ridiculous disparity

I look at my watch and the time is wrong by several hours. 

I take my watch to Tourneau where they offer free battery changes for life if you purchased your watch from them. I did. It takes two weeks.

I feel naked without my watch, so I take out my previous watch, now my backup. But of course that watch, which hasn't been worn in I -don't-know-how-long also needs a new battery. I wear it to work thinking I'll run-out at lunch to get a new one.

I google "watch batteries" and put in my work zip code. A name pops up. Manhattan Time Service. 2 West 46th Street. 3 blocks away. Perfect.

I call to make sure they have a battery replacement for an Ebel watch. They do. 

"Can you replace my battery while I wait?"  

"Yes."

"How much?" 

"$70."

Wow. That sounds high to me. But maybe that's what it costs. I have no idea.

I leave work and it's blissering hot. I'll stop on 47th Street, I decide. It's a block closer. And surely they'll be watch retailers in the famed Diamond District.

I find one.

Mr. Lee is meticulously working on two watches. I trust him without knowing him.

When he's done with his customer, I hand over my watch.

Five mintues later, he hands it back.

"Eight dollars," he says.

Okay. I get how prices can vary from store to store. Maybe the first quote was for an Ebel battery vs. a generic one. But really, 8 vs 70?

My watch now tells the correct time. That's all I really care about. Thank you Mr. Lee.

that hair thing

Why does hair matter so much?

When my hair looks good, I do. And vice versa. And what is most disappointing, is that usually my hair falls in the vice-versa category

I have the best possible hair dryer. The Dyson.

Excellent brushes. 

Both a top colorist and hair cutter.

And in the hands of a professional, my hair can look good. But never in mine.

Weather has a huge effect. A great blow out can turn quickly into a frizz mess if it's raining, humid, or a host of other environmental possibilities. My hair basically looks good far less often than it looks bad. And when it looks bad, it looks really bad. Dry. Frizzy. Dull. Out of control.

So once a year I have a keratin treatment done. And today is that day.

I've been going to the Sergio Limpopo salon once a year since 2012. I started with Julie, but then she left, had a baby, and switched careers. She was amazing. 

So beginning last year, Sergio, has been my guy.

He is fast (in and out in an hour), flexible, professional, and a great person to talk to while my hair is being processed. 

I can't wash my hair for 24-hours and can't color it for two weeks. But the result, even today, is shinier, straighter, frizz-free, easy-to-manage hair.

I am now about ready for summer.

good beginning marred by bad ending

You'd think I'd learned my lesson by now, but I still make the same mistake over and over.

Yesterday I stay at work an extra 45 minutes to help someone who had racks and racks of clothes. In the end, she buys nothing.

Then today, I do the same thing again. Only this time it's far worse.

I have a good day. Steady customers. Lots of decent sales. The store closes at 7, and about five minutes to, another associate (I'll call MInx) and I start helping a woman. We decide to split the sale.  Little do we know....

Without going into any detail, Minx and I stay until after nine. We are both hungry; I've only had an apple since breakfast. Exhausted; my fitbit tells me I've walked 21,503 steps. And anxious to get home. 

Together, Minx (who is far calmer than I through the debacle that follows) and I wrap and ring. Then re-wrap and re-ring. Then unwrap and hang. Then do a lot of other stuff that's too boring to write about. And in the end? There's zero commission to split. 

If I'd been alone, I'd be crying instead of laughing. But I really love working with Minx, and I can learn a lot from her unwavering professionalism in any situation.

I call for a VIA but it's a 19-minute wait. So I skip that and start walking to the subway, just as it starts to rain.

I am not paying attention and I trip on the curb. Luckily, I break my fall with my hands. So my face is safe, but not my knee, palms, right shoulder and right wrist.

Several people rush to my aid and I'm too embarrassed to tell them how much I hurt. But nothing is broken, and I'm grateful for their help.

I get to the subway, and hear, "The next uptown train will be arriving in 13 minutes."

I exit the subway, and find a taxi. $12. Via would have been $6.

I get home at 9:26. Have an unhealthy dinner. Take an Advil. And write this post.

rachel's getting married

My 37-year old nephew, Adam, is getting married. 

It took Adam a while but he finally found his perfect match in Rachel. Like him, she's athletic, health-conscious, independent, fun, smart and gorgeous. They seem the perfect couple.

The shower is at aTribeca bakery and cafe called Maman. I arrive at the same time Rachel does, and already the small restaurant is filled with friends and family. The bride-to-be is radiant.

