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In Category: ‘social commentary’

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July 8, 2011 Beyond the White Picket Fence

Photo by Charlie Crane, from Welcome to Pyongyang

Growing up, SAT scores and mathematics were higher on my priority list than genealogy. I knew little about my family beyond my parents’ own lives, that they were a city girl and a country boy brought together in Seoul’s most prestigious university.

Now that I am older and my extended family has begun gathering more regularly, I’m hearing stories about Korea that seem straight out of a movie. It’s hard to believe I am of their blood.

My mother recently shared a very dark story about her uncle, my grandfather’s brother. An aspiring political rebel from Seoul, he ascended to a position of power in the medical community in Pyongyang after World War II. Through the turmoil of the following decade (and a change in regime), he suddenly vanished without a trace.

This is a typical tale coming out of North Korea, but inexcusable for any country with an ounce of respect for human rights. Should we be surprised?

It’s bone-chilling knowing that if it were not for this, I’d have a bigger family.

Moreover, my mother visited him with some regularity in the years before the division was final. She could have been trapped there; I could be witnessing the DPRK first-hand now, been executed at birth, or have never been born at all.

You can sit around and mull over all the philosophical land mines (pun intended) in the “What if?” situations, but the simple fact is this: It’s real. It’s all painfully real and I’ve never been more aware that there’s a big, nasty world out there. I only have the most distant idea of what it’s like to have family stuck in the most treacherous country in the world, but this vague ghost of terror is so much more than I already want to feel.

This is how I know that no matter what opportunities there are to travel beyond that border and take photos of a lifetime, it can never happen for me.

Perhaps my parents did the right thing not scaring their little girl with stories that don’t have happy endings.

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June 21, 2011 Keeble and Shuchat, Suck It

Keeble & Shuchat in Palo Alto, CA has bar none the worst service I’ve ever experienced in a brick-and-mortar shop. Here’s how they’ve earned their way onto my Shit List.

You Are What You Say

It didn’t happen overnight. I’ve been going there since before I’ve even lived in California – which is my way of pointing out I’ve been giving this place more chances than anyone should ever give someone. We’re talking more than three years.

I may be a chump, but I’m no n00b to customer service. I’ve been working (in customer! service!) since 2008 for a company who is world-famous for their quality of personalized, human support. I have experience with all kinds of people, every minute degree of annoyance and I can say with some authority that how you treat your customers reflects on your business.

Someone is always watching. Someone is always talking. Even if you’re having a terrible day. Even if someone stole your sandwich so you have low blood sugar that makes you want to bring that 1DmIV down on someone’s head. Even if your customers ask irrelevant questions or are smoking crack. Even if they ask you, ”What gives?”

I’m not sorry for much in this life, but I am sorry that so many awful companies succeed in this day and age. K & S, as an example, has a corner on the pro film processing market in the SF Bay Area. So many of us keep going back again and again and again…

Oh No She Dit’n't

Since day one I have been unhappy with them and each memory orbits around a single word: DISRESPECT. I’ve gone in there regularly over the last 2.5 years to browse and buy because they are the most convenient camera supply and film service shop. Plus, as a rule I prefer to patronize independently-owned local businesses. Every time I walk through the doors accompanied by my husband or a male friend, all help is directed at my companion, never at me, even when I’m the one asking the freaking questions. Chauvinistic sonofabitches.

I hate pulling the gender card, but seriously. Over the years they’ve thrown me a big fat bone to pick.

But whenever I ask for help, my presence is a huge imposition to them. Which is a real feat considering that half the time there’s twice as many employees standing around than customers in the store. (Wow. Must be nice.)

A Moment on the Lips. A Lifetime’s Loss in Tips.

I’ve recently met the most hostile sales guy ever permitted to set foot in a store in retail history. I made it clear that:

1. I know that there is one other person in front of me that I have to wait for, first.

2. I don’t care, I am not in a rush and I understand. (I do this by pulling out my iPhone and leisurely checking my mail.)

3. I have a simple request, have been here before, I know the routine and exactly what I want. I AM AN EASY CUSTOMER. I’m the kind of customer you get your interns to help.

