Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Old-timer does not take current lifestule for granted
LOOKING AHEAD by Wally Dobelis
Coming down the morning elevator, I ran into an upstairs neighbor, and we chatted about his impending marriage. In the lobby he went into the concierge’s room, and, when he caught up with me, there was a black canvas lunch box in his hands. Sensing my curiosity, he explained it as his breakfast lunch, dinner and two snacks, from Zone diet meals. He, a financial services manager and his lady friend, a market analyst, never get home before 8PM, and have become tired of eating out late in restaurants, opting for diet meals delivered once a day from this service, five days a week (they go away on weekends).
We parted on 4th Avenue, and I walked to the 14th Street IRT, shaking my head about the newfangled ways, meanwhile picking up a morning newspaper from a box on the way. In the station I upped my discount Metro card by $20 at the manned service desk, picked my way through the arrivals streaming towards the dirty and disabled up-escalator maintained by (Zeckendorf Towers, and got a seat on the train (doable because I work an off-peak schedule, 9:30 AM to about 7 PM or whatever). At my Wall Street platform exit, noting two watching cops outside the gate, I took down my heavy shoulder bag, and jauntily carried it by the handle, like a briefcase - I had no desire to have my laptop examined, perhaps activated, as they do at the airports.
Once past the cops and the 42-story former J. P. Morgan company headquaeters building on corner Broad Street and Exchange Place being converted into millionaires’ condos on Exchange Place, I bought a $1 buttered bagel and coffee breakfast from John, an Indian who calls me papi (he must be from Guiana, where they speak some Spanish). Upon entering my office building, I waved my access card with a smile at the lady guard, and passed it over the magnetic reader that opens the gate to the elevators. Same card also opens my office door.
After a hello to my colleagues in the cubicle row, I booted the tabletop, using my network password. The e-mail popped up really slowly, and I called the help desk in Columbus, OH to complain The young woman checked my date of birth and four digits of my SS number, then entered my system, quickly deciding to purge my cache and compress the files. Mollified, I went back to last night’s unfinished compliance problem, checking into a customer complaint. The broker’s NASD licensing file and the house file matched up well, athough the man’s employment was listed through a separate broker/dealer firm, which explained the difference. I could now write up a work product and Xerox it for the afternoon’s scheduled progress meeting.
Now it was time to update my laptop’s password, which has to be done every few months. I had brought it in for that purpose, and booting it on the network did the trick. I use the personal laptop for some office e-mail at home, and to access needed current documents that I place in it for home use. People have gotten used to my sometimes off-schedule time stamp.
After a day’s rushing around I made it home just in time for dinner, this time leftover brisket, bought through FreshDirect for a festive occasion, and decorated with a spinach dish from Whole Foods takeout tables and a freshly cooked portion of stringbeans. Then it was time to reconnect the laptop to fast DSL and check our personal e-mail – about 15 pieces, none personal – and the suspect spam file, some 60 items, all prescription drug and finance offers. After some catchup reading – I receive Washington Post online - I decided to call Earthlink, my internet provider, to cancel as not worthwhile a special Norton screening package they gave me on a trial basis, The young lady at the other end of the 800 number, in Bangalore, India where it was about 10 AM, apologized profusely and seamlessly switched me to their accounting office, where a young man, speaking accentless West Coast English, took care of clearing the bill. It turned out he was in Manila, and had never been to the US. Amazing, the spread of our language.
Eventually I got round to looking at the last two days’ New York Times front pages, and was mesmerized by he color picture of the Pakistani landscape, and the poor earthquake refugee children in colorful dress, huddled on the ground and doomed to more suffering when the snow comes, a. Guericault painting come to life. The hurricane stories bode no good either.
If you wonder why I wrote up this relatively routine day (granted, the repair calls around the globe were unusual), consider that I entered the work environment before most of you all dear neighbors were born (in the case of really young readers, before your parents were born). Many of the things that most people grew up with and take for granted are still a source of wonderment for this old-timer.
