whatever it takes

Two days after the record storm and the city is back to normal.

26.8 inches fall. Only .10 less than the biggest snowstorm ever recorded in NYC. But the plows have been out, the sidewalks shoveled, the cars unburied, and mass transit is back on schedule.

I am psychologically ready to deal with my computer issues again.  Here's the short version: my big, beautiful 21.5-inch retina-display desktop (bought in late December) has insurmountable problems. Corrupt files from the data migration are likely the issue.  But after hours on the phone with Apple last week, I decide to order another computer (same model) and start over.

The new computer arrives.  I get anxious even looking at it. The unopened box sits in my living room causing me stress. I even ask (rather beg) Apple to have one of their geniuses come to my house. Of course they say no. The idea of dealing with two big computers overwhelms me. I just can't do it.

I call Apple and decide to go back to the 15-inch retina-display laptop — so much more manageable when there's a problem.  Apple sends me a return label for FedEx. I call FedEx around two.  I am promised a pick up within a few hours. Apple will have the computer back in a day. Then I'll purchase the new one. Manually transfer the data. Then return the iMac I bought in December. I am dreading this whole process. Especially how I'm going to get my big computer back to Apple with no box.

By 8 p.m. FedEx has not arrived.  I call.  I'm told, "We have you scheduled. We'll be there sometime tonight."

I wake up today and the computer is still in my lobby. I call FedEx around ten. They search around and discover why the box is still in my possession.

"Oh, I'm sorry, that pick-up was cancelled."

FedEx doesn't  call to tell me. They don't reschedule. They do nothing. Just tell me I need to call back around noon. "We can't schedule any pick-ups right now."

When I ask the reason for the cancellation, some very nice girl in some very warm climate  with a lovely southern accent tells me it's due to weather.  

Hmmm. I think they need a new ad agency!

whiteout

I bundle up.

Long shearling coat. Scarf. Gloves. Hat (after photo).






The streets are empty. Visibility poor.





I leave my house at 8:30, to be at work by 9:30.

I wait 30 minutes for a bus that never comes. I'm too cold to wait longer.

I come home feeling bad. I live in Manhattan. I should be able to get in.

So I warm up and try again.

I navigate my way to Lexington, three and a half long blocks away.  

The sidewalks are a mess. Walking is difficult.

I wait an hour this time. I'm determined to get in.

And just when I'm about to give up, a lonely bus comes crawling down Lexington.

I arrive at Saks at 10:30.

A few people have actually come out to shop.  Mostly people visiting New York.

There are only three of us in Vince, down from the usual 11.  It's actually sort of nice.

I make a few sales. Then the announcement comes.

The store is closing at one.

I venture outside. 

The storm has gotten worse.

Busses have stopped running by order of the mayor.

The subway nearest my house is shut down.

I see a cab. One cab in a  sea of blowing winds and total whiteout.

A man gets in. I knock on the window and ask if we can split the cab. He agrees.

I am home by 1:45.

Still, I love the snow. Beautiful until tomorrow.

just another day in retail

I wake up to falling snow.

Seven inches have already accumulated in Central Park and the storm has just begun.

Governor Cuomo declares a  state of emergency for New York City.

Wind gusts of 26 miles an hour are recorded.

Biting cold.

Heavy, blinding snow.

Unshoveled sidewalks.

Meteorologists predict one to two feet or more.

Getting worse by the hour.

Libraries, schools and many other closings are announced.

Thousands of flights grounded.

The heart of the storm is yet to come.

Snow is expected all day and into the night.

Everyone is urged to stay off the roads. 

The newscasters acknowledge that, "For people who have to be at work — doctors and nurses..."

I don't hear any mention of people selling clothes among that group of people whose services are critical.

Still, I'm only mildly surprised when I get this email.



I guess people need to shop.

phyllis visits new york

I love when my mom comes to town.

She arrives on Sunday. Takes a five-hour bus from Falmouth. Drops her bags at my apartment. Then takes two local buses to Saks where I'm working. After that my mom goes to meet her new great granddaughter. And then has dinner out with Alexander and me. Hard to believe she is really 86.

On Monday my mom stops by Bloomingdales, then visits the baby again, comes back here to watch a movie,  and then we all have dinner at T-Bar with Valerie, Abbey and Jason. 

My mom awakes on Tuesday and asks, "What should we do today?" I half-heartedly suggest museums, and am grateful when she rejects the idea. We both feel like hanging around inside, and decide instead to play some cards. Something I never tire of doing with my mom, especially since beating her at gin is a monumental and unusual event — which I do in a stress-inducing, neck-in-neck game.

We had planned to have dinner at Tony Di Napoli's, one of my mom's favorite restaurants in New York. My mom loves southern Italian food. But the mid-20's weather makes ordering in the better choice.

This morning my mom is up by six. She goes to the local bagel place to bring some of New York's best back to Cape Cod. She returns and has a quick cup of coffee, and says her good-byes by 7:30. Her bus leaves from Port Authority at 9:30, but my mom is taking no chances. Who knows, traffic could be heavy. A surprise snow storm could hit. You just never know.

my non-doorman doorman

I'll  just call him Travis.  

