I love museums.
My friends and family get bored easily when I drag them around yet another museum or art gallery. But I love them. They transport me back in time into history. They bring what I have read in books alive. I can see the objects, clothes, furniture, and rooms from different periods, cultures, and countries.
I can get lost in a museum. The bigger the better. I’ve spent many hours in the British Museum and The Louvre. I’ve stood beneath objects so big in the Cairo museum, and stared at the small Mona Lisa as tourists walk by, snap a pic, then keep on walking. Did they really see it or did their phone see it for them?
I’ve been in museums in the Americas, Australasia, Africa, and Europe. I’ve been invited into archives and restoration rooms, been to early screenings, grand openings, and closings.
I love museums.
Category: life
Distances as a kid
When looking for work distance is something that we generally take into consideration. How far do we have to travel to get there each day? How much is it going to cost in time and money? We consider distance when we consider going shopping, collecting something or someone, holidays, and buying a home; how far is the nearest pub, shops, or public transport?
Yet when we were children distance was something to be conquered. The further the better. When I was twelve I cycled on my single-speed Raleigh Tomahawk all the way to my Grandma’s. Eight adventurous miles through dodgy housing estates, parks, open land, and beside busy roads. My folks thought I was still playing in our street until Grandma called to say I had arrived.
In my early teens I once cycled over thirty miles from a caravan site back home on my own after my mate, who had cycled there with me so we could spend the day with family, suffered a bike accident meaning he and his damaged bike had to be collected and returned home. There wasn’t space for me and my Raleigh Phantom so I decided I’d race them home. They gave me a ten minute head start and I got there twenty minutes after them but it was an exhilarating fast ride back! Not a thought entered my head about how far it was or that I’m having to cycle on my own with no one to talk to. Just the drive to get back as fast as possible, just me and my bike against the world.
Half the fun of travelling is the journey.
Don’t be in a rush to get somewhere.
LAN parties of old
About twenty years ago I started attending LAN parties with a bunch of mates. Over the years we would use these LAN parties as an excuse to catch-up, play some games, eat pizza, and drink beer.
Twenty years later and we are still doing it. Still playing the same old games (running in compatibility mode), still eating pizza and drinking beer.
Should it feel strange at our age? No! You are never too old to reminisce over a retro game or two with friends.
Four funerals and a wedding
The older I get the more funerals I seem to attend. Relations, friends. Cancer rather than old age.
More each year.
I can’t remember the last wedding I went to. The young ones seem to be doing the registries rather than large expensive gatherings. Maybe they have their priorities right: plan for the future rather than celebrate today. Save for a house.
I own one suit: Black. With a white shirt and black tie. It comes out of dusty hibernation for funerals. I dislike wearing it as it reminds me that someone has passed. It’s starting to look worn yet I can’t bring myself to buy a new one as it signifies an expectancy of more funerals.
Richard
I decided to pay a visit to an old friend that I hadn’t seen in a while. His son answered the door. Apparently he had fallen down the stairs some weeks back and is now in a home in the north of the county. He also has dementia.
On my very first day in my career as a professional tester I was given a tour of the offices by a lady who introduced me to Richard as someone who would act as my mentor. I was given a seat next to him and told that he would show me the ropes. She then left and I turned to Richard and asked “So what are we doing?”. “I haven’t a f’ing clue” was his response. We’ve been friends ever since.
Many years later after he retired we would meet up regularly for beers and chat about anything and everything. Others would join us over the years and invariably move on. Then around several years ago he would arrange beers and wouldn’t turn up. This happened several times. Each time he claimed to have just forgotten. Months later I saw him walking his dog. I said hi and he asked who I was. Then he appeared to recognise me and claimed to have been pulling my leg, but I wasn’t really sure.
We lost touch again and I was passing his house so figured I’d call in. I was saddened to hear that he was now in a home and that he had dementia, but in the back of my mind I had guessed what was happening. His son assured me though that I should visit and he was confident he would know who I was having known me for so long.
An hour later I pulled out my phone and looked up the home and decided to call. A lady confirmed he was there and said she’d put him on. I heard her mention my name to him and him replying “I can’t think who that is” in a frail voice. He came on the phone and after several references to past events he knew who I was and we were chatting like old friends. But every so often he would start to mumble and get distracted by something. He would then forget who he was talking to and I’d have to trigger some memories to bring him back, but briefly, he came and went throughout the conversation.
Afterwards I just sat and thought about how sad it was to lose yourself like that. It’s clear that the Richard I knew is slowly fading. I’m not even sure he’ll remember me if he saw me in person. I guess I’ll find out as I plan on paying him a visit soon.
