Storage Wars

Having been bought, sold and acquired numerous times in my working world, helping out with the most recent acquisition seemed straight forward enough. And for the most part, it is as you would expect; chaotic and ever-changing. But I wasn’t prepared for the challenge of taking over a storage unit at Public Storage. Here’s how it has played out...

I am in California, where we are closing an office that we acquired from Marriott in a recent acquisition. I was informed that there is a storage unit used for old records (seven year rule) and we were wondering how much is there so we can pick it up and transfer it to our existing Oakwood facility. So I locate a file with an access code and some miscellaneous keys that I hope go to a padlock at the storage facility, and I head out to check it out.

When I arrive and try the code, it says the code has been deactivated. So I go in to the office, explain who I am, show ID, my card, etc.. They say, “oh I’ll have to check with my district manager to see what we need to do.” “OK, give me a call when you know”, I reply. So later that day they call and say they need a letter on Marriott letterhead signed by an officer of the company indicating that the transaction occurred that makes Oakwood the new owner of the company. Then I got to thinking, is anyone in the office in touch with the old manager? Maybe they have a newer code. Yes! OK, I head back to the storage facility. As I approach the gate, the girls in the office are looking right at me. So I approach and say,

“I have a new code from the old manager, is it OK if I try it?”
“No”, they say. I am not an authorized user of the facility and they can’t allow me to be on the premises. “And all codes associated with that account have been suspended.”
“How about you call the cell phone in your records and ask the former manager, who will verify all this and OK me entering the facility?”
“No, we’ve made a note on the account that he no longer works for the company”, they say.
“Based on the information I gave you?”
“Yes”, they say.
I say, “That doesn’t strike you as kind of absurd?”
“What?” they reply.
“The fact that you can’t take my word that I now work for the company that bought out this company, but you take my word that the manager is no longer working for the company?”
“Well, he doesn’t, does he?” they say.
“No, he doesn’t”, I verify. “Could you go on-line and verify the transaction took place, and then you can contact my company to verify I’m an employee?”
“No. We need the letter.”
“Could you just go look in the unit and tell me what’s in there?”
“No – we’re not authorized users of that unit”, they say.
“But you work here”, I reply.
“Doesn’t matter”, they say.
“This is how Storage Wars was created, huh?”
“What’s Storage Wars?” they say.

At this point, I’m starting to wonder about IQ levels.

So a week later, I return to the storage place, letter in hand.
“I’m back! Letter in hand.”
“I’m sorry, it needs to be notarized. And here is an additional form indicating a transfer of fiduciary responsibility, which we will need an officer of Marriott to fill out.  Payment has not been received in two months.  Could you pay for those two months?”  they say.
"Will it get me access to the unit?" I ask.
"No", they reply.
"Then I don't think I'll pay right now.  Did you used to work for the Department of Motor Vehicles?” I ask.
“What?, Why?”
“Nevermind”

I may never get in that storage unit.

Air Travel Ain't What it Used To Be

Yesterday we bought five airline tickets for our summer vacation. It was such a bizarre and unique experience; I’m not sure where to begin. I guess I’ll start with a quick historic run down on the socio-cultural evolution of air travel.

Once upon a time, flying was considered special - exciting and even romantic. Stewardesses – yes I said it – stewardesses were trained to wait on the customers and make them feel privileged and special. And the airline was very focused on our comfort and convenience. We could even smoke on the planes (ack!). My parents raised their family during these times – and they still employ their flying clothes – khaki skirt, blouse and sweater for mom – slacks, tie and blazer for dad. Meanwhile, the next generation was evolving. As my job required more and more air travel, I developed exactly the opposite habit. Before catching that flight home at the end of the trip, I’d dash into a rest room and put on jeans and a t-shirt.

These habits are more a reflection of the state of air travel then my slovenly fashion taste (I hope). And so I go back to yesterday’s two-and-a-half-hour ticket buying experience. To be accurate, it is much closer to six hours. Here are the highlights:

On line search:
The on line search seemed fairly straight forward. But at Allegiant Air, they want to charge a little something extra for virtually everything. (Although I’d heard this before, it was truly a shocking to experience.)

Drive to Mesa Williams Gateway (twice)
In order to avoid on-line booking fees, I drove out to this remote secondary airport only to find that they only sell ticket between 2pm and 4pm, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. So we came back the next day at about 2:30pm.

