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This site is a member of WebRing. To browse visit here. Wednesday, November 19, 2003 Whew, what a crazy week this has been--due mostly to my own stupidity, I'm afraid. I had a 20-store package that was due on November 14 and another one due on December 5. The cover sheets for these were virtually identical. The only thing distinguishing them was the due date, and you can guess what happened. I had the call orders spread out while I was entering them in my own database, and I picked up the wrong one to go out and work on. I had called my contact in the field office on the 14th to ask about something else, and she remarked that she had received the package I sent. "But where is the one that's due today?" she inquired. "That's what I sent," I said, not understanding what she meant. "No, you sent the one that was due in December." My heart sank, because I knew instantly what had happened. What it meant for me was that 20 stores were going to be at least three days late. I've got them worked and turned in now, but it was a hairy three days, driving like crazy through the rugged mountains of western Virginia to get to all of them as fast as possible. I do have to comment on one of them. Any reader of this blog knows that I love living in the country. I love the quiet, the slower-paced life, the multiple relationships you form when you live near and go to church with and work with the same people. I just love country folk themselves. But there are some occasional drawbacks. One of them is that in remote areas, where people define their location by whom they live near, you can't necessarily depend on their directions. "Where are you located?" I asked on the phone as I drove out toward Hurley, Virginia. "I have Rt. 631 as your address but I can't find a 631 anywhere in Buchanan County." "Yep, it's 631," said the twangy male voice. "We're in the Little Pearl community." "Does that run off 83?" I asked doubtfully, thinking that I recalled seeing a sign for Little Pearl somewhere along Rt. 83. "Sure does, honey." I thanked him and hung up and continued. But there was no Rt. 631 that turned off from 83, and no sign that said "Little Pearl." I drove all the way from Grundy to nearly the top of the mountain, long past where anyone with a Hurley address would have been. I couldn't call back because cell phones just don't work out there. So I stopped at another store to ask for directions. "Little Pearl . . . " the clerk said thoughtfully. "Sandra May, isn't that back over Elkins Branch?" Sandra May agreed that it was, and between the two of them, they managed to tell me where to turn off Rt. 83. I did indeed find the store on the other side of a considerable, and unexpected, up and down drive (I had assumed that Elkins Branch was a stream, not a mountain). Just before the store was a highway number sign, and it became apparent why I hadn't been able to find the highway number before. It was 641, not 631. "I've got the wrong address for you," I told the store owner, just making conversation. "It should be Rt. 641, but someone typed it in wrong, because my paperwork says 631." She gave me a strange look. "No, honey, that's right. It's 631." "But--the sign out there on the road says 641," I protested. She shrugged. "We don't pay no attention to those," she said. "You need to find us, just say we're in Little Pearl. Anyone can tell you where that is." I couldn't put that down as their address, of course, since Little Pearl doesn't have its own post office. "I think I have to change it to 641," I said with an apologetic smile, and she gave me one of those looks that country folk bestow on outsiders. "The ABC man, when he gives me his bill," she said, "it has Rt. 631 on it. So I reckon that's what it is." The implication was clear. If the ABC man could find the store, what was the matter with me? posted by Liz @ 8:58 AM | The template is set to display 10 posts. To see all the posts for this month, click on the month name in the Archive section RSS Feed PERSONAL Send email toliz at life-as-a-spectator-sport.com Home I'm a mother, grandmother, a computer professional, Democrat, Christian. I welcome politely worded comments and email, my spam filter throws the rest away, so don't bother to flame me WHY 'LIFE AS A SPECTATOR SPORT' "If you're lucky not to live in the gutters of a slum, but still can't afford to take vacations in the Alps, you're part of that enormous middle class who lives life through the medium of the television, further separated from "real" life by air conditioner, by automobile, by dishwasher, microwave and ice-in-the-door refrigerator, by automatic washer and dryer, and all the other appliances and conveniences that make it possible