Managing Change...Again

In my years as a Borders Manager Trainer, I trained many new or newly promoted managers in a variety of management-related segments. But my favorite segment was "Managing Change."

This topic included, as you can imagine, the importance of change in an organization (such as your Borders store), how to help your staff with change, WHY change is good, etc.

I had stories and anecdotes and real-life examples and visual aids, all to help get across my message in my 90 minute segment: Change is Good and Here's Why.

And at the beginning of every one of my "Managing Change" segments, the opening sentence out of my mouth was, without fail: "I'll admit it. I hate change. Hate it."

"But," I continued, "I get it. I understand why change is important and necessary and I know how to make it bearable, and I've accepted many changes in my life. But I hate change."

 

And now, my life is changing in one of those big Life Changing ways - I'm starting a new job. Me, the one who honestly thought she'd be at Borders for the rest of her life.

Someone told me, years ago, that a huge majority of adults will go through three different careers in his/her lifetime. THREE careers?!? Why?!? I'll be with Borders forever - just the one career, thank you very much.

So, after what I consider a few non-careers (waitress/bartender), a freelance attempt, two dozen years with Borders and four years with MTD - I'm moving on to a new adventure.

 

And what an adventure! I'm going to be the Marketing & Events Director for (my beloved) Santa Barbara Downtown Organization! People who don't live here do that "blink-blink" thing when I tell him, so I explain it this way: It's sort of like a mini-Chamber of Commerce, just for the downtown area, promoting the business, cultural and community of downtown Santa Barbara(http://www.santabarbaradowntown.com/).

 And it is, in a nutshell, the perfect job for me - just perfect. I have a huge and undying love and affinity for downtown Santa Barbara, for downtown State Street. I live in a location that is considered the "downtown" neighborhood (as opposed to "upper State" or the "Waterfront" or the "Eastside"). I have had the same zip code - the downtown Santa Barbara zip code - for my entire time here in Santa Barbara, home and work. And downtown Santa Barbara is my go-to location for just about everything, either on my own, meeting friends or when people come to visit me.

So now, my job will be to market and promote this fabulous location in this amazing and gorgeous city. I'll be working with Board members and business owners I already know and/or look forward to getting to know better. See? The Perfect Job!

As for MTD - it's been...let's call it an "interesting" four years.

 

It was David (whom I met serving with him on the Board of Directors of the Downtown Organization - full circle!) who brought me to MTD when I most needed a job, in 2009. In fact, I was one month away from - no kidding - pulling up stakes and moving away from Santa Barbara. But it was David (or "Boss David" as my Mom dubbed him) who saw potential in me, thought I'd be great at the MTD Marketing job and rightly guessed I'd be fun to work with - and what I didn't know about public transit, he'd be there to teach me. Thanks to Boss David, I spent the past four years of acquiring new skills and honing others, meeting some wonderful people and, after he passed away last October, figuring out how to stand up for myself. He was the best boss I ever had, and I miss him terribly ever day.

But I think he'd agree: it's time for me to move on and try something new. And as the past president of the Board of Directors of the Downtown Organization, I imagine Boss David is beaming with pride over my new adventure.

The Horror of Fixing a Sink

Remember the 2002 horror movie The Ring? Scary as hell, starring Naomi Watts? I watched it at about 2:00 AM one morning, all alone, scared shitless - but I could not look away.

When my bathroom sink recently became too clogged to drain quickly, I expertly pulled out the plug and unearthed this:

Well, it looked like this, or at least like this hair. Yeah...gross. Despite throwing up a little bit in my mouth, I got rid of this clump of nastiness and tried to put the plug back in its hole and move on.

But it didn't work. I twisted and turned the plug, certain something would work, something would catch, eventually. I've pulled many a plug out to clean out many a drain and I know how it works. I finally got a mini flashlight to find the little thing that connects the plug to the whatever - the thing that makes it work. But it wasn't there - nothing to fit in the hole in the plug was visible.

Damn. So I figured I could live with it for a while, then scrap together some money to pay a plumber (like a former boyfriend - a guy I actually dated and still he charges me. But that's for another day, another blog).

