Admitting Your Problem is Half the Battle

I've denied it for years. My lovely wife tells me I have a problem. Even the kids know it. My problem has landed me in trouble with the people I know and love, and with total strangers. It's even landed me in hot water with the law. Multiple times. I guess I may as well admit it... I'm a crappy driver. 

There. I said it. I've been known to speed. I have occasionally viewed a stop light or a stop sign as a mere suggestion, and I have frequently seen a yellow light as nothing more than a challenge. I've banged into other cars, and they've banged into me. I've been described as a  menace by the people I love. Even my dad feels like he has to comment when we're driving together..."What, you don't stop at stop signs anymore?" as I roll on through. Before she passed away, I was driving with my Mom one day and I did a patented Sean Slater dip-stop at an intersection. She said, "Oh, Sean, your dad wouldn't like that too much."

I've even been stopped by these guys.  For driving in the wrong lane.  Who knew?

To be certain, I know how to drive. I've even taken lessons. I've had my license since I was sixteen and I got it on the first try. I totally get the fundamentals of driving but I'm a multi-tasker and I'm always in a hurry.  Before the angry mob arrives at my door, let me just say that I've never had an accident or a ticket while talking on the phone or texting. I've often gone for years without a ticket, and then I've had a flurry of bad activity that results in a renewed relationship with law enforcement. 

A couple of years ago, I had such a flurry.  Within the span of about 18 months, I got 3 speeding tickets, a red light ticket and a stop sign ticket.  It's bad enough that this flurry cost me a bundle, but worse, it attracted the attention of both my insurance company and our government overlords.  I arrived home from a Christmas vacation to find a letter from the Ministry of Transportation compelling me to attend a bad driver counselling session, and to prove that they meant business, they advised that if I didn't show up exactly when they wanted me to, my license would be suspended, toute de suite.

A view that I'm unfortunately accustomed to.

So I arrived on the appointed day at the appointed time to meet Dave, my counsellor. Dave was clearly bullied in high school and was now using his important role in the public service to exact revenge whenver he could.  Dave spent our time together judging me, being as condescending as possible, and at one point, he even threatened to cut up my license. Heavy on the lecturing, light on the counselling. After an hour of berating me, he slapped a year of probation on me and warned me that he had better not see me back again, because if he did, he'd be compelled to use those scissors. I bolted, never looking back, but unable to shake the sound of Van Halen's Jump that was wafting from the ghetto blaster in Dave's office.

I knew I was in trouble when I saw Dave's ghetto blaster.

So I left there feeling appropriately slapped around, and hell-bent on not getting another ticket.  My hands returned to the 10 and 2 position on the steering wheel, my phone stayed in my pocket, and I became a fan of my cruise-control.  All good and on the road to recovery.  Just as I was feeling like my rehabilitation was taking hold, and I was getting over the shot to my confidence and yes, even manhood following my visit with Dave, I arrived home a few weeks later to find that my insurance company had decided that  as a result of all of this, I was just too big a risk.  Cancelled.  Awesome. Finding another insurer in a short period of time to take on all that risk...was not easy and was definitely not cheap.  

So now, I'm insured again, and when the bill comes in it's like a monthly reminder of my emasculating visit with Dave.  I'm trying to be better, and I have been (although definitely not perfect).  Until recently, that is.  I was out with my daughter Madeline, and I managed to slide into the back of another car in a rainstorm. The cars were fine, and so were all the drivers and passengers, but Maddie was furious.  Even the other driver commented about her death-stare as he drove away unscathed, "Looks like you're in real trouble with her," he said. And I was.  Now she flinches every time she hears that I have to drive her somewhere. Good times.  In related news, my lovely wife will never, ever let me buy a new car,  "...cuz you're just gonna smash it up anyway."

Good drivers don't have the tow truck on speed dial, right?

Hi, my name is Sean, and I'm a bad driver.  There, I said it.  Admitting it is half the battle, right?

Welcome to the Club...