He's the man who masquerades as a doorman from 11 to 7 most nights in my building. I would guess him to be about 80.

Travis uses our lobby as his personal bedroom.  He locks the front door, pulls up a ratty looking chair and pillow, falls asleep, and then gets paid.

Around 3 a.m. this morning I hear a consistent beeping sound.  I think maybe I'm dreaming.

I get up and walk around the apartment. I definitely hear a pulsing beep-beep. There is some alarm going off somewhere, and it's not in my apartment.

I throw on a coat and a pair off shoes and set out to investigate. I go down one flight to the lobby. 

I wake Travis by asking, "Do you hear that?"

For the first three times I ask, Travis completely ignores me.  Finally he says, "I hear nothing."

I open the door to the basement where the boiler room is, and hear this.

Travis is still adamant, "I don't hear nothing." I implore him to stand at the basement door (a few feet from his bed) but he refuses. He also refuses to wake the super.

"Besides," he tells me.  "There is nothing the super can do. Even if there is something wrong in the boiler room, the super would have to wait until morning to get it fixed." 

"The whole point of an alarm is to not wait," I yell. "It could be a gas leak. It could be carbon monoxide poisoning. It could be something else. But whatever it is, the alarm is telling us to do something now."

"Listen, Travis, if you refuse to acknowledge the alarm, and refuse to call the super, I'm calling the police." He doesn't bother to respond.

And so I call 9-1-1.

The police come and together (with Alexander) we all go to the basement.

That's when we hear this and see this:

The police tell Travis he needs to do something.

Finally he agrees and calls the super.

The super takes care of it, though it takes about an hour. Obviously it turns out not to be life-threatening.  But it could have been.

And for some reason unclear to every tenant living here, management refuses to let go of Travis.

two days of hell with no solution in sight

A couple of days ago I notice that all the dates in all my Excel documents have converted to some bizarre looking format whereby the letter d follows or proceeds days and months:

'

And worse, my options in Excel are a mess:

I can't even format new cells correctly.

I begin by calling Apple support. Person #1  looks at the problem and concludes, "I've never seen anything like this. You need to call Microsoft."

I don't want to do that, so I call back, an hour later, hoping the next person will be willing to help.

Person  #2 at Apple disconnects me by accident, 20 minutes into the call.  She doesn't call back despite having my phone number.

So I try Microsoft.

I spend the next two hours with a surprisingly helpful guy from somewhere in Asia who finally concludes (after a complete uninstall and reinstall twice of the Office suite) that there's no problem with the Microsoft software (it works fine on a test account we set up).

I call Apple again. Another two hours with Adam until my patience gives out and I reschedule for more hell today.

I awake this morning with optimism and stamina. I call Apple and get Aaron. In the course of  our 131 minute conversation we uncover (I hope not create) more problems unrelated to Excel and solve nothing.

Aaron escalates my non-Excel problems to the Apple engineers — I never even knew there was such a group.  Aaron thinks the only solution might be a total reinstall of everything piece by piece. This is my worst tech nightmare (short of losing all my stuff).

Sooooooooo frustrating.

I remember a few years ago visiting friends in a small Connecticut town. They had just spent a ton of money to dig up their front yard and replace their septic tank. Ken described it this way, "It's like buying a brand new car and then burying it in your front yard."

That's sort of how I feel.  Hours and hours wasted with nothing at all to show for it. 

There has to be a solution, though, right?  

But what if it can't be found?

Will I have to adjust my thinking and accept seeing January 14 displayed as 1d14d16?  I doubt it; I'm not that forgiving.  

good-bye to another job

A little over a year ago I join J.Hilburn (JH).

It was October 2014. The woman who recruited me, Joy C, is great. Smart, fashionable, knowledgeable, a good trainer and a good leader.

I also liked the company concept and product. Cut out the middleman and sell directly to men who traditionally don't like to shop. Custom shirts and suits. Door-to-door service. And a stylist who will handle any fit or quality problem.

None of that has changed. Joy is still amazing. JH pricing is still substantially below retail. And the fabric quality is comparable to (if not exactly the same as) the top Italian designers. 

I was excited when I started. I met some great men. Enjoyed the selling component. And felt good making recommendations that were genuinely appreciated.

I accepted having to pay for all the new fabrics every season. All the marketing materials. The annual dues. And even meetings to see upcoming product.

But then in May, the commission structure is altered under the guise of "exciting new changes." It used to be that my monthly commission, for example, on $2400 in sales, was 20%. The "new and better" plan drops it to 9%, less if some of what I sell isn't custom or made-to-measure. Now the only way to earn a decent commission is to recruit and train new stylists. This is not something I want to do.

In October some local senior stylists pay for a pop-up store in New York. Last year the company sponsored it.  If I want to meet one of my clients there for an appointment, I have had to pay $20.  I think this is the proverbial straw.

Since joining, I have spent $1,286 and have grossed $3,634 in commissions.  It doesn't take much analysis to conclude that this is not a productive endeavor.

I give my notice today. I'm left with a book of beautiful fabric samples that I'll probably give away, some styling experience, three relationships I intend to keep up, a new WWF formidable competitor, and no regrets.