Baked Potato Blues

Don’t get me wrong. I like baked potatoes. In fact I LOVE baked potatoes. I just don’t like LOOKING like a baked potato.

At work, we are required to wear uniforms. Most airport employees are required to wear a uniform. In my little bookstore we are required to wear black on the bottom with black shoes and a khaki brown shirt. But it’s not JUST a khaki brown shirt. It’s a man’s khaki brown shirt. Get my drift? With a pocket. Ugliest uniform in the terminal. It’s embarrassing to look like that. Makes us feel less than invisible. And by the way? We are six employees. Six WOMEN.

As you can see from the stunning photos of me, it doesn’t fit. Not only does it not fit, but it’s hideously unattractive. I look like a prison matron. We are required to wear it tucked in. Not happening. I haven’t worn a shirt tucked in since I was 12, so I’ve been wearing a three-quarter sleeved black cardigan over the potato. The company issues us short sleeved and long sleeved potato shirts. I have to roll up all sets of sleeves or else the shorts sleeves are almost to my wrists and the long sleeves can sweep the floor. The problem will be in a few months when the airport reaches tropical temperatures. Then what??

Women over 40 do not wear their shirts tucked in unless it’s part of a suit or a layered look. Let’s face it…it’s just not a good look. When women get to a certain age we take extra pains to put ourselves together. To look good.  To feel good. We use moisturizer religiously. We don’t leave the house with out makeup.  We color our hair. We wear jewelry. We work hard to look good.

Retail is selling not only the product, but a little of yourself as well. I flirt with my customers. Men and women alike. I want them to know they are buying something that is so wonderful. 40 plus hours a week I put my whole being into selling books. It’s my passion. Sometimes it’s difficult to be so passionate when you look like a baked potato.

We need to look as good as we feel, but we would feel better if we looked good.

Feelin’ so homely

Don’t know what I can do

 Yeah I’m feelin’ so homely

Don’t know what I can do

Need a shirt that will fit

Got the baked potato blues…..

Tales of Terminal A

So as you already know from reading my older posts (and if you haven’t read them, what are you waiting for?) I work in a bookstore at Boston’s Logan International Airport. Logan employs 1000’s of people and even then, it’s small, compared to other international airports in the USA.

People are so intrigued. They want to know what it’s like to work beyond security. 3 most often asked questions:

1)     Do you have to go through the security line every day?

Yes. Sometimes more than once a day.  But as employees we can cut the line. Because if we have to wait behind all the people who don’t have a clue, we will be seriously late for work. And we don’t go thru the body scanner. Just the metal detector.

2)     Do you have to remove your shoes?

No, unless they set off the metal detector. That’s why most of us wear really ugly, but comfortable shoes.

3)     Do you get flight discounts?

          Are you kidding?

The one perk we do get is a really good understanding of how flights work, which day is the best day is to fly and which airlines tend to have LOTS and LOTS of delays.

People also want to know how I GET to the airport. Well, we have an employee garage. Fortunately my company pays my garage fee. Then we take an employee shuttle bus to our terminals. My terminal is A. First stop. I used to work in E. Last stop. Normally the shuttle takes less than 10 minutes. Right now, actually the last  2+ years there has been construction. So now it takes up to a half hour or more. In rush hour, my commute is pretty much an hour door to door. One really great thing about the garage is that when I travel, I can leave my car there. Safe and sound and free of charge.

My bookstore is located post security. It’s a small but very, very complete little shop. Obviously we can’t carry every title ever published, but we generally have what most people are looking for. For the most part, people come in, find what they need, pay and leave. Of course at least 3 to 5 times a day we’ll get the “entitled” customer. Oh, the stories I could tell. These are the first class passengers who truly believe that we are there to serve them. Excuse me. I’m there to sell, not serve. One of my colleagues actually had a customer ask where the “penguin” section was.  A few days ago a customer wanted an “insert” for his book? An INSERT?? You know, something to keep the place in the book. When I told him he could use his receipt or purchase one of our many bookmarks, he said oh, what a disappointment. Then he proceeded to exclaim, “Where is my luggage?” to which I replied, “Sorry, can’t help you with that one.” 