for America to live life at second hand. I'm not sure why Americans decided that televised drama was better than the real thing, that cardboard microwave food containers were an adequate substitute for real dishes, and their contents for real food, or that cooking, dishwashing and face-to-face conversation wasn't worth the effort and time it required. Someone fed this nation a plastic crate of out-of-season tomatoes and told us it was life and we took them at their word, and we're so much the poorer for it that it's hard to know where to start to list the shortcomings." I wrote this a couple of years ago, but I have to admit it's much less amusing than I thought it would be to see the artifical construct falling apart. THE NON-ELECTRIC HOME Cleaning, 1 Cleaning, 2 Cleaning, 3 KNITTING BLOGS Extravayarnza Knitting Heretic Mind of Winter Pie Knits Persistent Illusion See Eunny Knit The Keyboard Biologist Taleweaver's Ramblings TECHnitting Wendy Knits FINISHED PROJECTS -------FINISHED IN 2006------- Peruvian Cap Tutti-Frutti Socks Shelley's Socks Carol's Socks -------FINISHED IN 2007------- Chain Link Socks Baby Surprise Jacket Valerie & Friend Baby Bonnet Rainbow Baby Socks Girls Pixie Hood Mitred Square Heart Red & White Socks Coffee Cup Pot Holder Nubbins Dishcloth Garterlac Dishcloth Suede Booties Kate's Socks Norwegian Sweet Baby Cap Half Thumbless Mittens Red Mittens for Akkol -------FINISHED IN 2008------- SELF-RELIANCE AND THE FUTURE -- Blogs and websites -- Causubon's Book Club Orlov Food Storage Made Easy From the Wilderness In the Wake Listening to Katrina Survival Topics The Modern Homestead The Oil Drum Notes from a Hillside Farm -- Mailing Lists -- 12vdc Power Living on the Land Rainwater Refrigeration Alternatives Old Ways of Living POLITICAL BLOGS and SITES The political sites have moved BOOKS I'M READING How to Grow More Vegetables, etc. Small Scale Grain Raising ARCHIVES February 2009 January 2009 December 2008 November 2008 October 2008 August 2008 July 2008 May 2008 April 2008 March 2008 February 2008 January 2008 December 2007 November 2007 October 2007 September 2007 August 2007 July 2007 June 2007 May 2007 April 2007 March 2007 February 2007 January 2007 December 2006 November 2006 October 2006 September 2006 August 2006 July 2006 June 2006 May 2006 April 2006 March 2006 February 2006 January 2006 December 2005 November 2005 October 2005 September 2005 August 2005 July 2005 June 2005 May 2005 April 2005 March 2005 February 2005 January 2005 December 2004 November 2004 October 2004 September 2004 August 2004 July 2004 June 2004 May 2004 April 2004 March 2004 February 2004 January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 September 2003 August 2003 July 2003 June 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003 January 2003 December 2002 November 2002 October 2002 September 2002 August 2002 July 2002 June 2002 May 2002 April 2002 March 2002 February 2002 Feedjit Live Blog Stats
Whew, what a crazy week this has been--due mostly to my own stupidity, I'm afraid. I had a 20-store package that was due on November 14 and another one due on December 5. The cover sheets for these were virtually identical. The only thing distinguishing them was the due date, and you can guess what happened. I had the call orders spread out while I was entering them in my own database, and I picked up the wrong one to go out and work on. I had called my contact in the field office on the 14th to ask about something else, and she remarked that she had received the package I sent. "But where is the one that's due today?" she inquired. "That's what I sent," I said, not understanding what she meant. "No, you sent the one that was due in December." My heart sank, because I knew instantly what had happened. What it meant for me was that 20 stores were going to be at least three days late. I've got them worked and turned in now, but it was a hairy three days, driving like crazy through the rugged mountains of western Virginia to get to all of them as fast as possible. I do have to comment on one of them. Any reader of this blog knows that I love living in the country. I love the quiet, the slower-paced life, the multiple relationships you form when you live near and go to church with and work with the same people. I just love country folk themselves. But there are some occasional drawbacks. One of them is that in remote areas, where people define their location by whom they live near, you can't necessarily depend on their directions. "Where are you located?" I asked on the phone as I drove out toward Hurley, Virginia. "I have Rt. 631 as your address but I can't find a 631 anywhere in Buchanan County." "Yep, it's 631," said the twangy male voice. "We're in the Little Pearl