My sister Valerie, and Rachel's look-alike-mom Debra, are hosting.



The long tables are set with style. 

The passed appetizers are outstanding (especially the fig/goat cheese phyllo-baked tart and the mini croque monsieurs). But it's of course the people (and not the decor, flowers, and food) that make the event. 

Among the guests are Jill, Jessica and Rita.

Rachel's sister Sophia.

Amanda with Valerie.



Carolyn and Wendy.



Rachel with Mark (the only male until the family men arrive).



Valerie and the photographer.

Lots of beautiful people I don't know but who are close friends of Rachel and her mom.

The many moving speeches captivate the room, especially the bride-to-be.




Toward the end of the night, Adam, his dad, and Rachel's father arrive, and I'm able to get a group shot.

It's a great night, for an amazing woman, who is about to become a Mrs. to an incredible man. 

another craig's list success story

In late April, I post on Craig's List:

Sleek, modern Ralph Lauren sectional sofa - $850 (Upper East Side) hide this posting

I bought this sofa at Bloomingdales in 2008. It's a really great piece of furniture but since I re-arranged its placement a couple of years ago, it doesn't fit. The sofa blocks off Alexander's room (I guess I should stop calling it that, but until my son moves his clothes and other things out, it really still is his room).

In the few months since my sofa's been posted, several people have come to see it.

One couple decides it's too big for their space (I did post the dimensions). For another, the price is too high and we can't negotiate close enough. One loves it but moving it will cost more than she wants to spend. Someone else wants to buy and flip it but that proves to be too difficult. And then there is Jamie.

He first writes to me in mid-May or so. He, his wife and his infant son have just moved here from London, and he's signed a lease on an apartment. He thinks the sofa will be perfect.

But then, things happen. Lots of emails over the next few weeks. All friendly and well-written (though of course being well-written isn't a factor in deciding who I can sell my sofa to). Last minute, Jamie's apartment falls through. He needs to find a new one. Then there is his schedule. And mine. 

By the time I meet Jamie, on Sunday, I feel like I've known him a long time. We hug hello. 

And just like I imagined, Jamie is lovely. He is immensely good-looking and charming in that captivating British way. His accent is exactly as I wish mine were. He could say anything and it would sound charming. 

We talk awhile. He loves the sofa. Pays for it. And we later make plans for its pick-up.

The Man-In-The-Van (which is now a company) guys come today, right on time. They are fast and efficient. 




















Jamie and I promise to keep in touch. I hope we do. 

And I'm happy that my sofa is going to a well-loved new home.

big event in boston

M's son Sam is marrying Josie. 

I love them both. They've been dating for nine years, and now share an apartment in the city. Today M is hosting a shower for Josie.

I decide to fly up. 

While I used to fly a lot, now I rarely do. Maybe twice a year, when I fly to the Cape in July and August. So it's easy to forget the requirements to fly.

I am leaving on Jet Blue from LaGuardia's Marine Air Terminal. It was built in 1939, and according to Wikipeida, "is the only active airport dating from the first generation of passenger travel in the United States."

The terminal is so deserted I have to ask someone if it's even open. Aside from me, I see two other people: one is cleaning the bathroom and the other is sweeping the floor.

The terminal, with its gorgeous Art Deco mural, looks like a throwback to another era.  The only update seems to be the removal of the airport pay phones and the addition of an ATM.



But once inside the DEPARTURE doors, the place looks like any other airport. As I am in line to show my electronic ticket, I remember that my license is not with me. Fortunately, the guy at the gate assesses me as a non-threat and accepts my American Express card as my ID.

V picks me up. M's already-spectacular home is even more gorgeous than usual. Her backyard is filled with food, waiters, drink, and guests.  By the time we arrive, exactly on time at 12:30, half the guests are already here.

It's a joyous day. Even M's Aunt Nina, the family matriarch who never minces words, gives the event a solid ten.

M is the perfect host. Everything is done to perfection.

But it's really about the lovely and beautiful Josie. She is is warm and kind, and always makes everyone feel welcome.

And her adoring Sam. 

This is one magnificent and special couple. Their happiness is palpable.

PART SIX (of six): final chapter

Shooting is supposed to happen tomorrow night. From 8pm to 2am. There is no pay involved.

By 9:30pm tonight ...

• I still don't know what outfit they selected for me to wear of the ones I submitted.
• I still haven't signed the contract as terms have not been finalized.
• And I still have no details on any of the specifics, including location.

So I start thinking.