.
Coming down the morning elevator, I ran into an upstairs neighbor, and we chatted about his impending marriage. In the lobby he went into the concierge’s room, and, when he caught up with me, there was a black canvas lunch box in his hands. Sensing my curiosity, he explained it as his breakfast lunch, dinner and two snacks, from Zone diet meals. He, a financial services manager and his lady friend, a market analyst, never get home before 8PM, and have become tired of eating out late in restaurants, opting for diet meals delivered once a day from this service, five days a week (they go away on weekends).
We parted on 4th Avenue, and I walked to the 14th Street IRT, shaking my head about the newfangled ways, meanwhile picking up a morning newspaper from a box on the way. In the station I upped my discount Metro card by $20 at the manned service desk, picked my way through the arrivals streaming towards the dirty and disabled up-escalator maintained by (Zeckendorf Towers, and got a seat on the train (doable because I work an off-peak schedule, 9:30 AM to about 7 PM or whatever). At my Wall Street platform exit, noting two watching cops outside the gate, I took down my heavy shoulder bag, and jauntily carried it by the handle, like a briefcase - I had no desire to have my laptop examined, perhaps activated, as they do at the airports.
Once past the cops and the 42-story former J. P. Morgan company headquaeters building on corner Broad Street and Exchange Place being converted into millionaires’ condos on Exchange Place, I bought a $1 buttered bagel and coffee breakfast from John, an Indian who calls me papi (he must be from Guiana, where they speak some Spanish). Upon entering my office building, I waved my access card with a smile at the lady guard, and passed it over the magnetic reader that opens the gate to the elevators. Same card also opens my office door.
After a hello to my colleagues in the cubicle row, I booted the tabletop, using my network password. The e-mail popped up really slowly, and I called the help desk in Columbus, OH to complain The young woman checked my date of birth and four digits of my SS number, then entered my system, quickly deciding to purge my cache and compress the files. Mollified, I went back to last night’s unfinished compliance problem, checking into a customer complaint. The broker’s NASD licensing file and the house file matched up well, athough the man’s employment was listed through a separate broker/dealer firm, which explained the difference. I could now write up a work product and Xerox it for the afternoon’s scheduled progress meeting.
Now it was time to update my laptop’s password, which has to be done every few months. I had brought it in for that purpose, and booting it on the network did the trick. I use the personal laptop for some office e-mail at home, and to access needed current documents that I place in it for home use. People have gotten used to my sometimes off-schedule time stamp.
After a day’s rushing around I made it home just in time for dinner, this time leftover brisket, bought through FreshDirect for a festive occasion, and decorated with a spinach dish from Whole Foods takeout tables and a freshly cooked portion of stringbeans. Then it was time to reconnect the laptop to fast DSL and check our personal e-mail – about 15 pieces, none personal – and the suspect spam file, some 60 items, all prescription drug and finance offers. After some catchup reading – I receive Washington Post online - I decided to call Earthlink, my internet provider, to cancel as not worthwhile a special Norton screening package they gave me on a trial basis, The young lady at the other end of the 800 number, in Bangalore, India where it was about 10 AM, apologized profusely and seamlessly switched me to their accounting office, where a young man, speaking accentless West Coast English, took care of clearing the bill. It turned out he was in Manila, and had never been to the US. Amazing, the spread of our language.
Eventually I got round to looking at the last two days’ New York Times front pages, and was mesmerized by he color picture of the Pakistani landscape, and the poor earthquake refugee children in colorful dress, huddled on the ground and doomed to more suffering when the snow comes, a. Guericault painting come to life. The hurricane stories bode no good either.
If you wonder why I wrote up this relatively routine day (granted, the repair calls around the globe were unusual), consider that I entered the work environment before most of you all dear neighbors were born (in the case of really young readers, before your parents were born). Many of the things that most people grew up with and take for granted are still a source of wonderment for this old-timer.
.
# posted by Wally Dobelis @ 9:11 PM 