But hey, that’s not good enough. I’m the scum of the earth to shoot film, to trust my priceless memories to this shop who can do what I cannot do myself. How dare I ask for them to process my film for me? How dare I try to shortcut the process by saying, “Develop only, and could I have the negatives cut and sleeved, please?”

(Another point: Seriously, I’ve been coming to you almost every week for 7 months. Could you not have your customer’s contact information on file so I don’t have to spell out my name and my phone number every time? Also, a smile would be nice, or some form of recognition that would make hauling my ass up there a little more welcoming. This is a lot to ask, I know, but I’m the Asian girl with dreadlocks and red glasses. Though it’s moot because you’ll never see me again.)

I felt something snap inside of me which may have been my patience, but was most likely my blinders finally giving way under the weight of a thousand fake smiles. I cut the crap, got the hell out of there and will never go back. It’s a shame that I can’t patronize a local business with something that I am passionate about, but I think it’s a far greater shame to be repeatedly treated this way by a business and still give them your money. I’m excruciatingly, horribly embarrassed about that. I feel dirty, like I’ve escaped an abusive relationship. Which, in a way, I have.

I’ll Take My Money and Run

It’s back to mail-order processing for me, or I’ll go up to the city. C’est la vie, but film has always been a delayed gratification sort of deal. They very clearly do not need or want my business.

The only thing I can thank K & S for is getting me fired up enough to actually update my blog. That’s worth something.

*****************

NOTE: The comments didn’t make it when I moved this blog over from its old location. They’re all here.

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February 1, 2011 Lesson, Learned

Two weeks are over! Two weeks of bachelorettism, independence and climbing on chairs to reach things on the top shelf. What have I learned?

1. It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to. Somewhere in the last few years, I have stopped caring about looking foolish in front of strangers. When I was alone in the past – even for a day – I would be too shy and bumbling to go out and do things on my own. The idea of going to a museum or a concert was unthinkable. I would know that the evening would end up with me hiding in a corner, trying not to be noticed and hustling home as soon as possible.

Not any more. I did things because I’ve long wanted to do them, because they were interesting, or simply because I felt like it. Isn’t that the best part of being a grownup? If I want to watch 4 hours of British dramas while eating kale chips, dammit I will.

2. I’m no longer a sweet piece of ass. I knew this time was coming, but I find the irony of this almost too much to bear. When I was in college and for the years afterwards, I could not walk down the street or go into a store alone without some creepy man leering at me. It was skeevy but in some twisted level, nice to know that I had some appeal.

These last two weeks I’ve been left alone, and the male strangers I have met have actually been less friendly to me than the female ones. What’s that all about, Bay Area?

3. You suck by default. If I was in a position to help out a stranger, I would. And they would automatically be taken aback by the gesture or comment. Since I don’t normally do this I don’t know if it’s typical for people to react in that suspicious, shocked way that clearly screams “Why are you talking to me? Are you selling something?” But it’s a shame. What happened to good, old-fashioned samaritanism? Maybe we’ll move to Europe where (I hope) such things still burn strong.

4. They’re legal for a reason. In trying to better my health I made a point to cut out both caffeine and alcohol these two weeks. Alcohol: I can either take it or leave it but it looks like caffeine is essential. A fortnight of having all my faculties and I’ve learned that my faculties don’t do so well on their own. It’s nice not to be kept awake with heart palpitations but even after the cleanse I have trouble focusing on any tasks at hand. Yay, coffee!

5. Life is awesome. There’s so much to see and do, no matter where you are. I’m fortunate to live in the SF Bay Area where there’s no end to beautiful things, great shops, and amazing cultural opportunities. I feel that although I was busy every day (and certainly each weekend) that I barely scraped the surface of what it has to offer. I even met new people and made new friends, some of them folks who have been right in front of me the whole time.

Of course I would prefer to have my partner at home with me, but his temporary travels may well have been one of the best things to have happened in a very long time. Onward!

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March 26, 2010 “Remember me to all”

Sunday afternoon. Gotta work, gotta run. But what’s this here? Sort through the stack, find one name on three postcards. 1925! Five dollars apiece? You’re kidding! Alright, here you go.

