Bad News TV

I recently realized I had a problem: I cannot give bad news. Because of my job I have to inform lots of people about delays and other problems that can appear in a project. And trust me, that makes for a lot of bad news. Production delays, parts not delivered on time, parts blocked by customs, tools not ready. It's not glamorous but this is how it is and every day I have to explain the why and the how and the who and the when, to several people, all pushing to solve the issues.

To make things worse, it's not always my fault but I still can't help but blame myself although I know this will not help: they will blame me either way. The bearer of the bad news is always hit by the wave of anger. And so I try to protect myself, but sugar coating everything is not a solution in this business,. People look for the hard candy which is the truth and more so, they look for the answers and solutions. And sometimes I just don't have them. Or I don't have what they expect me to say. And then I have to give bad news again, to someone who is already pissed off and missing hope and confidence.

I try to be sympathetic and explain as best as I can, give solutions, make proposals and the result is people shouting and being angry. And so I change strategy and I'm being mean but that only makes people even angrier. Is there a way out of it? Avoiding to break the news doesn't help either, trust me. It's like people ask for it, they want to know so they chase you around by mail and phone. Some days I feel like they all hate me!

How do you solve this? How do you break the news and how do you react to the aftermath?

PS. Click on the pic, the article is quite interesting. I think I need more help than that, though.

Back in the Czech Republic (1) Going Home

Well, the holidays are over. No more mistletoe, no more holiday cheer. Gone are lazy days playing cards and all sort of games with friends. The food has been eaten; the champagne has popped and flooded our glasses with sparkling wonder. The last firecracker was heard and we are back to work.

What I wish you all is what I wish myself for this year, and for every year: health and strength to go through all that the New Year has to offer, good or bad. For me, 2009 has been a good year, as I already told you but I find it strange when almost everyone around finds it was a terrible year. The crisis may account for that I think. But even with the crisis (which at one point turned into a big personal financial crisis), overall I found the strength, humor and love to pass all the difficulties. So I wish the same for this year.

The holidays passed like a charm and here I am back at work, back home in the Czech Republic. Yes, home, because on the way over it hit me that I was actually leaving one home for the other. The flat in Plzen is not just "the flat" but it's "home" You're going to say I did a lot of thinking...well yeah, because on a 20 hours bus trip, there is little to do but think. And try to sleep. And call the police with unfunded warnings about turned over buses but more about that later.

My fans want to know about my latest adventures, so without further ado I will start from the top: Going to Romania for the Holidays. I think this will generate another post, but I'll see about that later. What you must know about this trip is that I did not plan it in advance. So here I am middle of December, without a ticket to get back home, planes and trains are too expensive, Eurolines are booked out so I find myself having to reserve a ticket from a strange bus company. Why strange? You'll see. And to make things even nicer, the three days before my departure I made so many miles, going to Prague, going to work from Prague (at 5 o'clock because I had forgotten some papers. Yes, AM), then going on a business trip, coming home, going to a Christmas dinner, going back home, packing...On the morning of the trip I was exhausted.

So here we are, December 23rd, I leave my nice flat in Plzen, and the boy takes me to the bus station, where I take a seat on one of the last places in the Student Agency coaches. First off let me tell you this: Student Agency is the way to travel in CZ. No pub here, just facts: comfy seats and a nice hostess giving you a free hot drink: coffee, good hot chocolate, tea, and putting on a movie for your viewing pleasure (with English subtitles). All for the price of a normal coach ticket. If you manage to find places that is. The trip to Prague: bliss, I even stroke up conversation with the lady sitting next to me, yes in Czech (well very poor Czech).

From there it all goes downhill. Picture this: me with a huge luggage, half empty but just as heavy as if it were full and a smaller bag meant to hold all the food I'd bring back (I had a large order of sarmale, carnati and other Romanian delicacies). The next part of the trip was so long and difficult (thank God I didn't have to change metros, from Zlicin to Florenc it's all straight and they do have some elevators but I still had to carry my huge coffin-like bag up and down) that I was glad to reach the coach station and hopeful that the worst was behind me. I still had some time to kill before my coached arrived so what do I think? let's get a burger and chips from Burger King, cause you know, I usually like the burgers here. Well yeah, the burger was ok (at 10 o'clock in the morning) but the chips were awful. Yes awful. Stale. And cold. And did I mention awful?

Being a bit nervous, and afraid I'll miss the coach (it could happen, especially with my track record: missing busses and trains is a specialty of mine), I go to the toilet for the last time and then I go wait for the coach on the quay. And a good idea that was: it was already full, mostly of my compatriots, but also Bulgarians, Ukrainians and Moldavians. All working here, more or less legally. And now you will understand why I said strange when talking about this company, you see, I had no ticket. Nothing. Just a phone call with a guy who said I had to pay 500 crowns up front, but if I couldn't, I can get my ticket from the Ukrainian girl that will be at the coach. And so I go to look for Irina who gives me my ticket in exchange for some crowns (cheaper than Eurolines) and also a business card with her phone number and those of the company. And she also sells me another ticket for the way back, with another business card. (it's a leitmotif that one).

