New Home for '76 Model Mike

There are some very few subtleties that I do not like about blogspot that do not appear to be an issue on wordpress. Therefore, I've moved my posts and home to there. I'll leave this one up for the time being.

http://76modelmike.wordpress.com

Let's Get This Party Started

I suppose I should write a little something here and there in order to create a little "muscle memory" for the brain. I've been saying for a while now that I want to write a memoir at the ripe old age of 35... I think I'll approach it in parts. Bits of memories sprinkled into my days until that time where I can put them all together as a collective work. I may even have a few entries in a day followed by several days with nothing. So here goes.

Trials and tribulations. I used to hear those words often when my father would pray out loud. Always asking God to see us through something or thanking Him for having already brought us through a trial or tribulation. I didn't' know what it meant. Hell, i wasn't even paying attention to his praying most of the time. But I heard the words and they've stuck with me all these years. Funny thing is... I know what they mean now even though I've never actually needed to look them up in a dictionary. I guess languages have a way of doing that to people. We sort of just "get" things without being expressly told what it is that those things mean. An inherent human ability, if you will.

I don't know how far I will get with this. I may or may not finish it. My mind wanders off in different directions so quickly. As soon as one thought comes, it reminds me of something else. It's a continuing process until I can't remember what it was I was thinking about in the first place. I suspect that I will one day go crazy, and I mean that in the most clinical way possible. Perhaps that's why I want to put some of this down now. So it isn't lost. I chuckle inside at myself for even proposing that anyone else will even give a s** about the things that I've done. I'm not a celebrity. Not a professional musician. Nobody special. Just a regular guy with a regular family with regular problems. This is reality. Not the crap on TV. There's nothing real about that.

I'll say some things in this project that may or may not piss some people off. They may feel let down that I've included some details that they probably wish I didn't share. I've thought about that at some length and the way I see it, experiences I've shared with someone are just as much mine to disclose as it is theirs. Sure, I'll leave some shit out. Never said this was a "full disclosure" project, regardless of my position on transparency.


If you're out there reading this, whoever you are, thanks.

Writing for a Living

I received some feedback from some people I know in response to the blog I posted the other day. The suggestion was that I should or could write for a living. My wife agrees and has mentioned it on occasion. So, I'm wondering about that. How difficult would that be for me to make the transition into writing for a living? I have a few concerns and I guess I will mention them here. I'm not sure if they go unanswered or even if I'm necessarily looking for direct feedback. Just posing the questions. Perhaps that helps me to reach a conclusion on the topics at hand...or at minimum give me a better grasp on more clearly defining what it is I'm in search of.

I know I have a knack for writing. I think I've always known that. That's not meant to sound as though I'm bragging, but I won't feign ignorance in an effort to appear more humble than I am. The problem I come across is: "can I write on demand and as a lifestyle?" I suppose I could. I just don't know how that habit gets incorporated into my daily routine. Just as sort of a precursor to this article, I performed a Google search on "becoming an author." I briefly scanned through some of the results and it seemed as though there were a few common concerns among aspiring authors, most of which I share.

You have to write to be a writer

Ha! Brilliant. Unfortunately, it's very true. "Unfortunate," you ask? Yes. Because most people out there who have the capacity to write in any sort of convincing manner are probably not actively writing. I include myself in this assumption of "many." I suppose writing in this case would be no different than any other activity, whether professional or leisurely. It is suggested on some of the sites I visited that one writes everyday in order to maintain their craft. I agree with that. I need to write.

Reading

Sure, we CAN read...but do we? I tend to go through spurts in almost everything I do in life. Every hobby or pass-time I've ever pursued has either been hot or cold. I'll mow through some books if I have the current desire to do so. This is not for the simple sake of getting as much reading done as possible. Instead, it is because it is very easy for me to get sucked into a story. So much so that I want more and more of it. Then, I'll usually find a lull in a book and it bores me to the point of not reading. One site even suggested that if you aspire to create a literary work, you should read books that fit within the genre in which you wish to create.