One of my friends is adamantly against it. She thinks there is only downside. "Lyn, no drama and no conflict equal bad television. I can't imagine you'll be portrayed favorably."

Another friend thinks that doing it is weird.

A third says, "Are you ready for any negative posts that could be written?  People not liking you for whatever reason?"

And a fourth adds, "This year I want to say yes more than no. And this would definitely be an adventure." But then I ask, "Would you do it?"  "No, but I'm more private than you." She is.

When I think of all the people who could see it, would I be putting myself out there too much? Would I look desperate? What if I don't like the final product? And I can't even write a single thing about it until the show airs or is announced, and that could be months and months from now. And even then, everything I write would have to be pre-approved.

My head becomes filled with unanswered what-if's.

I send an email before I change my mind. It begins, "I wanted to let you know that I’ve decided to withdraw from the project."

The response is immediate and kind.

So now I won't be on TV. 

I am honored to have been selected, and in the process, I met some really great people.

In the end, it was an adventure. Just not quite the adventure I thought it would be.

end of a horrid work week.

I think it was a nice summer's day outside, but since I was working inside I don't get to enjoy any of it. And what I am doing inside turns out to be an exhausting effort benefiting no one.

I have a small, $600 sale soon after arriving at work, and then nothing else until about 5 when I sell a single T-shirt. That's it.

And I really try —18,974 steps worth.

I have few customers as store traffic is low in number and fellow workers are high in number. Mostly when I ask, "Hi, is anyone helping you?" the answer is yes.

And then when I do find customers, I find the wrong ones. Sometimes I'm lucky and sometimes I'm not, and today I am definitely not.

When I am fortunate enough to find someone who isn't being helped, either...

• We don't have her size; or
• Nothing works (despite the entire rack full of clothes she tries on); or
• She runs out of time after gathering at least 30 different pieces; or
• She wants to think about it overnight; or
• She needs to first see what her boyfriend/husband/sister/mother thinks.

By the time I leave, my feet are killing me. I am totally depleted. My left knee hurts.  And the thought of repeating this tomorrow makes me sad.

This week may have been my worst week since starting two and a half years ago. I'll gross about $140 for three full days of work. About $6/hour. And that's due to a combination of weak sales and an exorbitantly high return rate of almost 70%. Translated that means that for every $100 I sell this week, $70 is returned from prior weeks.

I know, it's the same old story. I try to stay positive. Every day's a new day. Blah blah blah.

PART FIVE (of six): some clothes and a contract

I'm assuming I was judged to be sufficiently sane, as I get an email from the wardrobe stylist. 

She asks me to send her photos of me in three outfits. "Something you'll feel comfortable in." They will ultimately pick one for me to wear the night of the shoot.

I am most comfortable in jeans, and loose-fitting clothes, though that might not be my best look.

I enlist the help of my neighbor's 15-year old son to be my photographer. I am sure he is thrilled with the assignment. He's polite, though, and doesn't ask why I want my head cut out (it's another bad hair day, like most).

After considering a multitude of outfits, I settle on four.

I am told that denim is okay "with a nice top," so I choose two.

And then I choose two dresses. The first is a body-hugging black dress with a sheer bolero over it. In the picture I come across as frumpy. 

The second dress is one I've never worn. It's another tight-fitting dress. From the photo, it looks as if I have no waist. I'm not thrilled with the way I look here either.

In fact, later I decide that flowers on TV may be unflattering, and retract this option.

At the same time we're discussing clothes, I am reviewing/negotiating terms of a 7-page contract. You'd think I was signing on to a multi-year deal and I'm starring.

But everything is moving quickly, and I'm honored to have been selected. The studio's enthusiasm is contagious and it feels good to be wanted.

PART FOUR (of six): am I happy?

Things are moving quickly.

Today is my psyche evaluation. I'm told it'll be about three-hours long, and include both an interview and a personality test. In case you're wondering, I'm not being singled out. Anyone selected is required to do this. So it's definitely a good sign.

The one-hour interview is comfortable, and I find myself discussing things I haven't thought about in years. It's the 550 questions (all True or False) that I find more challenging.

It's pretty easy to answer False when the question reads, Someone is trying to poison me. Or,  I like hunting. But there are a couple of questions that are far more difficult to answer.

I am an important person. True/False
Hmmm. I've been easily answering the prior questions but this one stops me. I do not consider myself an important person. So do I answer False? But then I think, I hope I am important to my friends and family.  So would that make my answer True? But I haven't done anything that would make me important beyond the sphere of people who know me. Is that what the question means? Or maybe it's about how I view myself. Do I think I'm important?  I guess I'd answer yes to that. So while I ultimately chose the answer, True, I feel I am important to very few.