I am a sucker for status.  If you’ve been following along, I’ve talked about how much I love being Super Elite with Air Canada, and Platinum with Hyatt, and Gold with Marriott.  I enjoy the things that come along with all of this status, and I take full advantage of all of the perks. Ask anyone who’s ever traveled with me.  I use the priority line, I go to the airport lounge, and most importantly, I board the plane first. First.

I worked hard for this card.  I'm damn sure gonna use it. 

My passion for status extends beyond travel programs to regular old customer loyalty programs.  Shop here, get points, earn perks. Shop, get, earn, repeat-you know the deal.  It should be no surprise to learn that when I heard of the gold card program at Starbucks I immediately signed up.  I even downloaded the app and loaded up my account so I can pay with my phone.  I used to think that was poncy and flaky.  Now I just think it’s convenient. Yes, I'm shallow. About as deep as a backyard kiddie pool.

As soon as I signed up, I started getting offers from my new buddies at Starbucks.  When you get 5 stars, you earn Green status.  When you hit 30 stars, you become Gold.  The Holy Grail.  When you’re Green, you get free refills on your regular coffee in the store.  When you’re gold, you get those free coffee refills and a free drink with every 12 stars. You also get a fancy coffee beverage on your birthday.

Smart people over there at Starbucks

For the uninitiated, you get one star for every purchase in the store.  For some strange reason, I was getting 2 stars for every purchase.  My lovely wife was furious to find out that I was getting double stars.  I was also earning free drinks at a crazy speed.  Every time the people at Starbucks sent me an offer, I, like Pavlov’s dog, responded exactly the way they wanted me to.  Dear Sean, Go to the store and buy a drink and we’ll give you a free star.  Done.  Dear Sean, Go to the store and buy some take home coffee and we’ll give you 5 stars.  Done.  Twice.  Dear Sean, do naked cartwheels into the store…

The long and the short of this is that I am a marketer’s dream. Everything they wanted me to do, I did.  I probably became Gold at Starbucks faster than anyone on record.  I now have the gold logo on my app, and I’m expecting my special Gold Card to arrive in the mail any day now.  I’m their target customer. I’m sure they’re writing a case study about me.  I’m the proof of concept. Starbucks is brilliant.

They got me.  

The reality is that I really love status.  The kicker is that I really, really hate coffee.

My New Life At the Gym

In 2004 I joined a gym. I signed up because my mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and my wife all signed up for an amazing monthly rate of ten bucks, so of course I signed up too. I didn’t sign up because I wanted to get fit, or lose weight-I signed up because it was cheap. And for years I paid that ten bucks a month, mostly because I didn’t want to lose that rate if I ever did decide that I wanted to get fit or lose weight. I tried going a few times, and even got on a roll for a while. I even got a trainer about 6 years ago. Obviously, none of that took hold.

Fast forward a decade. Not any fitter, and not any lighter, except in the wallet. I’m down approximately 1200 bucks (plus the trainer) and up probably 20 pounds. I sleep well knowing that I’ve got that cheap rate though. My lovely wife, however, has taken full advantage of that 10 bucks a month. In the last decade (actually in the last two years) she’s transformed herself, her attitude towards food and her body. My god she’s rocking a hot body now. She looks better now 25 years into our relationship than she ever has. She’s slim, she’s fit, and she’s got abs of steel. She’ll tell you that she’s still got a ways to go, but holy man, she’s one sexy ‘after-picture’.

They've had my money for years.  Now they have me.

So that’s my motivation. I’ve always been married to a beautiful woman, but now she’s taken control of her health and her fitness and it’s time for me to do the same. So, for the last couple of months I’ve been to the gym more times than in the last decade combined. I go about 5 days a week for an hour, and my lovely wife is my coach. In the old days when I went to the gym I would ride the bike and as soon as one bead of sweat arrived on the scene, that was the signal to head for home. That no longer works. Laura is kicking my ass. No slacking. When I’m done I’m drenched. I hate it. And I love it.

