To Whom It May Concern

TO: Company My Husband Works For

FROM: His Wife

DATE: October 7, 2008

RE: The Status Quo

We need to talk about the service department at one of your Bay Area branches and more specifically, the management. You see, there are four mechanics in your shop. My husband is one of them. He's been with your company for over five years now. He's never done wrong by the company, only missed work in cases of family emergencies, personal illness, and in the last year in the name of "...there's just no work."

Now I realize that to you, this means nothing. "Oh," you say, "a day off here and there. Must be nice!" Yeah. Here and there would be one thing. In the last six months, it's been at least one day per week, sometimes more. A month ago, he had 42 hours on what should have been an 88-hour paycheck. I know that doesn't sound like a problem to you, but it was most definitely a problem for us. You see, I'm a stay-at-home mom. Yes, it's a choice, a choice we made four years ago when I was pregnant with our oldest child, Beth, who's three and a half. We've since added a boy to our family, Robby, who'll be one at the end of this month. We knew that having me stay at home would make things a bit tight. What we didn't know is that the economy would tank due to the mortgage crisis and that we'd be having to survive in the Bay Area for two weeks on one week's pay.

Have you ever tried to buy two weeks worth of of groceries for a family of four (plus one extra kid for dinner four days a week) on $60.00? Are you aware of the managerial practices being used in your Bay Area shop?

Your shop foreman is playing favorites. He has his pet, G, whom he's presumably grooming to take over his job when he retires - which is hopefully sooner than later - who's been working 40+ hours per week, no questions asked. Then there's Speed Racer who tears through jobs like his ass is on fire. Sure, he gets them done in the quoted time but did you know that more than half of the time, those jobs come back or end up being a mess a road mechanic has to clean up because Speed Racer worked too fast, overlooked major things, and now it needs repaired again. This guy works every day. Finally, there's D. He's been there for 30+ years; he's more or less a fixture. He's also damn close to retirement. He works at the speed of turtles humping, puts time down on jobs that he pissed away cleaning the threads on a bolt. He works every day. Nobody ever tells these guys to call before they come into work.

But my husband has to. Why? No one knows. When he is there, the foreman treats him like the village idiot and is extremely rude to him, nay, he's an asshole. So my husband talks to your service manager. What does the service manager tell him? "File for partial unemployment. We'll get the papers ready for you." My husband asks to be put on the road, which would provide more working hours. "No. I can't." No explanation, not even an, "I'm sorry, dude, I know it's tough."

Why is it that the other guys, one of whom is intentionally slow-moving and one who moves too fast and causes costly errors, get full days and full weeks, and my husband is begging for work? Are we the only ones who see the flaw in this? We're pretty sure we are. My husband is a good, hard worker who actually cares about the quality of work he produces and takes pride in doing a good job. Yet he's the first one to get shitcanned for the day if work slows down.

And don't get me started on that Stuffed Shirt you call the General Manager.

I guess maybe I should have addressed this letter to the Service Manager. Or write another one to him...

Service Manager,
Please show some mercy and lay off my husband. He's a good man, a terrific father and in ideal working conditions, an excellent provider. Your shop is obviously overstaffed and under a bit of duress. If you can't give him the hours he deserves, lay him off so that he can get a severance package and start collecting unemployment while we decide our next move. For five years of hard work and loyalty, you at least owe him that. You clearly don't understand the mental anguish he goes through and how much strain this puts on our family and you also don't care. You've made that quite clear every time Rob tries to talk to you and you immediately start talking over him just to stop him from telling you any reasons he needs the hours. You know, like glasses to replace the ones that have been broken for three months. I bet you never noticed that he stopped wearing glasses. Or tires to replace the bald and warped ones we're driving around on? Or the bills that we're desperately trying to stay on top of?
If you want to play favorites, fine. If my husband isn't one of them, that's also fine. But have a heart and lay him off. It's a win-win, really. Please.


I won't actually send this letter to anyone. It wouldn't do any good and would probably just make more trouble for my husband. But it feels good to get it out.

My Weekly Writing Assignment

So Mama Kat gave us a choice of four prompts this week:

1) Lost? How come?
2) If I could take tomorrow off work, I would...
3) Write a letter to someone you miss greatly
4) 10 things I believe in

I'm going to complete #3 today and #4 tomorrow. I know you're only supposed to pick one but they're both so involved and exciting fodder for a writer, I just can't help myself.

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Dear You'll-Know-Who-You-Are-In-A-Minute,

'Sup? We haven't seen each other in over five years and we only occasionally speak on the phone. That's my fault. I'm a horrible phone person, have been for years. The only person I can gab on the phone with really well is my mom and I think that's because I'm well-practiced in that. We have unlimited long distance and I rarely use it. I think it's because I'm afraid that I'm too boring for you now. My stories have bored you since I moved out here...at least, that's what I surmise from your not-so-ambiguous rants about people who act like they're octogenarians and spend a good deal of time online, talking to the people who live inside their computer (whom they may or may not have met in person). I'm 99% certain that was directed at me but I chose not to say anything because I didn't want us in the same exact place we were this time last year.

I know I've changed a lot since I left and for the simple fact that it's clearly disappointing to you, I'm sorry. But I'm not sorry for who I am now. I've gone from left to right, east to west, and from being an outgoing extrovert to being a homebody who'd rather curl up with her ratty 12-year-old blanket and watch HGTV than hit the bar. So when you call and have all these stories about work, about people I used to know and hang out with, your house, the old 'hood...well, I have none of that and I come off as boring and hermit-like. I feel less boring when we email and exchange comments on MySpace.