But "living with it" lasted a few weeks - putting the plug in, prying the plug out, putting the plug in, prying the plug out - that got pretty old, pretty quick. So I headed to a place near my office, Santa Barbara Home Improvement Center, aka:

                                             
My intention was to purchase one of those little rubber stoppers with a chain, like in an old fashioned hotel room.

I veered toward the Plumbing section, then hesitated for just a moment. From my right, a quiet voice said, "Something, Miss?" Like that. I looked over and said, "What, did my uncertainty give me away?" He smiled.  So I told him my problem, with many hand gestures and made-up words ("pluggy-uppy thing," "pully-uppy handle"). He showed me the rubber stoppers, but told me, "I know what happened, the internal part of the pivot rod rusted off, but it's easy to fix." He peered up at me and asked if I wanted to fix it myself, turning us to the wall across the aisle. "No, that's OK, I'll just use this..." His eyes closed briefly and he did that teensy headshake that people give when they're being tolerant but slightly impatient. Like: he's heard it all before.

Then he said:

"You can do this. I know you can do this."

I was aghast: "What!?! But I'm a girl!"

That usually works with guys - God love 'em. However, he ("Gene") was having none of it. He gave me that sideways smirky look that says he knows better than that and tugged down a little sink kit from peg on the rack. "It's easy, the instructions are on the back."

 

I said, "Well, umm, and so, I was just kidding about that 'being a girl' thing, you didn't believe me, right?" Suddenly, I didn't want Gene to think I was dumb or some kind of helpless woman. He smiled and said, "No." And then gave the kit a bit of a shake to bring my attention back to the task soon-to-be-at-hand.

Poor Gene actually had to explain the whole thing twice - the first time, my head was full of visions of moving stuff out from under my sink, removing that U-shaped pipe part, being on my back in the bathroom cabinet with my head wedged under the sink, getting dirty, and plumber's cracks. But by the time I dragged my attention span out of A.D.D. World, I had an actual question: Do I have to shut off my water? Answer: No. 

Next question: What kind of tool do I need? Answer: A wrench - do you have one? I asked him to show me exactly what he thought I'd need, so I could make sure I own one. He led me to the register counter and opened the Wrench Drawer (I know this because first he inadvertently opened the Screwdriver Drawer) and showed me. Yes, I have one of those.

And then, I had my Oprah-endorsed Ah-Ha Moment: the sink plunger thing I needed to fix/replace was on the outside of the sink - not in the sink itself! Suddenly, this did seem doable after all!

So I bought both the kit and the stopper, just in case. I told Gene I'd come back to let him know how I did, which made him smile again, a sort of "lacking a couple of teeth" kind of smile. As I left the store,  all inspired and full of thoughts of what to wear to avoid the plumber's crack issue, it occurred to me - how did Gene know?

How did he know that I "could do this?" What about me, in my open-toe shoes, sporting a cute pedi, Coach bag a-swinging on my shoulder, wearing my two-toned pink and blue Ray Ban sunglasses - what made him think in a million years that I could do a fix-it job such as this?

Because he was right - I could do this, and did, just now. It took me 20 minutes. More on that later.

But really - I have done repairs around my condo, and apartments before that. Replaced broken things, adjusted things, painted walls and things. I've hauled big heavy things (a large TV, a roll-top desk, an obnoxious console table) up and down stairs, I do own an impressive toolkit, I've built things right out of the box  - for example, my big, dumb desk for my Borders home office was huge and cumbersome and took three hours to assemble and I did it by myself. So yes, I'm all that AND rocking a nail apron:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But how did Gene know that?

Anyway, today was the day: cleared out my under-the-sink stuff, put down a big towel in case I had to lie on my back with my head in the cabinet to reach what I was doing (not a fun maneuver, but necessary). One last hitch of my shorts (to reduce the potential of the dreaded crack) and after checking the "instructions on the back" multiple times, cleaning more gunk and stopping once to find a flashlight...I did it.

Gene would be so proud. I can't wait to tell him he was right - when I go back to return the too-small-to-fit sink stopper he sold me.

Men. Can live with 'em, can't shop with 'em.