So now I use the stepper. I’m kind of addicted to it. I also use a couple of different elliptical machines, and while I also like them, I’m less addicted. Occasionally I change it up and use this thing called an Arc Trainer. What a hellish torture device this thing is. The only good thing about it is that it has a built-in fan to keep you cool as you’re striding your way to hell. It’s awkward and clunky, and like the other machines at the gym, when I catch a glimpse of myself on this thing, I don’t look near as cool as everybody else doing it. If you remember the Friends episode with Phoebe running in the park, you’ll get the picture.  

The Arc Trainer...Who could have thought of this?

So, the third time I used this contraption things were finally starting to come together. I felt like I was getting some rhythm, and that it wouldn’t be too long til I would be like the other cool kids. As an aside, I have no idea how people ride this thing and text at the same time. It takes every drop of my concentration to hold on for dear life. So I’m striding along, and things are going pretty well. I was picking up some speed and developing a bit of confidence and testing out my gym swagger. That’s when things fell apart.

At this gym, like most others I suspect, the machines are super close to each other. Like right on top of each other. Buddy beside me was showing off while trying look nonchalant. And I was trying to look swaggy, like I belonged there. As I was picking up speed, I decided to let go of the handles like the other cool guys and just stride, and at that very moment, a stinky cloud of buddy’s nasty body odour wafted by and burned my eyes and nose. Stench like I’ve never smelled before at the gym. As my mind was processing this horrific smell I lost complete concentration and before you know it, I was shot out this machine like a fast-ball at a batting cage.

My foot got caught in the pedal and I came down with such force that I was sure I busted my tailbone. I was laid out on the floor of the gym, my foot stuck in the pedal, thinking I broke my ass. I took a look around to see who was recording this embarrassing little manoeuvre, and the only person who saw me was my lovely wife. She was laughing so hard she could barely stay on the step machine. Buddy, the cause of all of this pain and suffering, didn’t even blink. He didn’t look down to see if I was alive, or even to make a joke. He just pretended like nothing happened. And it was his nasty stench that caused this thing in the first place.

As far as I can tell, nobody's posted it to You Tube. Yet. But I sure won't be surprised to see it there. I keep going to the gym, and I actually like it. I love spending the time with my uber-competitive wife who can’t leave the place until she’s blown the entire Fit-Bit universe out of the water with her daily step count and burned at least one more calorie than me. I like how I feel after the gym (well, at least after a shower, cuz I’m a hot, sweaty mess when it’s over), and I like that it’s starting to have some impact. I’ve lost about 25 lbs, which for me is a real victory. There’s a long way to go, and a lot to accomplish. My next challenge:  to get my lovely wife to laugh at my jokes, not at my workout. The other day I jumped up this machine that looks like a modern version of something from a medieval dungeon and Laura is still laughing at my pathetic Raggedy Andy-like core strength. Thanks Coach. 

Text from my freakishly-competitive wife showing me how many calories she's burned.

She Told Me So...And I Shoulda Believed Her...

The blog is back.  It’s been a wild six months.  As many of you know, I’ve started a new job that I love, and it’s been busy busy busy.  Thanks for your patience while I’ve been transitioning.  My job is not the only thing that’s in transition.  So is the blog.  Guess What Happened at Work Today? is evolving to Guess What Happened Today?   It’s not that I don’t like writing about work anymore, it’s just that there are so many other cool and weird things going on to write about.  So here we go...

Guess What Happened Today?

I just woke up from a pretty hellish night.  My lovely wife and I did something last night that long-married couples should never do.  My bride said it was a bad idea, but I convinced her to try something that we have never done before.  I think other couples have done it and survived, but I’m not sure of that.  It was dangerous and it was risky.  I was sure that it would improve things, but Laura was pretty sure it wouldn’t.  We were nervous, and I was intent on getting it right the first time. After almost 25 years of doing it the same way, we suddenly changed things up.  We switched sides of the bed.  And it was a freaking disaster.