The Line:
The line was about 30 people deep when we arrived. The nice young lady in front of us had a cooler with food and drinks, and a portable chair – like what you’d bring camping or to the fireworks - or to wait in line overnight for Justin Beiber tickets.  After about ten minutes, she set up the chair and started playing Words-With-Friends. (Insert Alec Baldwin joke here).  Eventually, we struck up a conversation with her, and found out we were going to be there 2-3 hours; and this is what we learned about how ticket sales are managed.

The two hour window is when they allow people to get in line - but the actual sales will last until the people in line get their tickets. But they only sell tickets when they have no one to check in for a flight. This turned out to be about 5% of the time. And although there were five people checking in air travelers, only one or two are trained and authorized to sell tickets. So in those rare moments there is a break in check-ins, most of the Allegianteers stand around trying hard not to make eye contact, because as annoying as this is to us, it’s downright embarrassing if you work there.

Luckily the people in line seemed to all have a sense of humor. On the rare occasions someone got to move up and buy tickets, everyone in line would cheer. This was good for our spirits as participants in line waiting; but further humiliated the impotent Allegianteers. When we asked a security agent for clarification about the procedure for buying tickets, he said, “you don’t want to make a fuss – they’ve all been working all day!” Seriously?

After two and a half hours, we got to the front of the line and got to buy our tickets. (woohoo!!). The ticket agent was nice enough, but here is how it goes down:

• Check a bag? Pre buy, $25 – at check in, $35
• Carry on? Pre-buy, $25 – at check in, $35 (unless it fits under your feet)
• Isle seat? Fee
• Window Seat? Fee
• Want to sit next to someone you know? Fee (This was particularly interesting – if you are traveling with someone else, and want to sit with them, it will cost extra. The computer randomly assigns you a seat. It’s not open seating. So there is NO CHANCE you will end up sitting with your traveling companion(s) unless you pay extra for it. They have an algorithm to insure you don’t. 

All of a sudden, Southwest looks like a luxury airline. At Southwest I can sit with my family and each check two bags, and booking on-line costs LESS than any other way of buying tickets. And… the people working there are proud to work there.

I get it. By making the cheapest way to book the most inconvenient way to book, it drives buyer behavior. But it’s all bad juju. Nobody likes it. Not the customers. Not the employees. So we planned the trip this way and we’ll do this trip this way – a flight to Grand Rapids, MI from Mesa, AZ. But it’s unlikely we’ll ever do it again. It’s a form of bait-and-switch – which is scammer stuff. Or – you know – bad juju!

My favorite thing about the experience is this: the people we stood in line with were frustrated, but good natured about it. We all laughed and cheered and rallied – and it reminded me of a scene from a silly little science fiction movie from the 80's called “Starman”.  Jeff Bridges (playing an alien) says to Marian (from Indiana Jones), you know what is most wondrous and fascinating about you humans? (I’m paraphrasing). That when things are at their very worst, you are at your very best.”

OK – the line at Allegiant is hardly Armageddon. But still, I love the human condition – and believe most of us are truly at our best when faced with adversity. Or inconvenience. Or annoyance. Or Wal Mart . Whatever.  We are good at our core.  Thanks, Allegaint.  Assholes.

The State of Banking - A Little Loony

I’ve had this Canadian $5 bill in my wallet for years. It’s cool – it has a hockey player on it! But a couple of weeks ago I figured I may as well change it in for $4.87 American (the exchange rate that day on the Internet). So one Sunday while at the grocery store, I took it to the bank - a nice thing that banks now do, having branches attached to grocery stores with weekend and evening hours.  Unfortunately, they indicated that they could not do foreign exchanges; except Monday-Friday before 2pm.  I inquired why this is so – “If I can’t exchange money at the bank, I think you guys are slipping a little.”  (I had just called a couple lady's "you guys", which is a clear indicator I'm not from Phoenix - and a further indicator that where I am from, calling Canadian currency "foreign currency" is like calling Labbatt's "exotic foreign nectar").  They did not think my comment was funny.  They further indicated that they can only exchange it at those times because they use the exchange rate that the New York Stock Exchange uses; so obviously it must be while the New York Stock Exchange is open. I thought, but did not say, “I think speculation on the value of the Canadian dollar won’t fluctuate all that much by tomorrow – I mean, how much could you lose or gain in the exchange of 5 loony’s”?  The guard was inching closer.  Time to leave.

