Author: Lauren Mirs

Do You Feel Lucky?

My dad was drafted into the army after college. It was during the time of Vietnam. After basic and advanced training, orders for each soldier’s next assignment were posted on a bulletin board outside of their barracks. “Vietnam” was printed on the sheet, with thousands of names listed underneath it. After that, it said “Germany.” Two people were listed, and my dad was one of them.

I recently visited The Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial in Washington, DC. The walls were thinner and shorter than I thought they’d be, but still, the amount of names was sobering. Someone had left note cards at the base of the wall with info on select soldiers: their picture, their name, where they were from, how old they were when they died. 20, 21, 24… I’ve heard the statistics before, but the older I get, the harder it is to imagine dying so young. I kept thinking how lucky he was, not to end up a name on that wall. For those of us who know him, we are lucky, too! Happy Father’s Day!  

Photo: azaleas at BP gas station, Galax, VA

Ruining Christmas, One Family at a Time

The Foot Fetish Guy was not among the most disturbing calls I received while working at Company X, though.

Around Christmas, the company offered these striped long johns. The color combinations changed each year. Some families made it a tradition to dress everyone, from the baby to the grandparents, in matching outfits for a holiday portrait. Tops and bottoms were sold separately, and a finite number of each piece was made, so sometimes the fantasy of matching underwear didn’t pan out. Our supervisors warned us that customers would blame us for “ruining Christmas.” One livid customer informed me that since we were sold out of shirts in her son’s size, “he couldn’t be in the picture.” Working in customer service, your response has to be something along the lines of “I’m sorry,” rather than “That’s messed up.” 

What an advantage that we can learn from other people’s behavior, not just our own mistakes.  

High Arches and Painted Toenails

Years ago, I worked in the call center of a clothing store. Every couple weeks, the same creepy guy would call- not to order anything, but just to pester the customer service reps. He had a foot fetish, and he’d ask questions like, “What’s your shoe size?” and “Do you wear open-toed sandals?” Whenever he called, he’d call maybe twenty times in a row. He’d get a different rep each time, so you’d hear a buzz around the office that The Pervert was at it again. When I finally got him, I could tell who it was right away. I gave my opening spiel: “Thank you for calling Company X. This is Lauren. How can I help you?” “Hello, Lauren,” he spat out sarcastically. I have never heard my name spoken with such derision. I hovered my finger above the hang up button. Talking really quickly, he goes, “Hey, can I ask you a question-” “No,” I interrupted authoritatively and punched the hang up button.  

After that, I did not give my name unless someone asked for it.