Coming down from a coach with a hostess and getting on another coach with a hostess, I think to myself (mummy >:D<) I'll get a decent ride after all. And then I see the other girls, Moldavian, Ukrainian, hostesses like Irina (Ludmila and Iulia) and they are all nice, frail girls, well dressed and wearing make up, showing the Slave heritage very well. But they boss around the hordes of workers, telling the guys where to sit and the guys listening, despite some (futile) resistance. And they give candy too. But the trip was made without the Slavic goddesses, only the two drivers remained, the same who put the luggage in a very irrational way and then started smoking on the bus. By this point I was like in a mafia movie: strange looking characters, lots of men wearying big rings and a longer pinky nail, longer hair at the back and shorter in the front (80's style) or other strange hairdos and I've even spotted the blade of a knife (I was carrying an Opinel myself).

Half an hour later, bags packed in reverse order (Bucharest bags where somehow to the front of the pack), men put at their seats in the rear and girls traveling alone at the front, couples seated together, candies distributed, and we're off.

(to be continued...)

Samaritaine*

It wasn't the first time she saw him. But this was the first time she really noticed him and his spaniel.

She glanced back. Yes, he was there, still smiling, a tall, brown haired man, wearing sunglasses in this weather. She could see his green turtle neck from under his beige Mac. The dog looked wet and a bit sad, maybe he wanted home already. She felt her own dog jerking the leash to turn around. The guy's dog must be male.

How bizarre, she thought, there, on the bank of the Seine, under the pouring rain, these two strangers decided to walk their dogs. There was no one else around, no passerbys. Was he following her? She knew she'd seen him somewhere else but where? Maybe in the park,but now she really saw him : tall, taller thant her but just the perfect size. Where did that thought come from? He was quite good looking, square chin, brown hair, but she chouldn't see his eyes.

He was comming towards her, she could hear his footspteps on the wet pavement. And there was no one else under the rain. She was intrigued. Strangely enough it didn't even cross her mind to be afraid, she was actually fascinated by this guy and his dog.

The man's smile didn't falter as she half turned towards him. She started walking towards him then. He stopped. He was now looking at her with his brown, soft eyes, still that smile on his lips as if he knew her. She wanted to ask "Where? Who? Why?" but she found herself smiling as well.

She was now looking straight at him. She did know him, she'd known him for a while now. He also lived on the Rive Gauche, perhaps somewhere on the other side of the square from where her flat was(why it was called a square when it was round, she didn't know).

She'd seen him in the street, probably going to work, always fashionable, sometimes in a hurry. She knew he was French, but she never knew his name. How many times did they cross eachother in bakeries and tailor shops? How many times did they walk the dogs in the same park, sat on the same bench, at different hours, different days. How many times did they almost meet?

"Bonjour"

"Bonjour, vous"

"On se connait?"

"Maintenant, si"

*Samaritaine is the name of a famous Parisian Department store, bigger than La Fayette and Le Printemps, it was the place for fashionable and expensive shopping before it was closed for "rebuilding" in 2005. Actually it was a move to restructure the personnel and transform it into office and apartment building so this fashionistas' paradise never reopened. These pictures were in the window of the shop in summer of 2006.

These shoes were made for walking

I was going to let this one pass, I'm not a contest buff (Ok, the summer I spent collecting my parents' Monte Carlo cigarette packages and won several watches, ash trays and so on does not, I repeat, does not count) . But this morning, I had enough. Sorry. (The idea came from my favourite shoe addict)

This morning, I had a revelation. As I walked out of my front door, my little heel got caught in a hole in the garden pavement. And then it hit me: This country is not made for walking with heel shoes. Don't get me wrong, I don't have 12 cm stilettos, just small, kitten heel pumps. I'm going to work by bike, remember, I'm not going to be extravagant, but a little bit of fashion never hurt anyone, right?

I got my foot out of the hole and walked on; pass the gate, into the gravel road, up the hill to where my bike is parked. I scraped my heel and almost broke my legs. Really, is living in the country side compatible with having heels?


Last week I went to Prague. I rushed from home to catch my bus in my very comfy grey boots from pimkie. The same gravel road, the same hill with boulders, scraped heels once more. And once in Prague, I managed to walk on the cobbled roads without a problem, until, very late at night when we were wandering around Kampa at 2 o'clock, and then it was too much, my boyfriend almost had to carry me to the car (mind you, I don't think he would have minded).

This city is not made for walking with high heels. And now it's the whole country. My heels are scraped, bruised, a real disaster. I hope to have a car this fall so I won't be walking or riding my bike to work and so shoes shouldn't be a problem. Ok, I'm cheating here, but the best way to work a pair of shoes is to get your feet out of a car in a very Hollywood style. So a preview of my wish list (OMG, I don't believe I'm putting up pictures of shoes here).

You see, for me buying a shoe is not just about the shoe itself, it's about the image I want it to give me, this boots, and the way the girl is dressed match my style, and for sure I see myself having a romantic, candlelight dinner by a fireplace.

And to go to work, I think these would be perfect with my office pants, a real corporate gal, 9 to 5, here I come.

No, no flats on my wish list, I am decreeing, flats are boring. I'll probably get a pair for when my feet hurt from the heels, but I will not let the pavement tell me what to wear. I don't care about all the setbacks; I will make it, God damn it. My shoes for this fall will be low, I will wear boots, I'll still wear my converses, but by all that is good and true in this world, I will wear heels, you cannot stop me.