I sort of get it.  If I was exchaging 50,000 loony’s the difference could add up. Of course, I don't have 50,000 Canadian dollars – I have five. (I realize I am not using the term “loony” correctly. That is the nickname of the $1 Canadian coin. But I love that nickname – so I’m using it anyway in reference to the Canadian dollar in general.) So anyway, I thought it would make more sense for the bank to just set a limit on the amount that could be exchanged.  But banks being banks, they seem to be doing less and less for me - from a service standpoint. Not even the branch managers seem to be able to make a decision without picking up the phone anymore.  Provided I could locate and speak with the Branch Manager, I was confident that he or she would have parroted the same drivel about not being able to exchange 5 loony's while the New York Stock Exchange was closed.

Yesterday, I was passing the bank at lunch and thought I may as well exchange that $5 Canadian bill. It was well before 2 pm and the New York Stock Exchange was sure to be open. When I arrived at the counter and produced my exotic foreign currency, I was informed that they could take the bill, but I have to have an account with them (which I do) and the exchanged value would have to be deposited directly into my account.

This should be acceptable.  I am to receive the exchanged value that way.  But it also baffled me - and it also amused me.  So I replied, “I understand what you are saying.  But hypothetically, if I just wanted to exchange it for actual physical American currency, where could I do that?  My bank just seemed like the obvious place."  The look on the teller's face clearly indicated that my question was unnexpected, and a bit dissapointing, since she had already explained how it must be done.  Since the nice, attractive teller did not have a clue how to answer my question, a supervisor nearby stepped in and helpfully suggested, “I think you can exchange it at any time of day or night, 7 days a week at the international terminal at the airport.” And I wanted to, but did not, say “what do they know know at the airport about money that, you – my bank – do not?”  I was clearly talking too much.  The guard was inching closer.

And so I reflected – this time on the broader concept of the evolution of banking. When it comes to actually getting help from a banker they have become financially impotent.  (I am using the term "banker" to indicate a live person working at a bank).  I'm finding that many face to face or phone interchanges with "bankers" end with them instructing, “I can’t do that, but you can do it on-line or at an ATM.”  Great! You are an impressive individual who can talk, but that’s about it.

One upside in the evolution of banking is they seem to be a lot nicer than they used to be. But to what end? As I remember bankers 20-30 years ago, one could get a lot of advice and service and even decisions made about banking requests – but they were sort of curt and skeptical and even rude at times. These days, they smile and nod in complete empathy, but in the end I am left feeling a little like when I leave the Department of Motor Vehicles; where it is their sworn duty to send you away unsatisfied, in search of more information or another form.

So I've decided that my foreign exchange journey must be a sign.  The cool currency with the hockey player on it is much more entertaining than $4.88 US (today’s exchange rate).  So I’m just going to keep it forever.  Or at least until the volatility of the US and Canadian dollars make the exchange rate too attractive to ignore. Say, when $5 Canadian is worth $100 US.  Or as I said before, forever.

Say What?

I have this phrase I use when talking about flights from Phoenix to LA or Vegas or Denver, etc.., that it’s like catching a bus, because they go every few minutes and it’s pretty cheap.

I was reading the Chicago Tribune this morning and there was an article about how O’hare is the second busiest airport (to Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson).  89.3 million people flew in, out or thru Atlanta in 2011. 923,991 flights.

That got me thinking about my phrase about flying out of Phoenix, and about growing up when flying was a pretty big deal, and someone saying, “some day, flying will be as common as catching a bus.”  So I’m thinking about this, and I’m thinking, “when was the last time I caught a bus?”  It may be back in about 1971, when sister Jude and I caught a bus for siblings weekend with sister Deb at MSU.  Where we convinced ourselves we were on the wrong bus, because the bus driver told us we were on the bus to “How!” and we couldn’t understand he was saying “Howell”; and that wouldn’t really of helped anyway because we knew we were supposed to be going to East Lansing and… wait a minute.  That would have made us 9 and 11 years old.  Boy.  Times have changed.

So any how – flying has absolutely NEVER been like catching a bus for me.  So let’s think of other phrases that are outdated or losing meaning or just plain confusing, but we use them anyway.  Here we go: 

• Any how...
• Is that all she wrote?
• It’s not over till’ the fat lady sings.
• Man Alive!
• Jesus H. Christ! (I think I got that one from my mom?  I said it a recently and one of my kids were like, “What’s the “H” stand for?”  And I’m like, “Horatio!”
• You are the cat’s pajamas!
• No shit Sherlock (Never mind – I’m keeping that one.  I still like it.)
• Holy Cow!