And there begins my fascination with Miss Eleanor Levons. A woman, who, somehow, was traveling through the roads through the early part of the last century. A woman who inspired me because of her beautiful handwriting, her simple language and all-too-human fallacies and grammatical errors. And her mystery.

4th day
Pittsburg , Pa.
7/23/25

Dear Edna,

Reached Pittsburgh yesterday after-noon. The people we are stopping with took us all over town and have treated us wonderful. We visited Heinz’s this after-noon, we tasted 7 of the 57 varieties. We are leaving to-morrow morning for Cleveland. We expect to be in Chicago about Monday. We are stopping at some relatives of Billie’s and expect to be there for a few days. If you should want to write to me the address is

℅ Ms C. Skwersky
1315 Avero Ave
Chicago, IL

Hope you have a nice vacation. I can’t realize yet that I’m on the way.

Remember me to all the girls + your mother + sister.

With love,
Eleanor

How can one possibly discover the story of one woman, who made little name for herself, was just like you or me? I do not know if she is young or old, although her correspondent was implied to be of school-age. Perhaps she was, too, writing to a best friend separated by a move:

New Orleans, La
Oct. 5, 1925

Dear Edna,

Arrived in New Orleans yesterday after-noon (Sunday) and the first thing we did after getting settled at the “Y” was to go for a swim in Lake Pontchartran, it was more like taking a turkish bath than anything else as the water was so awfully warm, however, we got a little exercise anyway. You know the town is one foot below Sea Level and it is just roasting hot here. We both got up early this A.M. and rushed down to the P.O. It certainly was a pleasure to receive your letter. It took us over an hour to read all of our mail having accumulated for 3 weeks. You can imagine.

Have been all over town. Went down to the French Market where they have loads of fish and fruit. also visited the St. Louis Cathedral, which was very interesting. One of the courts were full of bullet holes where they use to shoot the prisoners Saw loads of French + Spanish building, which were quite a sight.

We are leaving town to-morrow. Have to cross on five ferries before we get to Mobile, Ala the first one is over 23 miles long. Hope you’ll excuse this postal it is so hot that I haven’t any ambition to sit down and write letters, guess you’ll understand how it is.

We expect to go to see “Shore Leave” to-night Have been taking baths every chance we get to get cooled off. Hope you are well and everything yourself. Guess you are all signed up for school.

With loads of love,
Eleanor

P.S. Remember me to all.

P.S. Will be looking forward to hearing from you in Miami. Did you get my other postals? Hope you can make them out.

Postage was pre-printed one cent. Jefferson was the stamp. He was the relatively new guy.

I looked up Shore Leave, which debuted on September 6, 1925. Guess it was a real riot back in the day of flappers and bob cuts.

Tampa, Fla.
Oct. 10,1925

Dear Edna,

This sure is an idea spot to spend the winter. Was to St. Petersburg yesterday and had a dandy swim in the Gulf. It seems as though all New York is down here by the number of cars we have seen. Had a ride all the way from Mobile, Ala. to Tampa in a nice big Pierce Arrow. We are leaving here this A.M. for Miami hope will be able to get another good car that is going straight through. Wish you were along, anyway I hope you are enjoying yourself in the city. Remember me to all.

With loads of love
Eleanor

Her Chicago address bore no secrets in Google. Street View showed a stark, sun-battered suburban neighborhood, the next house shuttered with planks. I wondered, very briefly, if writing a letter to Ms Skwersky’s current resident would be fruitful, or failure.

Edna. Perhaps Edna had the answer? No luck. Searching for her address (and a few other searches for architectural history) proved that New York Presbyterian Hospital built a new medical school on her block, with Cornell, two years after the postcards were sent.

Was Edna old enough to feel uprooted? Or perhaps she was a boarding-school girl with no connections at all to the circumstances that forced her aside?

History reveals nothing about them, and they have undoubtedly long since passed away. Their names are not unique, and neither are their stories. But I will always remember them, for Eleanor’s words paint pictures in my mind. Her looping, methodical letters anticipate the beginnings of a modern change.

I will never know more than I already imagine about these girls, but I will always believe that throughout the years, we should laugh and love our friends near and far.

With loads of love,
S

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