In all American airports passengers are told to stay with their luggage at all times. Several times a day we find a random carry-on sitting in the middle of the store. Most times we just ask, who belongs to this and the customer will retrieve it.  There have been times when we’ve had to call the State Police. Left bags are a big no-no. How people can walk off without their carry-on is beyond me.

Retail is retail. I’ve worked 2 other bookstores NOT in the airport. Basically it’s the same. Customer service. Knowledge of books and inventory. Same old, same old. The major difference in airport retail is that everything depends on the flight schedule. All the stores open at a scheduled time. When we close is another story. We are instructed to close when the last flight boards. That would be approximately 1/2  hour before that flight departs. Of course there are flight delays. Lots of them. So when my friends ask me what time I close the store at night I can only shrug. Last flight was scheduled for 7:30 PM. Now delayed until 9:40. Not going home anytime soon. We study the flight board religiously. At least once an hour. It’s our bible.

I really like working in the airport. Aside from the handful of annoying people, it really is a fun place to be. I love my cute store and the people I work with. We are a little family and we look out for one another.

So next time you’re flying through Logan’s terminal A, do stop by to say hi. Spend some time. Browse. And don’t forget to take your carry-on when you leave! :)

Nanny Nanny Boo Boo

So here I am, back home from Italy. Jet lag is about over. Bags unpacked, dishwasher emptied (how is it that men don’t know how to load or empty a dishwasher? It’s not brain surgery) and back to work.

And Nanny Nanny Boo Boo to the guy who said, “Oh, you’ll gain all the weight back that you lost while you’re in Italy.” Well I DON’T THINK SO. People, not only did I not gain an ounce, I lost 3 more pounds. 27 down. BOO-YA!!!

I have to say I was really good with myself. The only thing that  I really craved…wait for it…was a french fry. Yeah, I know. And pizza is my fav food. Go figure.  I ate a lot of fresh produce. The vegetables in Italy are so wonderful. And prepared beautifully. The fish is great as are the meats and chicken. It was no problem sticking to plan. I really did it. I have witnesses.

I am so grateful to my dear friends in Trieste who WERE and ARE so supportive. Making me special “lean and green” meals while everyone else was having carb overloads. Big shout outs to Maddy, Chiara, Raffa and Krizia, You are the best ever!!

Now that I’m back home I’ve started to do another closet inventory. It’s getting kind of sparse. But that’s ok. I still have clothes that are too small and it will be fun to try them on in another month or so. I’m loving this.

I know I’ll be back in Trieste come October. Or maybe sooner. I won’t be at my goal weight quite yet, but now I know that I can handle any food situation that arises.

I am woman hear me roar!!

From Trieste, With Love

Everything we do here in Trieste is an event. From a simple cup of coffee to shopping. Actually, it's not just Trieste. Welcome back to Italy.

It always takes me a day to adjust to the disorganization of this city of my heart. It's been over a week and I'm finally remembering the concept of scheduling plans only to reschedule at least 3 times before the actual event takes place. But this is normal. 

There are no Starbucks or Dunks here in Trieste. Thank goodness. There is, however, the best coffee and you all know how much I love that. So then. Where to go for coffee? All of it's good. There is a bar every few steps. But which bar serves a big cappucino? Or has a good place to sit and hang out for an hour? After contemplating that and discussing it for a half century (ok, maybe only a quarter century) we find our place. Now to the ordering. Believe it or not, there is no such thing as fat-free, skim or even 1% milk here. Well there is but not at restaurants, bars or caffes. The word for skim milk is "scremato" or something like that. When you ask for it with coffee they look at you as if you have a third eye planted in the middle of your forehead. No, only fresh milk they say. Ok. So I pass on the cappucino. Black coffee by me is just fine.

Went to the supermarket the other day to pick up a few treats for my colleagues back home. And low and behold. There on 4 shelves were various boxed versions of skim milk. In the non refrigerated section. Some things never cease to amaze me.