I'm a bit torn on this one. While I certainly agree that one should read in order to keep your mind in shape (specifically, a larger vocabulary can typically be acquired when reading often), the rebel in me says "fuck your genre." On the other hand, I suppose that not every reader is a writer, so if I want to attract readers at all, my writing needs to bear some familiarity in structure--something people can recognize, even if only subconsciously.

Becoming frustrated and giving up

That fits me to a tee. I hate to admit that but with honest self-reflection, I cannot deny that apparent "weakness" that I have. So many people out there are writing. So many probably feel as though their words are worth the attention of potential readers. How many people really get that opportunity though? Many? Few? I don't know. Some articles suggested that I submit works to competitions. Meh... sounds like so much work (sounds lazy, I know). What this also implies is that the recommended competitions are centered more around creative works (e.g., works of fiction) and that is an area that I've no experience in. I'd love to give that a try, I guess. I just wouldn't know where to start. My "experience" comes more from argumentative works or even just plain 'ole point of view. I suppose, depending on one's position on the matters in which I share my opinion, my writing could be seen as fiction.

So, what drives people to want to become authors? The very same sites I visited had a few ideas on this and I think they're worth some attention.

Fame

Well, that's not me really. I don't typically like the general public much anyway. The last thing I want is a bunch of people looking at me, criticizing me, going out of their way to talk to me, etc. Of course, there WOULD be a sense of accomplishment if that were the case though, wouldn't it? And I wouldn't certainly need the reader base if I wanted to actually be compensated for my craft.

Money

That's never ever been a motivating factor for me. It has certainly been a DE-motivator lately but the thought of compensation hasn't ever grabbed me and propelled me to perform well. I've gone over this with recent management in my current job numerous times and they still don't get it. When I don't perform, it always comes full circle. They relentlessly come back with something along the lines of "well, if you perform well, you could be making X dollars." I get more irritated at the fact that haven't listened to a word I've said in the past regarding my drive and what fuels it. But...I need to be compensated in order to survive. I like living a lifestyle that allows me some financial freedom. Ha! Who doesn't? I've been very well compensated in the past for doing outstanding work in a sales environment, but it was never about the money. It was about being the best at what I did.

Writing for the sake of writing

That's more in line with what I would write for, although it does sound a bit eye-rolling cliche. It still doesn't fit perfectly with my goals but it's fairly close. I would like to write just for the sake of the literature that has yet to be created, but for the most part (and up til now) I really think I have messages to communicate. I want to put them in writing but more importantly (to me) I want people to see my points of view. No, that's not contradictory to my view on fame or people. It's just me wanting a purpose to the things I write.

My roadblocks seem more simple since I've written them down. At least they're more defined, which is exactly one of the goals I had when I set out to write this article. I need to get off my ass and write. I need to proactively look for ways to improve my writing. I need to get my writing seen and be able to take feedback and adjust to it. Overall, I think I can do it. I just have to start.

The Rest of the Background Check

I sit here a bit disappointed in what our system has come to. There's very little left to subjectivity anymore, especially from a corporate view point. There's simply too much fear of political or legal backlash if things aren't "fair" to some people. So, rules become strictly black and white with very little left to discretion. I've now been in retail for a bit over 9 years and just recently received an offer for a position at Bank of America. I was so excited to be finally getting out of retail. I think that line of work has hardened me to the point where the humane side of my being is dissipating. That is not something that I am proud of, but it's what it's become. But, things have a way of getting int he way of my progress. Every single time. "Heartbroken" at now knowing that I will remain in retail for an indefinite time is probably the best way to describe it. Like I'm stuck.

I received a phone call followed by a letter from Bank of America indicating that I was not eligible for hire because my background check had returned unsatisfactory. After the phone call, I was utterly taken aback because I knew in my heart that I had nothing on my criminal record. I could do nothing but wait until the letter arrived. At that point, I would receive instructions on how to dispute the results.

 

Patiently, I waited for this letter to arrive and as promised, it came in the mail yesterday. In underlined text, I was informed that simply being dissatisfied with the results did not justify initiating an appeal. Included with the packet was a copy of the requested Rap Sheet from the FBI. One lone charge appeared on there and one that I had long since forgotten about. It was dated October 29, 1994. Seventeen years ago.