The most taxing question regards happiness. Are you happy most of the time? True/False.
No, I am not happy most of the time. But then, I am not unhappy most of the time either. Sometimes opposites don't apply. For example, having money doesn't make one happy. But not having money can certainly make one unhappy.  

A smart friend of mine (when I ask er later) answers the question this way:  "Happiness falls at a 7 or higher, and most days I'm a 5 or a 6." I agree with her. I mean, isn't that true of most people?  Most, yes. But not all.  I even know one or two people who are truly happy. 

I wish I were one of them. But I'm happy enough, and answer True.

mystery solved

I love my Contigo, and rely on it every day I work to help keep me hydrated.

I fill it with either hot or iced tea.  Today was busy and I drink only half. And, spill coffee from another drink down the front of my white Comme des Garcons blouse, the one with little bows down the front.

I take a Via home, have a solo-dinner, read a bit, watch some TV, and go to bed.

This morning I am getting ready to leave. I take a cut up apple, like I do every day I work, and go to fill my Contigo. It's then I notice that I don't have it. Shoot. I must have left it at work.

But when I arrive at work I don't find it. My Contigo is not on the counter near the register where I must have left it last night. I check all the drawers and cabinets. I ask everyone who stayed after I left. Nope. It's gone. Hard to believe that anyone would steal a half-filled thermos. 

One of my colleagues suggests I call our AP (Asset Protection) department as they have cameras next to all the registers. 

Sunday is distressingly slow, so I call. 

I explain what happened. I realize that this is not important, but hey, if it's easy to check, I'd love to know. "No problem," the AP guy tells me over the phone.

"Okay, so this must have happened between 6:30 and 7:30 last night. I work next to register 123," I begin.

A few minutes pass and the AP guy says, "Got it. Where's the thermos?"

"Against the wall, to the left of the register."

"Tall. Blue, Yup, I see it."

"Great. Do you see anyone taking it?"

"Hold on."

"No problem." A few minutes pass.

"Okay. Yes. I see someone."

"Great."  I feel like I'm on Dateline watching video footage of some could-be murderer.

"It's a woman. She's taking the thermos and putting it in her bag."

Wow. I'm thinking. Now I'll know. Probably a customer, as none of my colleagues would do this.

"What does she look like?" I ask.

"She has dark hair, kind of wavy."

I'm getting a bad feeling.  "What is she wearing? 

"She has on a white blouse with bows down the front and a black skirt."

She has on what I was wearing yesterday. The she is me.

I feel so stupid. I must have left my Contigo in the Via.

Before hanging up, I thank the AP guy, and confess. "The woman in the video is me."

He's polite, but I can already picture him after he hangs up. "Hey, listen to this...", as he begins his story to the rest of the AP staff.

"

temporary friends

We have customers from all over the world. All ages. All backgrounds. All types of professions. And many willing to share stories. Of all kinds.

It's surprising, sometimes, how quickly a fleeting friendship can be developed, knowing that the relationship may start and end in a dressing room.

The last two days at work have been great. Right now, there are big sales going on throughout the store, which sometimes (and hopefully) generates lots of store traffic.

I remember one August five years ago being drawn to this very store because of their big consolidated sale. I bought four designer pieces for 70% off, all of which I still have and love. Right now many of the designer pieces are 40% off, and even though these same pieces will continue to drop in price as the summer progresses, we have limited inventory, so it's always best to buy early.

On Friday, one of my customers comes in around noon, and asks me to hold a couple of pieces as she has to leave but she tells me she'll return around five. "I'll bring you coffee," she says. "How do you like it?" 

"Thank you so much, but you needn't do that."

"I know, but I am."

"That is so nice of you, but really, that's okay."

"Listen, I'm bringing you coffee, so tell me how you like it so at least I get it right."

And around five, she returns to the store, with my coffee, done just right.

I am totally touched by her thoughtfulness.

I meet another woman from Hong Kong. By the time she leaves, we hug each other good-bye. 

And there have been many others. People who appreciate my help. Who are considerate. Who make sure everything they try on is hung back up. A customer today hands me her many "go-backs" and apologizes for the one item that is not on a hanger. "I am so sorry but these pants were on a table; they didn't come with a hanger."  I wish every customer were like her.

My relationships may be just a few minutes long, but the goodwill they generate lasts so much longer.