OK, now everyone join in...

I Miss the Safety Patrol, Paper Boys and Riding my Bike Helmetless

As I was reading my sisters witty blog about our elementary school days in the Safety Patrol, I was reminded of some of the many differences in how my children have been brought up, vs. the social fabric of when I was growing up. I know that many people - as they age - wax philosophically on the society they grew up, saying or implying it was a better time… morally and/or idealistically. I am surely NOT doing that. The world is becoming a more informed and compassionate place – of that I’m sure.

But there are times when I observe the evolution of things that, with the best of intentions, took something away from our kids’ youth. Here are a few:

No More Safety PatrolI understand that putting the 5th grader in charge looks silly now. But really, it was great for the 5th grader. It was the first place I can remember learning a bit about responsibility and – as Judy said – being in charge. Unlike 5th grade girls though, I’ve never had a palpable desire to be in charge – but it seems I’ve always had a job where I am in charge. And I think the trend started with the Safety Patrol. I wanted to do it. I wanted the responsibility. And as silly as it may sound, I took it seriously. This is not a developmental opportunity my kids have had. When they were in elementary school, the closest thing I can think of would be student politics. But that is often a popularity contest. Safety Patrol was not. (In fact, it may have been the opposite). But I was never drawn to student government. And yet, whenever I had a job, I tended to end up in charge. (Son Frank ran for 5th grade class president within weeks of having transferred to a new school. He didn’t win of course, but that took cahones!)

No More Paper Boys
Have you noticed how creepy the newspaper delivery person has become? Don’t you miss the kid that rode his bike around the neighborhood and threw newspapers on porches? I was that kid! (At least for a while). And I was dying to do it. Despite 4am wake ups, an uphill paper route, and a creepy old guy I’d never collect from because he scared the crap out of me – I REALLY wanted to be a paper-boy! (Even after being an egg-delivery boy in the snow.) So when I hit that 11 year old age limit, I became that paper-boy. It was a rite of passage.

Safety Helmets
OK, helmets are good – bike helmets are great – when you are on a bike. But have you seen the little kid in a mall on a leash with a bike helmet on? There is such a thing as over kill. I just had to throw that one in because life has SOME risk, and we have to teach our kids to understand that, too.

Cell Phones
As parent it is great to be able to get a message to and from your kids anytime you want. It gives me much peace of mind. On the other hand… when we didn’t have that ability, kids had to develop more responsibility earlier, so as to effectively manage their time. In addition, we all had to plan a lot better, and be more punctual. If you weren’t on that corner at that time for that ride; you probably were walking. I don’t think this is really a better or worse sort of thing. There are clear advantages to more immediate communications in all walks of life. But it is different, and we therefore developed different habits at different times based on these realities. I’m not sure how much I would have liked my mom knowing exactly where I was every minute; nor do I think she would have wanted to know. But now we can GPS track our kids by their phones. Yikes! The danger I see in this one is making sure we develop trust. I know parents who track their kids and drug test their kids and go through their texts and drawers; even when the kids have given them no reason not to trust them. Trust is a pretty basic root of strong relationships. But that kind of invasiveness is not teaching them to trust – just the opposite.

So anyway – chime in with bitter-sweet things from your youth that have changed……

Senator Weiner - Need I Say More?

Senator Weiner, can you just answer the one question? Is it really that hard? To answer the question, I mean.

Rarely does a story come along begging to be made fun of with this sort of volume. (At least to the average guy - of any age - because wiener jokes are agelessly hilarious!) Since I believe Anthony, that someone else posted his package – not him – I have been holding back, pressure ever mounting. But as of this morning, a few salient factors hit me:

- With some wit and humility on the wiener’s part, this thing wouldn’t even be a story.
- When one is thrust into the spotlight, it is an opportunity to perform. It’s not the size of the spotlight that counts; but how you use the spotlight.
- He’s a Senator – if he didn’t like the spotlight or being called wiener - a career change would be in order. As well as a name change.
- Senator Weiner won’t answer the basic question, is it Wiener’s wiener?
- He’s acting like, well, a wiener!

So all bets are off!!

I initially felt bad for him with the reality that he has gone through life with the wiener-thing . And I do feel bad that, obviously as a result of all that teasing growing up, he had no choice for a career but to go into politics; taking him from wiener squared to wiener cubed. But, Gods sake, man up wiener boy!