 

The incident immediately came rushing back to me as if it had just happened. I can see everything...the angle of the Sun on the buildings, the approximate hour, what I was doing prior and just after. It was an exceptionally awkward time in my life (there have been many). Just a couple months prior, I had turned 18 and adulthood thus far had not been very kind to me. One week before my birthday, my father stood on the stairs as I was opening the door to go to work and said "you have a week to find a place to live." Being the stubborn 17 year old that I was, I replied with "don't bother waiting the week out." I called into work, packed everything I could into 2 large cardboard boxes and loaded them into the backseat of my 1982 Toyota Tercel.

 

I bounced around for a few days at different people's houses. Just sleeping there. I spent the majority of my days working or finding other things to do because I didn't want to be in anyone's way in their homes. It was around the time when my peers were preparing for high school graduation. I would not be joining them since I made the mistake of telling an inappropriate joke in front of a teacher. Because of that, I had been suspended the 3 days of our final exams, thereby disqualifying me from graduating on May 27th. Once they graduated, I really had no place to stay. Nobody wanted some kid in their house while their own kid was away for Senior trip.

 

I was a bit too proud to tell many people what was going on in my life at that point. Therefore, I had not asked anyone else to stay with them. Instead, I found a gravel parking lot at a wildlife refuge and slept there at night, on the gravel (the boxes in my back seat would not allow my front seats to recline). My dad had not yet taken me off the family's gym membership so I could drive there to take showers before work. But I was still just lonely.

 

After a couple weeks of that, my closest friend Steve asked his parents to let me stay there until I left for boot camp. They agreed under the condition that I pay them $20 per week for rent. I though that was fair and I was so thankful for that. I started Summer School to make up for the semester that I failed and was still holding a part time evening job so I could pay my rent. I was scheduled to go to Marine Corps boot camp at the beginning of August (after both sessions of Summer School had passed) so I at least had a finite time period. However, things changed yet again.

 

My friend Steve wasn't scheduled for boot camp until mid-November of 1994. He got a call one day in late June/early July from our recruiter asking him if he could go...tomorrow. Well, being an eager young lad, he said that he could leave the next day and so he did. This left me once again in an awkward spot...living with someone else's parents. I felt out of place and panicked.

 

Steve had a neighbor. Single woman in her late 40's who had a den that wasn't being used for much. She asked for me to stay with her and offered me her den in exchange for performing all the yard work and other miscellaneous chores. This felt much better for some reason. It was a favor but it didn't feel like one to me. But, as history is the best indicator of the future, I was asked to leave. I'm fairly certain this had something to do with the fact that I had been fooling around with one of her friends but she never really told me so that's merely a guess.

 

By this time, I had been kicked out of Summer School for smoking (a bad habit I picked up in all of this mess), had enrolled in The Center School (an adult high school in Knoxville, TN), and had found a job through a temp agency at Anderson News Company, a baseball card distributor. I was in charge of creating UPS shipments to Canadian Wal-Marts. I was so efficient at that position that managers from UPS came by one day to watch me work to figure out how I was getting things done so quickly and accurately. I didn't make that much money from that. I was broke most of the time. The downside of working so fast was that I ran out of work to do, thereby reducing my hours.

 

The oil light in my car had been on for about 6 days. I was driving on my way to get my check and I was prioritizing the oil issue. About halfway there, the engine blew. There I was, stuck on I-640 (The I-40 bypass in Knoxville), under an overpass with no money. I knew right then that I wouldn't be able to afford the repair costs for the car. This also meant that I would no longer have that job.

 

My uncle offered to let me move in with him. I don't think he really knew what had all gone down over the last couple months. But he was there for me then and always has been. I even found out years later that he had been in the process of moving to Sumter SC but held back so he could provide me a home until boot camp. From his house, I would ride my bicycle to school so I could finish my High School Diploma. The Marines weren't accepting GED's at the time so I was driven to finish actual high school. This is what all set my little indiscretion in motion.

