A phone call today: "Hello, I'm calling about the turbo beaver you guys are looking for."
My brain was doing pictures of beavers equipped with jet propulsion, speeding across aquatic habitats (Gee, look at how fast that beaver swims, Dad. Yes, son, that's a turbo-beaver.)
Turns out it's a type of float plane. That isn't so much lost as misplaced. It was flying around with the wrong set of call letters, or something. I don't know.
There's a certain type of caller (that Ed will probably be familiar with) who feels the need to unload whatever they have to say on the very first person they encounter on the phone. Phones are such strange things. In the absence of a human face to read, some don't know when to pause and allow things to sink in.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
I've been thinking about an encounter I had with a visitor, at work, ever since it happened. Here's how it went.
There's a barge down on the waterfront that needed to be inspected. The inspector was on his way from Ottawa, and I began to receive a series of phone calls inquiring about arrangements for the inspector and keys for the barge, which were allegedly in our possession. Keys were located, arrangements were made, most notably between me and a man named Will who was to escort the inspector onto the barge. I know Will, we were on a course together for three weeks last year, and we are on first name basis. And we spoke a few times in the days before the inspector came.
The inspector dude comes bouncing into my office, and I give him the key I have put aside. He introduces himself (I promptly forgot his name, but I believe his first name was Roy or Ron or something). He says to me, "And you are?" I say, as I always do, "I'm Kate."
Then I phone Will. "Hello, Will," I say, "It's Kate. I have your man here, to inspect the barge. Do you want me to send him down to you?"
I have to tell you, I went out of my way to locate these keys for this man. It took quite a few phone calls, as no-one initially knew what sort of a key we were even looking for. And so his next comments surprised me.
When I got off the phone with Will, Mr. Barge Inspector said to me, "I'm going to give you a tip. When you talk to people, always give your last name. That's why women aren't getting ahead in this world." And then he said, "You have to show people that you take yourself seriously. Kate will always be the under-parlourmaid."
I laughed, because I wasn't entirely sure what else to do. He tried to impress upon me his seriousness. Asked me my surname. I told him, and he said, "Well, you should be proud of that, it's a good French name." I replied, "It's my husband's name. He's French. I'm not."
I don't know what to think of this. Should I be offended? Or is he right? I should add, I think, that Kate is not a common name in this town. And I always say, when I phone on business, "It's Kate at the RCMP." We're a first-name sort of town. When people call to talk to the constables, they use first names.
Some twenty years ago, someone told me (Phil Litke) that "Katie" was a girl with pigtails and I should make everyone call me Kate. So I did. And when I went to Iqaluit last week, after this latest conversation, and had to introduce myself to strangers I told them my full name.
However. I'm inclined to think that women will never get ahead in the world while some men feel free to give them hints like that. I can't think of a situation in the last few months where I was made to feel more inferior. Oh well.
There's a barge down on the waterfront that needed to be inspected. The inspector was on his way from Ottawa, and I began to receive a series of phone calls inquiring about arrangements for the inspector and keys for the barge, which were allegedly in our possession. Keys were located, arrangements were made, most notably between me and a man named Will who was to escort the inspector onto the barge. I know Will, we were on a course together for three weeks last year, and we are on first name basis. And we spoke a few times in the days before the inspector came.
The inspector dude comes bouncing into my office, and I give him the key I have put aside. He introduces himself (I promptly forgot his name, but I believe his first name was Roy or Ron or something). He says to me, "And you are?" I say, as I always do, "I'm Kate."
Then I phone Will. "Hello, Will," I say, "It's Kate. I have your man here, to inspect the barge. Do you want me to send him down to you?"
I have to tell you, I went out of my way to locate these keys for this man. It took quite a few phone calls, as no-one initially knew what sort of a key we were even looking for. And so his next comments surprised me.
When I got off the phone with Will, Mr. Barge Inspector said to me, "I'm going to give you a tip. When you talk to people, always give your last name. That's why women aren't getting ahead in this world." And then he said, "You have to show people that you take yourself seriously. Kate will always be the under-parlourmaid."
I laughed, because I wasn't entirely sure what else to do. He tried to impress upon me his seriousness. Asked me my surname. I told him, and he said, "Well, you should be proud of that, it's a good French name." I replied, "It's my husband's name. He's French. I'm not."
I don't know what to think of this. Should I be offended? Or is he right? I should add, I think, that Kate is not a common name in this town. And I always say, when I phone on business, "It's Kate at the RCMP." We're a first-name sort of town. When people call to talk to the constables, they use first names.
Some twenty years ago, someone told me (Phil Litke) that "Katie" was a girl with pigtails and I should make everyone call me Kate. So I did. And when I went to Iqaluit last week, after this latest conversation, and had to introduce myself to strangers I told them my full name.
However. I'm inclined to think that women will never get ahead in the world while some men feel free to give them hints like that. I can't think of a situation in the last few months where I was made to feel more inferior. Oh well.