like a good candidate, but it turned out she was about as knowledgable as me.

I finally figured out that a diamond signified "express" and a circle meant "local".  So I ushered us both onto the subway.  For some reason, I decided to play out of character again and started small talk with this woman.  Maybe it was just because I was bubbling over with enthusiasm about the US Open.

When we were a few stops away from our destination, my new transit partner called her friends to let them know she was almost there.  I immediately discerned from her response that her friends had decided not to go.  After telling them not to worry multiple times, she hung up and gave me the rundown.

She wasn't interested in going alone, tennis was their passion and she was just along for the ride.  But she had tickets waiting at will call.  And after asking me if I had good seats (clearly the answer was no), she volunteered hers to me.  In the blink of an eye, I was bequeathed two tickets in courtside reserved seating.

Honestly, I could barely stand or think straight.  I wandered aimlessly into the tennis center, unable to focus.  So I set myself on a mission to eat something and snap to it.  Then I made my way into Arthur Ashe Stadium, nine rows up from the court, and it was more amazing than anything I ever dreamed of.  I had a seat next to a guy who would become another small talk buddy and later buy me a drink during the rain suspension.

I could already wax nostalgic about how amazing every detail was, except for one, the fact that the match got canceled at the start of the first set tiebreak.  My perfection was only destined to last 35 minutes.  So, it was a partial dream come true.

After the match was canceled, I was still hesitant to leave the stadium.  It went by too quickly.  Then a worker started chatting with me, and as the center court lights shut off, we exited together.  He let me in on a secret about getting back to the city in twenty minutes instead of an hour and a half: the employee shuttle bus.  I just had to board with him and act like I knew what I was doing.  And it was free.  Sold.  So I headed back into Manhattan, chatting with Mohamed on an employee-sanctioned charter bus.

Despite the fact that nothing really went as planned, I can't be completely upset about my night.  Sure, I'll most likely miss the remainder of the Roddick/Del Potro match, and even if it starts late enough for me to watch it won't be live.  But I made it to the US Open, I sat in the most amazing seats, I saw my favorite player in person during his final days, and I had some unique experiences thanks to random people.  Plus, the match was canceled soon enough that I can trade in my ticket for one of equal value for the 2013 US Open.

When I wrote yesterday's post, including a completely offhand comment about Andy Roddick, little did I know that it would be followed by news to inspire a dedicated post.  At 5:05pm CT yesterday, a press conference changed the whole landscape of my tennis obsession.

In true Roddick style, there was no beating around the bush.  Only a matter-of-fact statement regarding his decision to retiring following the US Open.  A lump formed in my throat and I spent the next thirty minutes willing myself to not cry.  Because who cries over press conferences?

I've had a long and dedicated journey as a Roddick fan, there's a Reebok trucker hat with a stitched Roddick signature in my closet to prove it.  And maybe two posters in my storage locker, because I can't fathom getting rid of them.

At times, when his critics were in full attack mode, I was defending him as if he was a close personal friend.  Some of those times I was alone in my apartment yelling at commentators on the TV screen.

I'll miss that unique service motion and the 140 mph serves extending off of his racquet.  The snarky press conferences cannot be matched by another player.  My only hope is that he makes it into the booth one day, so that his commentary can at least keep me from withdrawals.

Starting with the press conference, continuing to today's pre- and post-match, and I'm sure through the end of his tournament - I'm fighting back tides of emotion, because his words and actions are palpably sentimental.  Hopefully he has several rounds left in him, but Sunday is a given and I'll be tuning in until the bittersweet end.

Another day, another photo filter app.  This time is the eponymous Instagram...for Android.  Although so many non-iPhone users were anxiously awaiting the ability to join the club, I was ambivalent (to being part of the "cool" crowd) with a tinge of curious (thanks to a slight tech-geek streak).  My consensus: their filters are polished and superior to several other apps I've used.  On the flip side, you can't fine tune exposure and EVERY photo has to be cropped to square.  Sometimes I just want a rectangular photo.  Actually, most times.

On a completely unrelated note, my brother sent me an article about a website called Fiverr.  The premise is interesting and has my wheels turning. "What would you be willing to do for $5?"  You can create a profile and post anything you'd be willing to say, do, create, perform, etc. - just ensure that you're content with a $5 payout.  From there, it's a marketplace like any other.  There are some pretty standard services offered, like proofreading a paper or recording a birthday message in a celebrity soundalike voice.  And then there's the not so common, such as sending a jpg image of a custom-made blackmail note.  Yeah, you know the kind, the magazine letters glued to paper type of stalker note.  Although I could clearly post up some helpful writing or marketing skills, I'm actually trying to brainstorm a quirkier set of skills.  If no one responds, it's no loss to me.  Otherwise, maybe I could be putting a few Lincolns in my pocket.