I tell you, you tell me.

[mrissa]

1. Whether you are a magazine, a bank, an insurance company, a grocery store, or some other business entirely: "That's our policy!" does not constitute an explanation. "That's our policy, and if you don't like it, you can go somewhere else!" is often true. It is not, however, informative. It doesn't answer the question, "Why do you do it that way?" This is a good thing to notice when that's the question someone has asked.

If you are not at the top levels of management, feel free to say, "You know, I really don't know. I'm not in charge of those decisions." If you want to be a really good customer service provider, you can offer to register the customer's dissatisfaction, to pass them along to someone who is in charge of those decisions, or to find an alternate solution. But at the very least, acknowledging that the question has been asked and that an answer has not been provided is a good idea.

2. truepenny invited people to tell her something about themselves. What I said was: I have a birthmark on my right wrist, a little squiggly brown mark, and when I was little I pretended that it was a map of the island where we were really from, and someday we would go back there and wade through the snow to retake our castle, which was made of light grey stone and had big fires burning in the hearths all the time. (It is, incidentally, proof that my body does have melanin in it somewhere. It's capable of producing melanin. It's just sulking in the corner on this topic, has been for nearly 28 years now.)

I'm going to repeat the invitation: tell me something about yourself. Or about your older brother Noel who has lived in the closet (literally) since birth, or about the island on my wrist. Your call, really.

More things I've said in the comments on truepenny's entry:
I keep thinking the snow and the fires are going to stay entirely out of some book I write someday.

I should stop thinking that, because even in the book that takes place above the Arctic Circle in June, they're implied.

And: Also, the freckles and moles on my legs are star maps. And the reason they're leg-shaped is that space is curved. And all sorts of interesting things would happen to me if only I got into the region of space my leg freckles describe.

I only think to tell people these things now because I have realized that not everybody had these childhood convictions.

When I was 4, it occurred to me to be profoundly sorry for black people, because they couldn't see their star maps, so how would they know how to navigate if the computer went out in their spaceships? Then when I was a little older, I met my first black person with freckles, and I was relieved: it was merely a personal limitation rather than an ethnic one. (No extremely lewd comments on this, please; this is at least sort of a family journal.)

Comments

[wintersweet.livejournal.com]

I have a freakishly large uvula.

And during the wallet-replacement panic or the job-quitting panic or something I totally forgot to contact you re. Bay Area. D'oh.

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

It's all right, I didn't go. I will let you know when I am going.

[songwind.livejournal.com]

Your story reminded me of a civics project I did in the 10th grade. We had to invent a country and do a "report" on it.

Mine was an island, and I put my seriously overexercised D&D map-making skills to good use in generating the visual aids. I was absolutely convinced that the rest of my group weren't doing enough and we were going to fail.

We ended up being one of only two group who didn't more or less copy the World Book entry on some other country and replace the name.

That was one of my favorite school projects, though I'd have killed to be able to do it myself or at least pick my group.

about myself

[aet.livejournal.com]

If I ever get to quilting a family blanket, the square for my elder paternal aunt would have a picture of white goat on it.

Like this:

(http://www.flickr.com/photos/50797989@N00/194812899/)

[dichroic.livejournal.com]

When I was younger, I lived out of doors a lot more of the summer, never wore sunscreen (lived in an area with much less strong sun than where I live now) and used to turn an even light golden color. I didn't get nearly as dark as my brother, much less my father, but I was happy with my pleasing biscuit shade, especially with the even color on my shoulders when compare to my mom's freckles and splotches.

Now I'm much better about sunscreen, though the sun is so strong here I get some color anyway. And either because I'm older or because I tend to be out rarely but for very long periods (regattas) I have freckles and speckles like my mom's on my shoulders and arms. (I do still tan more than she does, though. I'm not thrilled about this development, but thinking of them as star maps may help.

to continue your freckle theme:

[haddayr.livejournal.com]

I will tell you three things; two which involve freckles and one which only involves them because most of the people included also have freckles:

1. I have freckles in places I am reasonably sure the sun has never reached.

2. Little black children often ask me if they can touch my freckles, thinking they will wipe off. One of them once said to me solemnly: "You look like a leopard."

3. I am not only the oldest child in my family, but the oldest grandchild on both sides. And the oldest great-grandchild on all four sides.