Pick your side.  And stick with it.  Forever.

This is a true case of ‘…If it’s not broken, don’t fix it…’  There was no real reason to change sides of the bed.  We got new pillows yesterday, and I guess I got wrapped up in the excitement of that big change and decided to throw caution to the wind and shake it all up.  Let me tell you, this is not the kind of exciting change you should want to make in the bedroom.  It was horrible, with a capital Yuck!

First, we have a king-sized bed, and we’re both edge-huggers.  This creates a large gulf between us that previously was often filled with a kid, and that is now frequently filled by a dog.  The dog was in a total state of confusion all night, and that doggy angst translated into Laura angst.  She was skeptical from the get-go on this one, and I was excited and ready to view life from the other side of the bed. If truth be told, I hated it from the minute I got into bed, and it was only made worse when the dog came flying onto the bed and landed squarely on my junk.  I yelped, and Laura snickered.

We tossed and we turned all night long.  I was wildly relieved to hear that Laura hated every minute of it because I wanted my side back, but there was absolutely no way in hell that I could have woken up this morning and asked to move back to my side.  This experiment proves that change for the sake of change is a crappy idea.  So at 6:09 am, we switched back.  I’ve now seen life from the other side, and I didn’t like it. No sir. Not one bit.

The moral of this story is that if you need excitement in the bedroom, and you want to experiment, there are a whole lot less risky ways to get it than to ask your 25-year sleeping partner to switch sides of the bed.

Up next, my new life at the gym.

Happy Holidays! It Must Be Poem Time!

 


This poem has become such a part of my Christmas tradition that I can't even think about the holidays without sitting down to try and rhyme some couplets.  Enjoy.






It’s about a week before Christmas

And I can't believe the fast pace, 
That this year did fly by
Like a rocket in space.

Our kids a year older
My hair so much more gray,
And my wife's getting hotter
With each passing day. 

She grows younger each year
Like that flick with Brad Pitt,
And I feel older each day
As I moan, ache and sit. 

But this poem should be festive
Not a rant about time,
After all, it is Christmas
So let each silver bell chime. 

It has become my tradition

Every year on this date, 
To send a poem for my friends
The past year, my update.  

My girls are real rock stars
Those ladies impress me each day,

But they shop like their mother
So I thank God for my pay. 

Twelve more months in the air
In 1D, my fave seat, 

Being first on each flight
It's a magical feat.

Ya, I’ve pushed aside old folks
When the boarding begins,
But it’s all part of my quest
For those overhead bins.

A big change to my life
A virtual punch in my gut,
A bright shiny new iPhone
Ended my Blackberry rut.

I was wildly worried
That I’d miss the red light,
And while I love this new Apple
I’m afraid I was right.

I don’t miss the phone
And I don’t miss the keys,
But when I see flashing red lights
I go weak in the knees.

So onward and upward,
It’s just a phone, get a grip,
But living with autocorrect
Now that’s been a trip. 

My lovely dear wife

Says I'm dim and obtuse, 
Her texts make up new words
Don't understand?  No excuse! 

I should know what she types
Is clearly not what she meant,
And that her crazy device
Changed the message she sent. 

But that’s why it works
For me and my spectacular bride,
She’s right, and I’m wrong
Don’t dare correct her, I’ve tried.

If I keep talking ‘bout Laura

I’m bound for the pen,
I’ll be so deep in trouble
And made to sleep in the den.

This poem, like this year

Draws soon to its end,
So an opportunity arises
For my best wishes to send.

It’s my hope for this Christmas

For all the folks I hold dear,
That you share the joy of the season
With your peeps far and near.

Happy Holidays from Sean, Laura, Haley, Ainsley & Madeline

 

Check out our video Christmas wish for you

It's Summer, So Why Am I SAD?

It feels like a year since my phone has rung. I’ve been sitting staring at it, waiting for something to happen. Anything. Even a wrong number would be welcomed. It’s the last day of August, and we are officially in the dog days of summer. I know that we all long for summer. Lust for it even. But summer makes me SAD.