Disposable culture
It’s mad that we have countries that can’t agree on how to tackle climate change and that we live in such a disposable culture. For example I have a device that I can’t charge because the charging cable is broken. I can’t fix it because the manufacturer has designed it as a disposable product in that it is completely sealed and tamper proof. I’ve searched on-line for a replacement charger and the cheapest I can find is 19.99 not including delivery. However, for 16.99 I can buy the device again with a charger.
Why would you pay more for less? I just want one part, not a whole new set! Yet somehow it is cheaper to buy a whole new set than the part you need to make what you have work again. It’s both frustrating and very sad.
Discretionary service charge
I ate in a fancy restaurant today where the service was slow but polite enough. When it came time for the bill there was an extra charge at the bottom labelled discretionary service charge. Cheeky I thought, but ok.
I indicated that I was ready to pay and the server brought over the wireless payment terminal and I watched out of the corner of my eye as he entered in the details nearby. A question popped up asking if I would like to accept the discretionary service charge with three buttons, Yes, No, Other. He selected Yes then handed the terminal to me.
Now he assumed that I had not seen all this but I had and I was now somewhat annoyed. In the UK a discretionary service charge is one where the choice belongs to the customer not the server to decide.
What would you do if this happened to you?
Overwhelmed
Ever get that feeling of just being overwhelmed?
There’s just too much to learn.
There’s too many jobs to do.
There’s too many people to fit into the schedule.
I can’t read everything by then.
We can’t fix everything.
There’s not enough time.
It can all be.. overwhelming.
Sometimes you just have to take a moment, think, get perspective, and work out what you can achieve in the time available. Then communicate that to whomever. Maybe yourself.
The world is full of things to learn, things to do, people to see, places to be. Time is precious; spend it wisely. Don’t get overloaded by the noise. Make wise choices and just do what you can. Choose quality over quantity, expertise over generalist, friend over networker.
Don’t let the noise drown your signal.
ADT
I learned that I was no good at sales around age 18. I was looking for work and was offered a sales job on commission with ADT, the alarm company, or at least an organisation performing door-to-door sales for them.
They started off by teaching me how to break into houses. It sounds strange but they actually did. For about 30-40 minutes in a cold hall with stale coffee we were informed about various techniques on how to break into houses. The thinking was that if we came up against stubborn home owners that said they didn’t need a home security system for whatever reason that we would be able to counter it with why they did because we knew how burglars think.
I was paired up with an older lady as my mentor. She was only a couple of years older than me and had been doing this for only a few weeks. Plus she had a car so she could drive us around to and from our sales area.
I wasn’t good at selling house alarms. My heart wasn’t in it. I figured this out fairly quickly. It all came to a head at the end of a long evening with no sign-ups when we arrived at a house with evidence of a recent break-in, namely a boarded up front door. My mentor said if we can’t sell to this home owner we should give up.
The home owner turned out to be a little old lady who had indeed been burgled recently. She had no money for an alarm. In fact she couldn’t even afford a contractor to fix her door. Her nephew had boarded up the door where a glass panel had been and had dropped off a new lock but had yet to return to fit it. Each night she would prop a dinning room chair up against the inside of the door for extra security as the door could not be locked. She would barely get any sleep each night from worrying.
Being a nice guy, she set about fixing us both a cup of tea while I got to work fitting the lock using a screwdriver set retrieved from under a sink. I left feeling good about helping someone, but with no money nor aptitude for sales, but with knowledge of how to break into houses.
Thanks ADT.
Gig economy
I’ve started watching this YouTube channel called London Eats. Not sure why. Maybe because I find it relaxing?
This guy zooming around the capital in the dark making food and parcel deliveries on his electric bikes and scooters. It got me thinking about the gig economy. How these workers don’t have a traditional employment contract, but are paid a fee per job.
After four hours of work this guy earned less than minimum wage and called it a good night. How? Less than minimum wage? Is the gig economy a way for employers to hire cheap labour? The apps these workers use must take a cut of the profits although they do offer meagre bonus payments if you work harder, faster, completing more deliveries within certain time periods.
The London Eats guy augments his meagre earnings by filming his shifts and turning them into quality viewing. He also confesses to having a day job so his shifts only need to be a few hours. He also sells swag from his channel and has sponsorship from various companies. So he’s making ‘his gig’ work. But I’m curious how others are faring from this industry, being paid per delivery.
I guess it’s nothing new. In my youth I worked for a company that paid me 1p for every flyer I delivered. If I could deliver one a minute that’s 60p an hour! Sounded great as a kid needing to augment his pocket money, but even with inflation an adult wouldn’t do it. Explains why so many of us were school age delivering those flyers. Child labour.
The gig economy is here to stay. It makes sense for the employers as it’s cheap labour. And as there appears to be no shortage of willing workers it must be profitable enough for some. Or maybe they just like working when they want to, being by themselves travelling around the city listening to their tunes going door to door, having no in-person boss.