 

I was riding my bike to school one morning, still very broke and with no job, but I still had the smoking habit. I stopped at a Kroger on Broadway on my way and went inside with the intent to steal a pack of Marlboro 25's. never made it out of the store, which in hindsight I should have denied my intent because I was technically still within the store. But aside from this incident, I'm too honest and open to have denied it anyway. The fine for this was $162.50 and my recruiter paid it for me because I was so close to leaving for boot camp and I was his first recruit.

 

So there it is. Larceny. Sure it was wrong but I was a kid really. A kid going through some rough times and no real avenue in which to deal with things on a mature level. But my background? Heh. No Bank of America. This is not my background. This was an isolated incident in my very distant past.

 

Since that time, I made it through boot camp even though my father verbally expressed that he didn't think I would even make it through. I've seen the world through the window of a helicopter and sometimes down the barrel of a .50 caliber machine gun. I watched a 19 year old fellow Marine take a broken crane hook to the shoulder so hard it knocked the femur out of his leg. Yeah... try to picture that. Then stayed behind with him to help feed and bathe him since he was now a paraplegic. I've helped build homes for victims of natural disasters. I've contributed to helping homeless veterans seek shelter, medical, dental, and legal services annually. I was recognized by the city of Glendale, AZ as the volunteer of the quarter in Q2 of 2006 when I was volunteering as an EMT and crisis counselor to the Glendale Fire Department. I worked my way up to a sales management position with a respected company and brought a team of professionals from net losses to being one of the best in the organization. Hell, I was even recognized several times through various recognition programs for my efforts as a manager. I've since earned my B.S. from Arizona State University, graduating Summa Cum Laude, through their honors program, making the Dean's List every semester, while maintaining my professional excellence and running a family. Most importantly, I've married the woman of my dreams and have been raising 4 beautiful children with her. We teach them right from wrong and maintain a conservative approach to our lifestyle. Yes, even stealing is forbidden in our house.

 

I've never shared this story in so much detail. Come to think of it, I've never shared it at all. This is not because I am or ever was ashamed of it. It's because it's because that single act is so insignificant to how my life has shaped up so far that I never felt the need to bring it up. I'd even mostly forgotten about it until now. Everyone has their problems and most have endured things similar, worse, or better than the things I've described here. The point of all of this is not to make a sob story nor is it a plea for reconsideration. What point does it serve then? Well, I've always believed in a little transparency.

 

Larceny.

 

While you may have that word on a slip of paper from somewhere, you have no idea my background at all. Bank of America. Are you really "of America"?

 

Semper Fidelis,

Mikel J. Branch, Sgt. of Marines

Father

Husband

Veteran

Scholar

Professional

The Cold Heart of a Retail Worker

Yeah, I haven't written in almost 2 years (yikes) but I'm coming back to the blog. It's actually a shame that I'm coming back in a rant but hey...it is what it is.

My wife and I were lying in bed the other afternoon. Not going to sleep. Just hanging out BS'ing. We started talking about how I've always been sort of an impatient person, but it's when she said that it's gotten worse over the years that I really started to evaluate that and where she would have gotten that idea. You know what? She's right.

It is very difficult to accurately describe the feeling I get when things start to annoy me. I'm certain that others get their own feelings and they may even be similar. The closest I can come is saying that the hairs on the back of my neck start to "stand up." There is a bit of a panicked feeling and then I immediately want whatever the disturbance is to just stop. I don't care how or what is going on, I just want it ceased. It's almost like a pain threshold has been met and no "hysteresis region" to deal with it (like a buffer). Come to think of it, I recently saw an article in one of the more popular news magazines (can't remember which one) that cited a study illustrating that the brain makes no distinction between physical and mental/emotional pain. Interesting subject for sure.

In my self-evaluation regarding my impatience, I began to compare myself to other people I know. I tried to mentally separate those which had similar tendencies (outside of my private-life impatience). One of the criteria for my grouping was trying to determine who shared an overall distaste for the general public. To clarify, I'm what many would consider cold-hearted. Although this is only the case when it is regarding people I have no connection with. Brutal truth? Japanese earthquakes, Haitian catastrophes, and New Orleans Hurricanes don't really bother me that much. It is only when things directly affect me or people who I care about that I feel remorse. What many would find even more odd is that I don't even seem to feel bad about not feeling bad. Is that normal? I'm going out on a limb here and I'm going to assume that yes, it is normal for many people. I also believe that there are many who won't admit that they feel this way (or "don't feel" rather).

