Talk to me

If you're expecting sexy stories filled with glitz and glamour, you're reading the wrong blog. Friends who know me know that ironic, random and down-right funny things happen to me every day. More often than not, I'm wearing high heels while the shenanigans unfold around me. I'm left standing there looking for someone to share my "what just happened here???" story with. I've always said I want to write a book as a compilation of these happenings, so here is my attempt at recording my stories.

As part of my job I answer the phone and speak to members of fraternities and sororities and their parents--mostly their parents. If you know me, you know there are two people I talk to on the phone, my mom and Kristin. I'm not a phone person. It's hard to do anything else but talk on the phone while you're talking on the phone. Texting and emailing is much more efficient. You can eat, drive, work out, etc. while communicating with multiple people simultaneously.

Anyway, I digress. Taking phone calls from these members and their parents is one of the few things I dislike about my job. However, these phone calls are often entertaining. I've noticed in the Cubeland I call my office that I end up talking on the phone a lot longer than the others around me. I guess there is something in my voice that says, "It's okay. Talk to me. I know what you mean. I hear what you're saying." Again, if you know me, you know I'm usually the one looking for someone to unload on. Friends don't come to me for advice, unless of course it's involving what shoe to wear, or what color nail polish to wear, or what type of cupcake to eat.

Last week a lady kept me on the phone for 25 minutes telling me how managing a family is like running a business. She told me not to worry that I wasn't married. She said she wished she was in my position because she could marry someone a lot better than her husband of 30 years.

Yesterday I had a lady tell me how proud she was of me for going to college. In fact, she was so proud of me that she said (read with thick New York accent), "Any time you come to New York you can stay with me. I have a huge house with seven bedrooms. My office is in Manhattan. I have a house in South Beach, too. Come stay there when you visit." Wow...I've never felt so much acceptance from a complete stranger. This job is good for my ego.

Shortly after that call, a lady whose son attends the University of Idaho called to pay his bill. Then she asked me if I had heard about Amanda. "No...Amanda who?" I said. "Oh, you know Amanda, hun." She then proceeded to tell me about how Amanda got so drunk at a fraternity (not frat, they don't like it when you say that) party and fell out of a third story window. This lady didn't know Amanda before she fell, but she befriended her family and goes to visit her in the nursing home where she is rehabilitating. She told me all about Amanda's progress and even got my email address to send me a picture. Then she told me about a guy from the same school who also fell out of a third story window because he was so drunk. Seriously...what the heck?

Apparently, and unfortunately, this is a common occurrence in the Greek world. Kristin and I talked about this yesterday and discussed possible solutions to teach kids to drink with control. The sad thing is, I don't think most of them care. Take my friends from the Jersey Shore, for example. They pretty drank every night last summer and laid in bed hung over the next day well into the late afternoon. They got in fights, went to jail, slept with random people, but they still kept doing it. I'm glad I know better. I'm sad I will raise kids in a world where they will have to learn better. I can only hope that I will provide an environment that teaches my babies what's right and what's wrong. I hope that some day my kids will hear in my voice, "It's okay. Talk to me. I know what you mean. I hear what you're saying."

So there is it. My first high-heeled happening.