community." "Does that run off 83?" I asked doubtfully, thinking that I recalled seeing a sign for Little Pearl somewhere along Rt. 83. "Sure does, honey." I thanked him and hung up and continued. But there was no Rt. 631 that turned off from 83, and no sign that said "Little Pearl." I drove all the way from Grundy to nearly the top of the mountain, long past where anyone with a Hurley address would have been. I couldn't call back because cell phones just don't work out there. So I stopped at another store to ask for directions. "Little Pearl . . . " the clerk said thoughtfully. "Sandra May, isn't that back over Elkins Branch?" Sandra May agreed that it was, and between the two of them, they managed to tell me where to turn off Rt. 83. I did indeed find the store on the other side of a considerable, and unexpected, up and down drive (I had assumed that Elkins Branch was a stream, not a mountain). Just before the store was a highway number sign, and it became apparent why I hadn't been able to find the highway number before. It was 641, not 631. "I've got the wrong address for you," I told the store owner, just making conversation. "It should be Rt. 641, but someone typed it in wrong, because my paperwork says 631." She gave me a strange look. "No, honey, that's right. It's 631." "But--the sign out there on the road says 641," I protested. She shrugged. "We don't pay no attention to those," she said. "You need to find us, just say we're in Little Pearl. Anyone can tell you where that is." I couldn't put that down as their address, of course, since Little Pearl doesn't have its own post office. "I think I have to change it to 641," I said with an apologetic smile, and she gave me one of those looks that country folk bestow on outsiders. "The ABC man, when he gives me his bill," she said, "it has Rt. 631 on it. So I reckon that's what it is." The implication was clear. If the ABC man could find the store, what was the matter with me?
The template is set to display 10 posts. To see all the posts for this month, click on the month name in the Archive section
RSS Feed
PERSONAL
WHY 'LIFE AS A SPECTATOR SPORT'
"If you're lucky not to live in the gutters of a slum, but still can't afford to take vacations in the Alps, you're part of that enormous middle class who lives life through the medium of the television, further separated from "real" life by air conditioner, by automobile, by dishwasher, microwave and ice-in-the-door refrigerator, by automatic washer and dryer, and all the other appliances and conveniences that make it possible for America to live life at second hand. I'm not sure why Americans decided that televised drama was better than the real thing, that cardboard microwave food containers were an adequate substitute for real dishes, and their contents for real food, or that cooking, dishwashing and face-to-face conversation wasn't worth the effort and time it required. Someone fed this nation a plastic crate of out-of-season tomatoes and told us it was life and we took them at their word, and we're so much the poorer for it that it's hard to know where to start to list the shortcomings." I wrote this a couple of years ago, but I have to admit it's much less amusing than I thought it would be to see the artifical construct falling apart.
THE NON-ELECTRIC HOME
Cleaning, 1 Cleaning, 2 Cleaning, 3
KNITTING BLOGS
Extravayarnza Knitting Heretic Mind of Winter Pie Knits Persistent Illusion See Eunny Knit The Keyboard Biologist Taleweaver's Ramblings TECHnitting Wendy Knits
FINISHED PROJECTS
SELF-RELIANCE AND THE FUTURE
POLITICAL BLOGS and SITES
BOOKS I'M READING
How to Grow More Vegetables, etc. Small Scale Grain Raising
ARCHIVES
February 2009 January 2009 December 2008 November 2008 October 2008 August 2008 July 2008 May 2008 April 2008 March 2008 February 2008 January 2008 December 2007 November 2007 October 2007 September 2007 August 2007 July 2007 June 2007 May 2007 April 2007 March 2007 February 2007 January 2007 December 2006 November 2006 October 2006 September 2006 August 2006 July 2006 June 2006 May 2006 April 2006 March 2006 February 2006 January 2006 December 2005 November 2005 October 2005 September 2005 August 2005 July 2005 June 2005 May 2005 April 2005 March 2005 February 2005 January 2005 December 2004 November 2004 October 2004 September 2004 August 2004 July 2004 June 2004 May 2004 April 2004 March 2004 February 2004 January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 September 2003 August 2003 July 2003 June 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003 January 2003 December 2002 November 2002 October 2002 September 2002 August 2002 July 2002 June 2002 May 2002 April 2002 March 2002 February 2002
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