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Mu Satach
May 1st, 2017, 12:41:58 PM
Mild mannered adventures with splashes of snark.


"The Persuasive Iranian"

So, like most social organizations, churches are places where you get to casually meet and know many people. Smiles turn to "hello" which turns to "How are you." so on and so forth. Culminating in a wide variety of people you normally would not interact with but turn into light level friendships. One such relationship that I have is with an older Iranian gentleman. He's very friendly, full of life, and when we run into each other after services a short pleasant conversion always happens.

A few weeks ago during the course of our conversation I mentioned I was teaching myself how to program as I'm transitioning away from computer support to software dev. At the mention of that, his eyes widened and he started getting excited. He said he had an idea and asked if I was open to talking about it. "Suuuuuuure." (I've seen this look before when I use to do web development in the early heyday of Web 2.0) But, it's rude to assume. Maybe, just maybe he has an idea for his business or something that he wants a specific application written for, maybe, yeah and maybe I'm a Chinese jet pilot.

Yesterday we met at our local Barns & Noble. He started off by taking me to the technology aisle and asking me, "What program language would you learn if you want the best program for the next 15 years."

Oh Jesus. "Well, what do you want to do?"

"I'll tell you later. Right now, which one?" motioning to the wide aisle of books.

After several minutes of questioning and whittling down his vague to semi-vague we picked out a few books and sat down in the attached Starbucks to talk.

Over the next half hour we talked about the nature of programing, why I chose the language for him I did, how he could download Visual Studio from Microsoft, etc. we then got to the outskirts of his agenda. He proceeded to tell me about a process of assigning numbers to letters then adding those numbers to create a number for each word. That he had an Excel spreadsheet that did that for him on a word per column basis and wanted to know if *I* could modify the spreadsheet to do whole paragraphs at a time.

Oh @#$%... numerology and he wants me to do his work for him.

"Ummm no. I don't know Visual Basic, which is what is used in Excel programming. I also don't know what the code looks like or who wrote it and I don't own a copy of Excel." Now, granted what he was asking was very simple. Give me an afternoon or two and I could do this. But you know and I know, it wouldn't end there. It never ends right there.

"Well, what about this?" he asked motioning to the programming books.

"Ah, well, yeah, I mean I could..." and there was where I made the mistake. I gave him hope. I then went over a rough outline of the logic to do what he wanted. Just a basic outline of an input, couple of loop statements, containing an array, and output to a txt file. To which he started turning it back around to me doing this work. I'm thigh high in the mire now.

"But to what purpose? What is the purpose of this?" Time for me to gently start climbing out this mess.

"To see this." He motioned to the row of numbers off my outline. From there it went no where. He went on to describe how he use to think marketing and such business practices were meaningless, but now he realizes they are important, very important, so important to the success of any business. Oh God, here it comes. I can feel it. "That's why I need you to do this, so I can focus on that."

Boom, yep, there it was. The assumption of all dreamers but not doers have that anyone who can do things, can do them easily so what's the problem? "But market what?" I ask.

"This," motioning to the number filled scratch pad.

"But what do you expect them to do with these numbers?"

"To look at them."

"And do what?"

"I watch them, I see maybe they are interested in this? Or maybe they are interested in that. You would be surprised."

No doubt. I'm not a practitioner of numerology but I think there's more to it than looking at a matrix of numbers and discovering the mysteries of the universe by osmosis. So whatever he's talking about is not what he's talking about.

"Ok, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to do this."

"But you said that you could do this."

"Yes, I did. When I thought you were asking for yourself. If I were you, I would do it this way. But I'm not going to do this."

From there he changed tactics to try and get me to agree. I'm learning programming, so why not zig zag a little to make money. "No, I have too much going on in my personal life and I know myself too well. I won't do this."

Next argument was how he use to work for a boss and he started out at $5/hour and eventually made $20/hour. But then he learned his boss made over a$100k so he asked why he couldn't make more. The boss replied but without me all these people wouldn't have a job. So he learned a valuable lesson about being content with what he had. Which made me think, well that kinda negates your previous argument about making money, but ok. This has nothing to do with my dreams and I'm fairly content right now living in a studio apartment driving a 13 year old vehicle with chipping paint. "Yes," I agree for lack of anything else to say, "it's important to be content with what we have."

On to the next pitch, "There are two types of people in the world, those who are content with what they have and work for something better and those who will not work because it's not enough money. Now I ask you, what group are you?"