I wish there were fewer miles between us. I still consider you my best friend and you have no idea how many times I've wished you lived closer so I wouldn't be so damn bored. We'd probably just sit and watch informercials for Time-Life music collections or listen to Pink Floyd and reminisce about our younger days, but it'd be time well-spent. I know you and a whole league of people wish we'd move back. Although our actions don't say so, we do miss Pennsylvania. We miss the people, the attitude, nice Walmarts, and having fewer junkies and meth heads to deal with in our grocery store parking lots. But as bad as our financial situation seems out here, it'd be ten times worse back there. We talk about moving all the time and someday, I guarantee you, we will. It just won't be anytime soon.

Please don't be disillusioned with me. I know I'm shitty at calling people and that I may come across as a loser who's developed roots in the chair at her computer desk, but rest assured, the old me is alive and well. She just doesn't have any real friends out here or any idea how to meet them. If I'm being quite honest, I think I've been keeping that possibility at a distance because I know how hard it was to leave the friends I've had my entire life and move across the country. I don't want to do that again.

So please don't fault me too hard for not calling. And please understand that despite my seemingly lonely existence, overall my mental health is just fine. Moreover, please understand that I do miss you. We might not agree on everything but you are and always will be my best friend, miles be damned.

And I will forever crack a smile when I hear Ralph Wiggum (thank you, by the way, for the birthday card, I had to explain the whole "sleep in a drawer" thing to Rob after he saw it), see a Schwinn, or catch "Whole Lotta Love" on the radio.

God, I've gone on long enough. You get it. I'm sure you know who "you" are by now. And I sound like a schmuck. Take care, dude.

Love,
Darcie

A Letter to My 10-Year-Old Self

Mama's Losin' It is doing a writers workshop for Wednesday in which she puts us to task writing letters to our 10-year-old selves. I, for one, am eager to do this! Ever since I first heard Brad Paisley's "Letter to Me," I've pondered what I'd tell myself in a letter to me when I was 17. But 10? Yikes! A lot happened between 10 and 17.

Hang on to your hats, here we go...

Dear Darcie,

You're going to be a good softball player despite your perpetual presence in right field. Don't doubt your abilities and stick with it through high school. You'll regret not trying out. You're going to be good at volleyball, but you have to give it an honest effort. Run harder, try harder and want it more.

Enjoy your ear for music. You have a real gift when it comes to music and you shouldn't brush it aside like it's a nuisance. Embrace your ability to play the piano, practice the trombone more and make Mr. C proud at district jazz auditions. Don't just try out for the day off from school.

You're going to go through a really rough and nasty patch of life between 1994 and 1996. When that stretch is over, find someone to talk to. A therapist, a minister, a close friend, or even your mom - whomever you choose, be honest about your feelings and actually deal with your loss. Otherwise you'll still be dealing with it 12 years later.

Speaking of your mom, stand up for yourself. She's going to be hard on you, especially as high school winds down and you set off for college. She's not going to put things tactfully and she's going to come off as a bully. She means well, she really does, but it won't sound like that and you'll have to hold your ground for what you believe and want. Don't let her bring your spirit down. Love yourself for you, not for what she wants you to be. Then recognize that your mom isn't some superbeing who has all the answers and is infallible. She's a human being capable of making mistakes.

Don't waste your time or emotion on that boy who'll take a shine to you at the end of your 8th grade year. He'll be a sleazy louse for the rest of your high school career and he'll leave you with few good memories. Most of what you'll remember of him is getting your heart broken and being in a vicious cycle of sticking with a guy who doesn't treat you the way you deserve to be treated.

Start a running program. You won't be good at it, not at first. You're not a born runner. But you'll find a natural high in running and maybe you won't be so eager to start smoking when you're 16. Oh, and by the way? Don't start smoking. Turn down that Marlboro on Diana's roof! Running will also whip you into shape and maybe you won't gain 20 lbs when you start college.

Have fun at college but remember: you need to have a little respect for yourself. Make sure you surround yourself with real friends who'll watch your back when you drink too much. Stay away from vodka in dorm rooms. Also stay away from newly-initiated frat boys. Definitely don't mix the two. Major in writing. You'll have a handful of people telling you to do this from the time you're about 15 and it's good advice. When you graduate, utilize their job assistance program. Otherwise, you'll end up working a series of crappy jobs that pay nothing.

When you're nearing your 22nd birthday, you'll meet the man you're going to marry. Make sure he keeps running, he'll lament the day he stopped. Realize that things with your roommates will, for whatever reason, turn sour but that's okay. Real friends have a way of finding their way back to each other again.

That's right, I said married. He'll move mountains for you - and move across mountains for you - and you'll finally realize how you're supposed to be treated.
Cherish him, he's a real diamond in the rough. He'll make you laugh like you've never laughed before.

That's enough for now. A few lessons to carry with you though, and I want you to write them down and put them in your wallet:

1. People are human. Some people are shitty humans. Follow the Golden Rule and treat others like you want to be treated. Remember that not everyone follows this rule though. Take the high road. You'll feel better about it. "Whatever you do today you'll have to sleep with tonight."

2. Be your own self-promoter. Be no one's doormat. The squeaky wheel really does get the grease.

3. Realize that not everyone will agree with your decisions. Don't get all in a funk about that. Stop being a people-pleaser. Say what you want to say, be as honest as you want. If people don't like it, that's their problem.

4. Always pursue freelance writing. Don't give up so easily.

5. Stay away from credit cards. They're bad news.

6. Buy a digital camera before your daughter's born in 2005. You'll wish you'd had it.

7. Love yourself. Find something positive to say about yourself everyday and drown out the mean assholes with a smile and a song.

Love,
You, almost 19 years down the line