Re: to continue your freckle theme:

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

1. Doesn't everybody? Oh, I see. Or rather I don't see.

2. That's fabulous. When I was little, I had very pale blonde curly hair, and all the Japanese tourists at Disneyland wanted to touch it. Unfortunately, my freckles are not even very good at melanin, so after a year and a half of pretty good friendship, one of my good friends was arguing with me in a dark restaurant about whether I had them at all. Sigh.

3. Neat! I am an only child and an only grandchild on side. On the other I have two cousins, both of whom arrived (via different routes into the same family) when I was 14. I am nowhere near the oldest great-grandchild: my mother has 52 first cousins, of whom the oldest is six months younger than Grandma and the oldest is three months older than me.

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

No kidding! Picking the group could be extremely important there.

Re: about myself

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

Oh, my e-mail notification program didn't show the picture, so I was thinking it was somehow her crest. Goat argent rampant or something.

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

You didn't know where you were going until you were older, so the maps didn't show up until then.

I am perfectly able to think with the conscious grown-up brain that this is made-up and nonsense, but I am equally able to come forth with rationales for why something should go this way or that using the child-brain for whom this is all very natural to think about logically.

Or maybe it's that you used to know where you're going, and now you don't.

Hmmmmm. Probably it depends on the character, and at that point they're not being dichroic but bookpeople instead.

[dichroic.livejournal.com]

Maybe it's just that the world and where I'm going in it are more complicated now, and so only now a map is required.

I was perfectly capable at 4 of thinking with my conscious brain that this would be all made-up, too, but that wouldn't have stopped me from thinking about it. And now thinking that way feels to me like dropping back into a real self I visit too rarely.

[diatryma.livejournal.com]

I have a thing on my face that defies classification. The story goes that when I was quite young-- crawling age, really-- our cat Shazz (short for Scheherezade, pronounced Shazzerade) scratched me. One claw, snicker-snack, pulled out a dab of flesh next to my nose, only time I've been reported to cry because of a cat scratch or animal-related injury.
It looks pretty much like a mole now, and I worry that I have skin cancer growing between my eye and my nose. It's a scar, but it's heavy on the melanin and bubbly. It's a mole, but it was caused by a black cat. Or it's a star map, and I'm heading straight for a new sun.

[tanaise.livejournal.com]

Yeah, my...knee, I think (can't check, fully dressed) has casseopia on it, if I remember correctly.

[truepenny.livejournal.com]

I cannot stand the sensation of things brushing against my throat, the underside of my chin, or the sides of my neck. This is why I do not wear turtlenecks and why my hair must always be (a.) short or (b.) up. (Choker necklaces are okay, as long as I can wear them at the base of my throat.)

I have no idea why this is. Perhaps I was the woman in "Porphyria's Lover" in a previous, fictional life.

[spaceoperadiva.livejournal.com]

My theory is your body used up all its melanin on your Island. :-)

I used to pretend that a certain cloud shape was a secret island in the sky and when I could spot it, I could go there and have adventures with the various beings that lived on the cloud island. I got there by flying on my very own winged horse that lived in a clear bouncy ball with sparkles in it.

Re: to continue your freckle theme:

[tanaise.livejournal.com]

1. I thought that as well, but I was informed by someone at sometime that they aren't actually freckles, they're moles. But they look just like my freckles! So clearly someone is wrong there.

2) I have a freckle under one eye that looks like a little smudge of dirt--I try to rub it off on occasion, my mom always tries to make me wash it off. I have one tiny tiny freckle on an elbow that is black, and looks like I poked myself with a pen.

3) I am the oldest girl on both sides of the family. I am the only girl in my generation on my dad's side, back to the great-grand level (and actually, possibly farther, though I've never thought to research that--I know all the way back stuff of my grandmother's family, but not if my grandmother's mother's siblings had kids.)