Great, I'm being guilt tripped by a grey haired, grey bearded Iranian man. "Nope, I'm not going to answer that. Let me ask you a question instead,"

"No wait, there is a third group. A group that does not want to work but goes, 'Ahhhhh, I'm going to go around the back way.'" Jesus, did he just imply I would take his number idea and run with it? I don't even know what the !@#$ it's suppose to do.

"Dude, my brother, my Christian brother, I love you but no. I will not answer that question. But answer this question for me, would you hire a pastry chef to wire a house you were building?"

"Yes, and I tell you why." he then conveyed a story of some people hiding during WWII in an attic and they somehow made a makeshift hangglider to escape. The critical factor to making it work was solved by a baker who helped them make a paste or something that made the wings stiff enough to fly.

"We are not in Nazi Germany, this is not WWII." Dear God, please let this sink in to him. "Today, here and now, in this place. You are building a house and you want it to be up to code. Do you walk into a bakery and ask a pastry chef to be your electrician?"

Defeated, "No."

"I am a pastry chef," I gently push the scribbled paper towards him, "and this is electricity."

His eyes finally registered that I was not the programmer he was looking for and we parted on friendly terms.

I highly doubt that he'll teach himself how to code, let alone create his numerology app. But, I feel I gave him good advice.

For myself, I have a hard time telling people no. It is in my nature to help others. So much so that I will often destroy myself in order to make their plans work. So I left the meeting feeling victorious.

1 - I recognized that the project was not a project and that it would have been up to me to create a meaningful usable product.

2 - Though not directly stated, the implication was that any money to be made would have been in the form of a percentage of sales. With such a vague idea and no vision of what it does, who the market would be, and why this non-thing thing is needed, any profit would be a downright miracle.

3 - I realized that although I was capable of doing the task, I didn't want to do the task.

4 - I held my ground and did not let myself get talked into something that would end up being pure torture.

The above may be common sense to the world at large, but this is a huge milestone for me. I almost never tell anyone no. My only critique of myself is to be quicker next time. I need to learn to shut down and end the conversation as soon as I recognize it's something I don't want to do.

Mu Satach
May 8th, 2017, 10:32:25 AM
Minor conversations with little to no consequences.


"Conversing with Mother"

My mother flew into town last week for my little nephew's second birthday. I love my mother, but like most modern relationships we have our mutual issues. As far as our issues go however, they are not that bad. Over the years my mother has developed a habit of not listening to what I have to say. Strike that, she never really has listened to what I have to say, unless it confirms her point of view.

A good portion of this habit is my fault. We suffered multiple traumas when I was growing up. Our own little Lifetime Movie Drama series, in a world where family values breakdown, one woman struggles to survive with her two daughters against a small minded town. I spent my teenage years mainly in silence about my own wounds and tried to help her heal hers. The result is that I genuinely resent her narrow point of view and selfishness when it comes to our relationship. A typical conversation with multiple people will have her interrupt me, take over the conversation and direct it down a path I was not going. In private conversations she will jump to a conclusion about what I am saying and then again hijack the conversation.

When I'm with a group of friends and the same thing happens I try my best to politely finish my thought after my friend has finished their thought. Sometimes, if the interruption is a gross misconduct of polite conversation, I draw attention to what they did by asking if I may finish my story/thought in the most polite manner I can. Not always as graceful as I can be with chronic offenders.

This visit I found myself in the same situation where my mom again began to contradict me and take over my contributions to the group. A group of extended family members we hadn't seen in a very long time had come together to visit with my mom. The whole family was there. Instinctively I discovered myself using the same tactic with my mom in front of our family that I use with my friends. Normally at family gatherings I sit on the outskirts and maybe engage in a side conversation with a cousin or two. This time when I happened to feel I had something to add to the larger conversation happening it was weird to hear the, "may I finish what I was saying?" to my mother in front of so many people. It happened a couple of times.

The thing is, and this is what has led to the resentment, that it was drilled into me growing up to not interrupt. Don't be rude. Wait to speak. When I say drilled, I mean drilled, before every family gathering, before every event, before any dinner with guests, before anything that involved another person. Don't say anything unless you have something to say. So I said nothing. A lot of nothing was said over the years. Being trained to not speak up has led to issues in group projects in my academic life and meetings in my professional life.

Perhaps this is why I tend to put my thoughts down in writing better than in a spoken word form. In writing, I am not interrupted. I can be brash, loud, crazy, silly, all my expressions can be thrown out into the ether and you dear reader can choose to read or not read, but I am not hushed.