Here in the city centre of Trieste there are massive amounts of stores. Clothing, housewares, books, toys. And shoes. Lots and lots of shoes. I would have done some serious shopping but as I’m losing weight, I really don’t want to buy things that won’t fit in 6 months. No worries. I’ll be back again soon enough. I love seeing all the fashions here. In a little while it will hit the USA. Italians definitely have the upper hand in fashion.

An ideal day here would be to get up, have a coffee or three, go to rehearsal, have lunch and then do some shopping. The only problem is that the majority of stores close between one and four PM. Everyone goes home or out for lunch and then naps. Nice. Not so nice if you need to shop for something. It’s all about the timing.

Tomorrow I’ll fly back to Boston. I’ll miss my closest friends terribly but in this day and age talking to them everyday via Skype or facebook makes it easier. And in a few months I’ll be back again.

So for now. Ciao Trieste. Ti voglio bene.

Whiskers and Tales, er, Tails

This lovely, cold winter morning I awoke to find a small, stiff, dead mouse on my hallway rug. Almost stepped on it in bare feet. Gross. Well, that woke me up pretty fast. Didn’t even need coffee to jump-start my engine.

The poor mouse didn’t just drop dead. We have two four-legged, whiskered, furry friends. Zoe and Blueberry. To them, a mouse is like a soccer ball. SCORE!! Once it stops moving, game over. These are not the kind of  felines that would eat a mouse. Gross. They are nice Jewish cats and would prefer something boneless. Preferably, poached salmon with a little dill sauce. Only the best for my little girls.

We are definitely a cat family. We’ve had many cats over the years. My husband adores dogs, but he is highly allergic. I love dogs too. But I love sleeping in when I don’t have to get to work at the crack of dawn. Zoe and Blueberry know not to wake us in the mornings. We’ve trained them well.

Zoe is mostly ragdoll.  Long hair, silky and soft. She’s beautiful. And she knows it. Try to pet her. Not happening. She walks away. Only cat I ever met who doesn’t like to be petted. Except late at night. She curls up next to me in bed and then the petting and purring begins. And if I try to move away, she just holds on to me. Sometimes I get a cat bath on my arm. That’s love for ya.

Blueberry is part Russian Blue. She’s sleek and elegant. And fast. That girl can run. And destroy. It’s like having a locomotive in my house. And when the two of them play chase, forget trying to do anything. Just sit and get out of the way. Blueberry has a motor in her that you can hear from across the room. She adores my husband. Even sits on his lap when he’s working on his laptop. She’s so loveable.

I have a baby grand in my living room. Well of course I do. It sits in the tower part of the living room (See photos on side bar for Opus 111). On a sunny day, both cats sleep on top of the piano. We have special cushions for them so their nails won’t scratch the finish. One cat on one end and the other at the opposite end. There are windows all around so the sun comes in and it’s a perfect place for a cat nap.

I love cats because they ARE so independent. I know so many people who tell me cats are not as nice as dogs. They aren’t loyal blah, blah, blah. I beg to differ good people. MY Zoe greets me at the door when I come home from work. I pick her up, give her a hug and then she squirms and I let her down and she follows me around the house like a shadow.

Sammy (my keyboard man) and Maddy (from Trieste) have a zoo in their house. They have 2 dogs, 3 cats and at last count I believe 6 or 7 kittens. Sammy loves cats so much that if he had the means he would take every stray cat and give it a home. Maddy has a difficult time giving away the kittens. Not because people won’t take them, but because she loves them so much.

Cats can sense when there is a cat lover in their presence. Sammy has no problem picking up Zoe (when he’s here in Boston). She knows he’s a cat person. She’ll tolerate it for like 2 seconds and then it’s ok put me down I have things to do.

I will be the old woman with a cat. Sitting in my big old chair reading. With a cat on my lap. Yeah. I’m not seeing that picture either. OK. I’ll be the hip old woman with a cat hanging out on my piano while I sit at my PC writing blog posts.

Next post from Trieste. Stay tuned!