So, who do I know that I think are most like me when it comes to disliking people in general? Retail workers. It's a snowball effect that I can't place a starting point on from personal experience, but working with the populace on a daily basis desensitizes us to people's concerns, I believe. At minimum, I think that is the case when working with people in that capacity. There are most certainly jobs which provide various services for people that I think the workers in those fields can find great satisfaction. Retail employees, however, don't get that same sense of fulfillment in most cases.

Those who know me also know that for various reasons, I waited to obtain my undergraduate degree until later on (i.e., 34 when I graduated). In my perspective, that allowed me to take subject matters and immediately process them into more application based scenarios rather than someone with much less life-experience than I. Of course, I would also submit that those who experienced higher education at ages even older than mine had an even greater applied education. In 2006, I was in a lower division basic macroeconomics class. In one very short portion of a lesson, we covered something that I think back to very often in my work. There was a small box on one of the pages in our text that illustrated how American GDP has moved at a steady pace from being industrial based to a service related economy. As of the printed date of that text, an estimated 76% of American jobs were now in the generically labeled "service industry." So, what does that mean and how does it relate to retail employees' attitude toward people?

Although I would love to do the research to back it (too lazy to be honest), I think it's probably safe to assume that our collective environments and atmospheres deeply (and perhaps even subconsciously) affect how we process information. In the industrial times, aside from engineers, people were subject to a more "mechanical" existence. Things worked this way, that way, or not at all. There was most likely very little room for subjectivity. This could also be what lead to our overwhelming conservative way of life, but I'll save that discussion for another time. In these times, I believe it was easy for a business owner/manager to go out of their way to help a customer because it wasn't a big deal. It served the greater good of both the business (brought the customer back) and the customer (they were unexpectedly and individually satisfied). As more businesses notice these trends, it is easy for an entrepreneur to emulate the behavior. Hey, still a great thing for the honest customer. With more businesses being put into place in order to provide a service, the natural human tendency to expect things that have a precedence set starts to grow. This is a cycle that keeps going; more services to satisfy customers, less industry to create products for consumer demand.

This is where greed and entitlement start to rear their ugly heads. Yep. I brought those up...because that's what it really boils down to. There have been countless times where a customer has made an unreasonable request, the request has not been granted, and they have said to me "whatever happened to 'the customer is always right?'" My immediate reaction mentally was to roll my eyes. It screams "I WANT I WANT I WANT." In today's economy, businesses are now having to take a step back and tell customers "no" more often than they used to because at the end of the day, it's just not profitable. Just 4 years ago, a well known cell phone provider began cancelling their subscribers' accounts when they felt that the customers were taking advantage of the goodwill of the company. Many people frowned on that and I think the people who did view that negatively probably had that same sense of entitlement themselves and could therefore relate. To me, it was a bold move and something that I applaud. Why? Because we're not 5 years old anymore. We don't win all the time and there isn't even going to always be a participation ribbon.

Basically, when things don't go people's way, it's a crisis. Who deals with that on a consumer level? That's right; those same retail employees from earlier. The sob stories, the obvious lies, the demanding nature, and the absolute laziness I see from people who expect things from the companies I have worked for has been enough to cause me to just not care about them anymore. There is nothing fulfilling about solving their problems because they're typically avoidable on the customer end and the customers are rarely truly grateful anyway. And the people I know who work in retail generally all feel the same way. You know what's funny about retail employees? Find one that you know and ask them about "customers" in general. See how they respond both verbally and non-verbally.  Even if they smile while making fun of some scenarios, see if you can see the common theme. We eventually just stop caring.

Yeah, this was a rather long one. I could actually keep going but I feel that the point has been made on this one. I doubt anyone reads my blog anyway. But here it is.