If you've met me in real life, I may have come off as more reserved than my writing and this is why. This is and has been slowly changing over the years. I purposely have been striking up conversations with strangers for years now. I have let the silly or charm banner fly with checkout cashiers, strangers in line, waiters & waitresses, random people on the street. If I see something exceptionally beautiful or amazing I express it to them immediately. Someone getting into a beautiful sports car, "oh man, I love that car." Someone wearing a Star Wars t-shirt pushing a stroller in the park, "Happy Star Wars Day!" An extended conversation about the different iterations of Ghost in the Shell with the popcorn guys at the movie theater. All of this is a result of realizing that Baby was put in the corner with no dancing hottie to pull me out on the dance floor.

I love my mother dearly. She adores me. It has been refreshing to contradict her and point out her rudeness in public. Our relationship has begun to evolve as it should have long ago. The best example of what it is now is summed up when I was taking her to meet her husband in a neighboring city that he had driven to, to pick her up. Earlier in the week she asked if I could take her to meet him. Yes. The night before she included a second stop to a storage facility she has a few things stashed away at the other end of the valley from where my sister lives. No problem.

I pick her up, put her bags in the car, begin driving.

"Now we need to go up the street to," my mom began to direct me.

"I know where the storage place is, it's in Midvale." I get to interrupt this time. HA!

"Ummm ah, no we're actually going to meet Diana for breakfast." Now here's why this is irritating. I'm not sure she told my sister that is what she was doing. And there's no reason to not tell my sister that's what she was doing. But that's a whole other issue. One my sister has picked up the banner for with my support. As she's backed me on mine and the shush factor. In fact, I was surprised when she told me she not only noticed the forced silence but confirmed it was pretty jacked up.

"Oooookaay, where are we going?"

"To the Village Inn down near 6200."

"And State?"

"Ummm, yes. Yes."

"Ok." I turn the car around to catch a different freeway than the one I had planned.

"It's down there in that area that's close to..."

"Fashion Place." Ok, so I realize that for someone who has just spent the entire writing about being interrupted, I'm the one now being rude. But if I don't cut my mom off when she's giving directions she will continue to tell you how to get there until you are there.

"No, by the Shopko."

"Umhum, yep, that's the one." I jump on the freeway and away we go.

As we near the exit my mom's phone rings. It's my sister. Because my mom was in such a hurry to leave to get to the breakfast my sister didn't get a chance to talk to her about some upcoming plans. They begin talking, my mom puts her on speaker so we both can hear, or she can hear better, not sure. I take the exit and get into the lane to turn left to go up to the Village Inn.

My mom begins to panic. "Umm, that... that." She motions with her phone held high over the dashboard to make sure I can see it pointing in the opposite direction. Completely ignoring my sister now on the phone. "It's that way. You've gone the wrong way. It's down that way."

"No, it's this way."

"No, it's not the Village Inn up there, it's the one down by 6200."

"Yeah, by the Shopko."

"You need to turn around." visibly stressed but trying to be super nice about it.

"Talk to Mandy. Talk to her," trying to distract her so I can get us to the restaurant.

"You can turn around up here," not listening.

"You said it was the one by the Shopko."

"No, you have to go down..."

"The Shopko is up here." I plow through her protests.

"Honey, you're going the wrong way."

"Talk to Mandy, talk to Mandy, talk to Mandy, I'll turn us around, talk to Mandy she's still on your phone." I can hear my sister laughing maniacally through the phone.

"Oh," she is on the phone still. "Okay." Crisis averted. I have verbally complied with her wishes. I am going to turn the car around. She may now resume her regularly scheduled programming.

I keep driving straight. Maybe I'm wrong. It's been a long while since I've been down this way. Maybe the Shopko, PepBoys, Burlington Coat Factory, etc. are all below the freeway off ramp. But gaht damnit, I'm going to keep driving uptown until I know for certain I'm wrong. Just a few more blocks and then I'll turn... there it is.

I begin my merge through the right hand lanes. The movement pulls her out of her conversation with my sister. She opens her mouth to protest then sees the orange sign in the distance. "Oh, there it is."

"UmmHumm."

"It's right there."

Silence.

"You were right, it is up here."

"Yep." I pull into the parking lot.

"I was wrong."

"Yes, who lives in this city?" deep breath. "I do."

We're a work in progress.