Day Three Hundred Thirty-Six

I'm in the midst of trying to fill a few positions at work, which basically means I'm spending hours talking to strangers. That's a thing I try not to do when it's avoidable, but for whatever reason, I genuinely don't mind interviewing people.

It's probably because sometimes you end up with a GREAT story.

I haven't had any interviews go completely sideways lately, but there have DEFINITELY been some in the past.

The one that stands out the most happened probably 15 years ago. It was a completely different lifetime when I worked for a small non-profit owned by a guy who was probably 60 years old. I needed to hire a training specialist, so there was a steady stream of instructional designers and classroom trainers and such marching through. The one that stands out to this day, though, was the young woman who showed up with a small suitcase in tow. As she wheeled it up the ramp into the building, I prepared to ask her question after question to see if she was "the one."

She was employed at the time, at a company that is centered on training, no less, but she gave off some ... vibes. I don't know exactly what was off, but something was. While her credentials all lined up and she had the experience I needed, I was hesitant.

And, so, I asked for some samples of some training she had developed.

Hey! THAT was what was in the suitcase! She had samples of her work ready to share.

First she pulled out a most excellent course she had developed to help workers understand some proprietary software. It just so happened that was exactly what the open position entailed, so we were off to a good start. Her next example was something a bit more unconventional - some graphic design work she had done. It was all sorts of fine and dandy, and I liked the idea of someone having some graphic design experience for the role ... but.

BUT.

The graphic design work she had done was for a website. A website called "Black Foot Fetish." It was EXACTLY what it sounds like - visitors could pay to get access to photos of Black feet because they had a fetish for feet, apparently Black ones in particular. The woman had a whole portfolio built around the work she had done for mother truckin' "BlackFootFetish.com."

Did I mention that it was a panel-style interview? Because it was. I was seated next to the 60-something year old owner of the company as this 20-something year old instructional designer showed off her fancy Black Foot Fetish work.

Eventually the interview wrapped up and I headed back to the conference room to debrief with the owner. Obviously, the whole thing was a hard "NO" because, like, don't use that as your example. Randomize it somehow. Lie to me about what website the work was for. ANYTHING.

The owner of the company didn't know what a foot fetish was. THAT was what he wanted to debrief on - he legit asked me to explain what it was and I had to stand there and tell my boss about fetishes and dead. DEAD. It was the most awkward professional conversation I've had in my entire life.

But here's to hoping the round of hiring I'm doing now will lead to a gem or two like that. Life needs a little more spice these days. Just not THAT kind of spice. Ahem.

Day Three Hundred Thirty-Five

I mentioned that Mila has become enthralled with group sessions on Flexable Care, and that trend continues. Mostly the kid is happy to have an audience to listen to her talking endlessly for half an hour. Adults, other kids ... it doesn't matter. She has a lot of words and a lot of extroverting to do, and that give her an outlet for it.

The clay creatures class in particular has become a favorite. It's basically a guy facilitating a bunch of little kids making things with clay while they all talk about what they're doing. It sounds so simple, but is SO genius. Each time Mila has attended one of the sessions, it's turned into a multi-hour extravaganza. She gets started, has lots of ideas, and then stays committed to her projects for the rest of the day, even after the Zoom portion of the festivities has ended. Basically, it's the best $15 I've ever spent. I've committed to doing it weekly at least because BRING ON THE HAPPY KID.

Except, I didn't do it last week. There was no particular reason. I just didn't feel like setting the whole thing up. It takes a whopping 5 minutes, but that somehow sounded like work. So, whatever. I figured the kid would survive, especially because there's nothing stopping her from dragging out her box of clay and self-motivating her way to piles of unicorns and mermaids and whatever else she wants to make. I even gave her a list of things I wanted her to make for me.

Annnnnnnd that failed. Instead of becoming obsessed with clay for the day, Mila decided it was time to play with markers. She made like a toddler and colored herself yellow. All of herself. She looked like a Minion is what I'm saying.

Mila definitely knows better.

I asked lots of questions and tried to figure out why Mila decided to do something not awesome. It wasn't the end of the world, of course, but COME ON. She's six! She can not make bad choices! It's possible!

Eventually Mila explained herself. "Mom, you know there are consequences for our choices. You should have signed me up for the clay class."

This child is going to destroy me.

Day Three Hundred Thirty-Four

There's a really weird project that has been going on around these parts. Amongst the ripping out of disgusting carpet and the painting and all of the other 5000 home improvement projects that are in varying stages of not-done, Alexis has quietly been making progress on emptying out the playroom.

Which, yeah, apparently I'm giving up the glory that is the playroom?

It's actually a first floor master bedroom, which we've never needed as a first floor master bedroom because there is a second floor master bedroom that works just fine. Our house is weird with oddly-sized and shaped rooms and whatever. It is what it is, but it includes a large room in the corner of the first floor that is intended to be a bedroom but is in effect completely forgotten. Toys have gathered there for the past 10 years. Alexis long ago stopped "playing" in there because she's too cool, but Mila continues to think it's a pretty great room for about 10 minutes every few months when she remembers it exists. Basically, it's turned into toy storage.

So. Whatever.

Alexis wants to claim it as her bedroom.

I'm fine with this plan because then Mila can claim Alexis' current bedroom, which has a pretty fantastic built-in loft and maybe she'll actually sleep in that bed? MAYBE? I have zero actual hopes of that, but it can't hurt to try.

So. Everybody is moving around, but first there is the matter of the toy storage that has to end. Alexis is mostly taking on this project, which is a lot of sorting. Some things go to the trash, others need to be donated, and still others need to be sold. Alexis has bins and a general ability to figure out what each toy's destiny should be. I trust her with it because she has watched every Toy Story movie about 98234573 times. 

This whole project has been going on for over two months already because nobody actually wants to do the work. Alexis makes slow and steady progress and nobody helps her, is what I'm saying. Occasionally I wander in there and grab a few things to donate, but I can only take credit for a very small part of what has been done.

I can take credit for this, though.

DING DONG, THE EVIL BITCH IS DEAD.

I took that photo a while ago ... November 7th to be exact. I had forgotten about it, but then I was looking for something in the archives of this space and came across its origin story.

Almost exactly 4 years. And its birth and death coincided with another horror story. Ahem.

ANYWAY. The re-discovery of Satan's Doll was a moment worthy of much embarrassment. I was digging through piles of toys and found her and I ... uh ... forgot how scary she is. Or she's scarier with totally dead eyes than she is with the creepy glowing eyes? I don't know, I just know I was LEGIT startled when I found her and that is my explanation for why I flung her across the room.

I'm going to guess that she had been sitting in the box where I found her for a while. Her batteries had enough time to swell a bit, and I'm guessing that me throwing her led to her batteries breaking open once and for all. When I went to turn her on (because I hate myself, of course), I immediately noticed battery goo gooping its way around and I think it had just started in those few moments. For reasons I cannot begin to explain, I tried to clean her up, but it was too late. The leaking battery acid had done its damage. When I finally did flip the power switch with new batteries installed, the doll lit up for a brief moment, let out a pitiful howl that can only be compared to the sound of a hellmouth closing, and that was that. The doll was completely dead.

I threw it away. It will likely haunt me in my nightmares for years to come as punishment, but I'm willing to pay that price to not ever come across it while digging through boxes ever again.

So long, Satan's Doll. It was not nice seeing you.