For other people, the normal people, summer is a delight. They begin to look forward to the next one even as the sun is setting on the current one. It’s about heat and sun and vacations and relaxation. Let me just be clear…I love vacationing with my family and spending extra time with them. I like barbeques and beer. (Just for the record, I do NOT enjoy the beach or swimming in the ocean-but that’s a story for another day.)  I enjoy the nice weather and the long days, but when it comes to work, for me, summertime is a horror show.

Over the last few years, it’s become crystal clear to me (and anyone that works with me) that I’m pretty much an adrenaline junky. I love it when things are crazy busy. I love to have multiple balls in the air at one time. I thrive when things are happening. As long as it keeps going, I can keep going. I like my phone ringing, my email binging and my text messages pinging. The wilder it gets, the more I enjoy it. I really like visiting customers, I love writing proposals, and I look forward to making presentations. I even love the traveling for work. 

I love being busy at work.  Love it.

May is a crazy month in my industry. There are a number of big industry events, and customers are trying to clear things up before summer, so it’s a wild time. Trade shows and conferences and all manner of stimulating things to think about and do. June is really a month where customers are getting their last quotes and proposals before summer, and getting all questions answered, reports submitted, and plans made for the fall, so my phone is ringing like crazy.

Then July. All of a sudden, it’s like I’m the last person left on the earth. I feel like Will Smith in I Am Legend where he thinks he’s the last person on earth. I swear to God that I have gone for two days without receiving one email. It’s like even the spammers are on holidays too. I have been known to restart my phone just to make sure I’m connected the world. Occasionally around 3pm, I’ll send an email out to the universe just to see if I get something back. Crickets. I’m alone, and it drives me crazy.

Will and I are the same.  Except for the machine gun.  And other stuff.

When August hits, whoever isn’t on holidays goes on holidays, and I’m truly by myself. I start to get paranoid. And then anxious. By 2pm on a Tuesday I am in mid-anxiety attack when finally, and without warning, I get an email. Immediately the anxiety goes away, at least for a minute. No projects are getting done in the summer, no new business, and customers don’t want to have meetings. In fact, if I try to set up a meeting I’m met with silence on the other end of the phone that if voiced would certainly sound something like, “Are you freaking insane?  Why do we want to have a meeting in August?...Catch me in October.”  If it weren’t for the odd golf tournament, I probably wouldn’t see a customer between June and September

There’s this well-defined condition called Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). Essentially, it’s seasonal depression. Most people afflicted with SAD experience symptoms in the depths of winter (the winter blues), and it’s often associated with the amount of light that they get, so treatment often begins with light therapy. I clearly am not reacting the lack of light, so shining a light therapy lamp on me is not going to help the situation. When I checked the Mayo Clinic website, they confirm that Summer SAD is a real thing. I have all of the symptoms of Summer SAD, with a smattering of Winter SAD symptoms thrown in just for fun. My energy is drained, and if you ask my lovely wife, I’m moody.  I don't feel like doing things that I usually love to do (like writing this blog, for instance). Her suggested treatment?  A smack in the back of the head followed by a swift kick in the ass. The only summer SAD symptom I don’t have…weight loss. (For me, that would be the benefit of Summer SAD).  

The light is just not gonna help me.

I’m not sure I have a full-blown case of summer SAD, but I’m sure of one thing…My wojo (work-related mojo) has departed, as it does every summer. The only thing that will bring it back is a ringing phone, a binging in-box, and a bunch of pinging text messages. Let the autumn commence!

Confessions of a Blackberry Traitor

Well I’ve now been an iPhone user for just over a month. I made such a big deal about my anxiety related to giving up my Blackberry that I thought it would be worth putting it all to bed with one last Blackberry/iPhone post. As it turns out, the world hasn’t ended, at least not yet. I can now admit that I had a minor Chicken Little moment leading up to the deactivation of my blackberry and the permanent extinguishing of my little flashing red light. 