[tanaise.livejournal.com]

I have that same issue about a lot of things! I nearly hit someone once in college for coming up beside when I had my hair up and just blowing on the side of my neck or something silly like that, and I *just* realised that's why it bothers me so much when one of my friends kisses me goodbye, cause she's always silly about it and aims for my neck or so. I couldn't wear *any* necklaces for more than about 5 minutse until I was in college, even long, loose ones like strands of beads. I'm still surprised sometimes that I can even wear the ones I have.

okay, a really random story

[seimaisin.livejournal.com]

Every time it rains, I remember a random day from my childhood - late spring sometime, I'd invited my best friend, Kristi, over for the day, and we wanted to roller skate outside. When the rain started, we didn't let it stop us. We set up in the garage, with a dim light leading the way and my father's Hooked On Classics cassette tape playing in his then-brand-new boombox, and we took turns dashing out into the rain, skating down the driveway, over to the neighbor's driveway, and back. That's the way I always want the rain to feel - quiet, except for the music playing somewhere in the background, warm rain soaking my hair, laughter and movement and nothing in the world more urgent than a play date.

[pameladean]

My maternal grandmother was completely covered with freckles. I did not know, as a small child, that she had been a redhead in her youth, so I figured that I couldn't have freckles like that until my hair turned white. Then I thought I'd never have any, because, very oddly, I do in fact tan quite nicely if I am foolish enough to to without sunscreen.

My hair is still not white, but I am beginning to have quite grandmotherly forearms with regard to freckles.

P.

[fiddledragon]

My favorite describe a new place type assignment in high school was when we had to write our own obituaries. :) My body was never found. It was lost at sea during a research expedition...there were mermaids involved. It was awesome, and my teacher loved it :)

In college we had to create a society - that was fun too but I don't remember the details of it :(

[madwriter.livejournal.com]

>>If you are not at the top levels of management, feel free to say, "You know, I really don't know. I'm not in charge of those decisions."<<

I for one am always exponentially more pleased to hear a sincere "I don't know" than a BS "Here's why..."

[barondave.livejournal.com]

Here is a story you may appreciate:

When I worked for the Northwestern National Bank (which became Norwest and is now Wells Fargo) I was on The Task Force For Corporate Culture. Reagan had deregulated banking by (among other things) removing Prohibition-era banking laws limiting the number of banks that could be owned by a single entity. Various Northwestern National Banks (having been grandfathered in back then, but were now more) wanted to become one entity, eventually called Norwest. My task force was supposed to tell Upper Management how to integrate a large, amorphous group into one company with a unified vision. It was a high-powered group, with four Senior Vice Presidents, several managers, other officers, and a guy from the mailroom (me).

We had loads of fun. Even the Sr. VPs were leery of rocking the boat too far. Indeed, we were the Seventh task force. One of our biggest complaints, and one of our most effective things we did, was to get Upper Management to implement suggestions from the previous task forces. (On, for example, privacy.)

I came up with a page of suggestions. Things the bank could do that would change the corporate climate for the better. (I have to make that qualification: For the better.) I don't remember what they were, though I may still have my notes around here in a box. But when it came to The Big Meeting, I knew I had my chance to make one (1) good suggestion.

The thing that would change the corporate climate of the new corporation the most, for the better. was: Eliminate the passive voice in memos. Not "it has been decided" or "the new policy is" but "as VP in Charge of Data Processing I am implementing the following" or "after much discussion and input from many segments of the banking industry, the Proof Team is directing the tellers to".

I'm not sure this directly addresses your complaint in 1., but I think it would have led to a greater degree of understanding and communication. Everyone should be on the same page. And that's a little something about myself.

[porphyrin.livejournal.com]

Back in the day, over a decade ago now, I worked for Marathon Ashland Oil, then Marathon Oil.

In their "Inventory Control Department". I was responsible for one of the Alaskan pipelines, from pipeline origin point to the barges that floated down the river, and was expected to reconcile to within 1 barrel's worth of crude, daily.

The power quite went to my head. (When you call up other departments to find out where that last six hundred barrels of crude went, and you say you're "inventory control", people quake in their boots.) Sadly, when I left I had to turn the job over to a permanent employee who probably took less glee in answering the phone, "Inventory CONTROL."

[sculpin.livejournal.com]

When I was thirteen or so, I was so quiet a kid that there was a rumor going around that I was totally deaf. I learned about it when some boy I didn't know came up and demanded, "Are you deaf?" I stared at him, stunned speechless. "ARE... YOU... DEAF?" he shouted, mouthing the words exaggeratedly. I pretended I hadn't heard him and walked away.

Re: to continue your freckle theme:

[stillsostrange.livejournal.com]

When I was three, I was as pale as can be (barring albinism) and had bright orange curls. My mother if fond of telling the story of the time an Indonesian child tried to drag me around a toy store, convinced I was a doll.