If Senator Weiner went for a ride in the wiener-mobile, and while on that ride tweeted out a pic of his wiener, he would be… a whining wiener named Wiener in a wiener tweeting his wiener. Whew!! I feel much better now.

I think Senator Weiner has opportunistically used his name to his advantage. Let’s face it, the same bully that stuffed him in the locker in the 7th grade, went straight to the polls to vote from the local pub after calling in sick on Election Day, saw “Weiner” on the ballot, had no real knowledge of whom Weiner or his opponent was, and went, “Heehee!! Weiner!? Hell yes! That’s whom I ‘m voting for. (Internal dialogue, of course.)

Not long ago, pulsating with rage at the republicans, Weiner decried NPR’s Car Talk as “pollution of the airwaves”. OK, so he was actually being sarcastic. But I had to look twice, because, he was acting, well, like a wiener.

And while we are on the subject of “taking pictures of your junk”, who EVER thinks this can be a good idea? If you get the urge to open your pants and snap your wiener, JUST SAY NO! (Or in general, say NO to taking a picture of that region, pants on or not) Guys, I’m just going to say this once. The most promiscuous, sexually active, open minded, heterosexual woman in the world will have the same reaction to receiving that picture as your sister would. It will NOT be “wow.. look at that wiener – that makes me hot”. No, it will just be “EWE!!

Everything I Needed to Know to Run Trump Enterprises I learned in Kindergarten

Donald Trump told the folks on a national morning show that he is contemplating running for president. Since Bill Cosby was on the same show a little later in the morning, they asked him about this idea of the Donald running for president, and Bill said, “The only thing he’s running is his mouth. He should run or shut up”. Or words to that effect.

Donald issued a statement that said, “Oh yeah Bill!? Well you’re a poopy-face and you like Obama more than me and that hurts my feelings!!” Or words to that effect. OK, his actual statement was….

While I have never been a fan of Cosby’s, I had always assumed he liked or respected me because every time I met him…. he was always so nice, saying, ‘let’s get together’ – asking me out to dinner, and being polite to the point of offering to buy me a suit because he has a ‘great tailor.’”

“In any event, as I watched the show, the subject of Donald Trump came up. I was surprised to hear him blabber, somewhat incoherently, ‘you run or shut up.’ The hatred was pouring out of his eyes when he said this.”

“I wish he would be more honest, and if he doesn’t want me to run because he’s obviously an Obama fan, he should state the reasons and not come into my “green room” in front of numerous witnesses and treat me like his best friend, only to denigrate me when I’m not around. Sadly, he got more attention talking about me than he did on the merits of his own appearance—maybe he is not as dumb as I thought.”In other words, Oh yeah Bill!? Well you’re a poopy-face and you like Obama more than me and that hurts my feelings!!”
The Donald may be a savvy businessman, but I can’t help but be concerned at the prospect of how he would respond to, oh, say, Muammar Gaddafi.

Gaddafi: You arrogant American with bad hair – you think you can tell the rest of the world how to behave!
The Donald: Oh yeah? Well you’re a poopy-face!
Gaddafi: You are Satan!
The Donald: That hurts my feelings – I wish you would be more honest that you like Obama more than me and not act like you like me in front of all the heads of state. Sadly, you get more attention calling me names than speaking about your own civil war. Maybe you are not as dumb as I thought. You’re fired!!
Gaddafi: You can’t fire me. I’m going to stay here until I die.
The Donald: You think I can’t see the hatred flowing from your eyes?
Gaddafi: That’s not hatred; it’s hair gel.
The Donald: If you were to come on my new show, The Despot Apprentice, I could fire you.
Gaddafi: I will never go on American TV. Look what it has done to your hair. See mine? I bet you wish you had a head of hair like mine!
The Donald: Well that’s not fair. My WIFE wishes she had a head of hair as thick and curly as yours.
Gaddafi: Which one?
The Donald: Poopie-face Dictator!!!

See? We’d get nowhere.

I like my presidents with a little more diplomacy. I don’t think Mr. Trump has the humility to pull it off. At least Bill Clinton – sociopath that he is – recognizes that there are situations in which you need to ACT like you have humility. “I did not have sex with that girl…” “OK you got me, it was sort of sex, but I’m very sorry ( I got caught…)” Oh heck – that’s a whole nother topic. Hey! That’s not a real phrase!! Whole another… other… tuther…. What’s that short for?