No matter how I feel about my Blackberry, the iPhone is a thing of beauty

There is clearly life in my post-Torch world. Who knew?  It did take about 2 weeks to get through the initial withdrawal stage. Every time I spotted a flashing light (even out of the corner of my eye), I had a real physical response. I learned that I live in some kind of freakish Pavlovian blur where any little flashing light can evoke a programmed response. I also learned that it doesn’t even have to be a red flashing light. Any colour will do. I’m ashamed to admit that even seeing the flashing signal light on a passing car has caused to me look for incoming mail. Sad.

In the absence of the flashing red light, I’ve got my  new iPhone set up to send out every conceivable signal it can when I get an email, just to make sure I don’t miss anything. Where my little red blackberry light felt like my pulse, my iPhone’s vibrations emulate an actual heartbeat when I get a message. Problem solved.

On the positive side, I have been introduced to the world of apps. I had no idea what I’ve been missing. I didn’t realize that I was so disorganized and out of control. Thank you App Store for helping me solve all the problems I didn’t know I had. I have discovered so many new things, and I now understand the truth behind the marketing slogan, “There’s an app for that.”  If there isn’t an app, it’s just not a problem worth solving.

At the moment, I have four different weather apps on my device. One from Yahoo, one from the Weather Channel, one called Solar, and one called Swackett. Yahoo is very utilitarian, the Weather Channel app is highly informative, Solar is fun, and Swackett is like a game. The problem?  None of them agree. Four weather apps, four different forecasts. None of them have effectively replaced simply looking out the window, and none of them is better than the one I had on my blackberry.

It's Solar.  It doesn't do much, but it sure is pretty

It's Swackett.  It does so much, it's hard to get the weather.

I now have an app called Card Munch. The purpose of Card Munch is to take a photo of somebody’s business card, and the hamsters inside the device add the contact details to your contact file, then, and here’s the magic, search the card-owner up on Linkedin, and send them an invite to connect. You would think that as a Linkedin junky that Card Munch would be right up my alley. I’ve had it three weeks and I haven’t munched a single soul. I suppose I’m just a Linkedin purist. No short cuts.

 

I also have an app called StoCard. The purpose of StoCard is to store the details of all your affinity and loyalty cards in one place, instead of in your wallet. You can simply take a picture of the bar code on your Baskin Robbins Frequent Buyer card and shazam, it’s in your phone. I spent a great deal of time adding all my frequent flyer cards, my hotel frequent guest cards, my Air Miles card, and guess what?  I’ve never flashed my phone. Not once. I privately think those people who flash their virtual Starbucks card instead of paying cash are just a little bit hoity toity for me. (Sorry, honey.).

Have you heard of Songza?  Of course you have. Songza is about curated soundtracks for your life. If you wake up on Saturday morning and you’re sitting around the house sipping your chai tea, petting your cat while doing the New York Times crossword, and you need some background music, Songza anticipates that need and abracadabra, a list of songs you’ve never heard by artists you’ve never heard of is ready for your listening pleasure. If it’s Tuesday night and you’re standing in the kitchen yelling at the kids because they’ve ignored your demands to empty the garbage for the eighth time, and the dishes you told them to put in the dishwasher on Monday are still in the sink, guess what?  Songza doesn’t have a list for you. If you need a playlist for that you’re on your own. Maybe I should create that app.

I guess I just don't have a lifestyle that requires a soundtrack

So all in all, the transition to iPhone was pretty smooth. Our friends at Apple don’t make it as easy to load up your custom ringtones as our friends at Blackberry do. Transferring my contacts and syncing my calendar didn’t happen as lickety-split as promised, and managing email is a little quirky. They clearly designed the iPhone for pleasure over business, and now they’re working the business in. It’s fun. Accessing the internet is better and faster. And now, in breaking news, I kind of like it. Words I never thought I’d say. You heard it here first. And I promise, Ana Maria, you’ll never hear about my Blackberry again.