How to be Undateable

You know what it's like when you see a trailer for a movie or a series - 2 minutes where they show all of the interesting bits condensed, and you want to watch it right that minute but then a sentence comes across the screen saying 'coming next Wednesday' or more likely 'coming when you won't be home'. And whatever is on now is always crap and you're only watching it because you think something good is coming on after it, but it isn't, because you got the day or the week or the year wrong.
So when I saw the trailer for the 'Undateables' on Channel 4 there the other week, I just assumed that it would be another one of those documentaries that look great but are really bad and that I'd miss anyway.
But then, ah then, something happened. I was reading a review in the Irish Times that had something to say about this documentary, 'The Undateables'. So there were some interesting points made. One of them being that the title was damn cruel. Yes, I guess you can't label someone as undateable, even if I'm not sure where you would take someone to court under the nine grounds of discrimination if they called you that.
So anyways, it talks about how the people on the show are all people with either a physical or mental disability of some kind or another, and, well it made it sound like I'd made the wrong decision to have that one night stand with the much younger than me girl from Tallin the night it was on, because it sounded more fun than she was. So I began to think about dating; my inability to accept that a serious, possibly not so gorgeous but practical 40 something year old might make me ultimately more happy than a homesick blonde from Tallin, unless, of course, it's just for the one night...
So I sent Carmencita ( yes, it's her real name, I swear) a text message to say I couldn't meet her tonight and that I'm so sorry but I'm washing my hair tonight (my one hair), and then I got one of the random teens I live with to pull up the 'Undateables' on the Channel 4 website. Watch it after you read this, because you need to hear my comments first considering I'm an expert in bad relationships but still have that bit of pulling power that we all need a bit of.

You see, it's easy. They could have picked me for the show, come on, after all I'm a mouthy middle aged fat lesbian with bad teeth, thinning hair, a load of teens hanging out of me and I live way out west in the outback of Ireland. I mean hello, I should be in the Tollhouse, so how come I still seem to have that bit of pulling power when most of the weirdos in the documentary were way more dateable than I am?

Well it's because of this. Everyone in the documentary talked about what they were looking for. One girl, who was disabled and on a wheelchair, went on a date with a guy on a wheelchair. She turned him down for a second date, commenting something like 'I don't want to date someone with a disability'. Well like, helloooo... , did she ever ask herself why someone should be with her or want to date her? Personally the disability wouldn't bother me, but the girl had no personality, much worse. Then there was a guy with Aspergers who met a lovely woman who was keen to meet him again but he too was all about how he didn't really fancy her. ( And in this case it was probably because she wasn't a clone of his mother.) But all of them - and granted, I only saw the first show, there are more to come, and also there was a guy with tourettes who was an exception, but the others, they were all about what they want from a partner... I want to meet someone who... he/she should be..... I'd like.... these are my terms and condiditons... I mean, like, where's the love of people? Where's the 'I want to embrace a challenge' or the 'This is what I offer'.

So here's the trick. Forget about what you want to meet and ask yourself what you have to offer. When you meet some horrendous ghoul remember that they might be thinking the very same thing about you, and they may be right. Make it your mission to look for their qualities. Ask yourself what you can do to make them feel happy, make them laugh, find out what they like, turn them on and see the whole thing as a challenge.
At the same time though, you have to make them see that even if you are old and fat or whatever your physical or mental trait of unattractiveness may be, that you make up for it in other things (like in my case, I'm great in the sack, so I go straight for the jugular). But come on, even a drop dead photo model blonde who isn't called Carmencita, will be undateable if it's all about 'I'm specifically looking for this that or the other...' because if you are looking for the perfect partner, forget it.
So there you go. Give love a chance. And remember that I'm single right now, and open to offers. But ok, it would help, of course, if you are a drop dead gorgeous heiress of 20 something who loves housework, disappointments and older women...

http://www.channel4.com/programmes/the-undateables

The Business of People

I'm in the people business. Communication, getting your message across and all that jazz. To some it's the crux of all business, to others it's fluffy stuff. The reality is this though - how you communicate your message decides a lot more than just the message. There are those who will tell you interpersonal communication is a nuisance. They wonder why they have to humour people when the message is xyz, crystal clear and who cares what the person receiving the message thinks? Others will argue that the message itself is irrelevant, it only matters that you know how to deliver it in a clear and motivating manner.
Me, I believe in a bit of both. But it's not as easy as that. When you work in a large corporation, especially an international one, there's more than just the message and how you deliver it, there's also corporate culture, political correctness and trying to say something in one sentence that will appeal to the mindsets of the 29 cultures you work with. And you need to do it by lunchtime.

But there's something else. There's being human. As a rule, I believe that we all have moments when we believe ourselves to be a culmination of the three wise men and Jesus combined and that our word is the last word and we need to spread it. And sometimes those wise people break all the rules that the business gurus preach, and even if they normally end up sounding blunt and pedantic, there are times that it's so damn human it's just that bit better than all of the gurus combined advice.

I worked for a nameless corporation once, where, as in most big corporations, the place is run by the tea ladies. One morning I was down for my early morning life advice combined with a cuppa from a nice safe plastic cup that passed all health and safety regulations when tea lady one informed me that someone on the night shift had stolen two pieces of corned beef from the fridge. (There were two tea ladies, and they operated a bit like a weather house. If tea lady one was in good mood, tea lady two would remind you that life was all fire and brimstone, but if tea lady two smiled at you whilst you were buttering your scone, tea lady one would shout across the canteen that didn't I tell her I was on a diet so why was I eating that scone and that she's only telling me for my own good.)
Well anyway, back to the missing two slices of corned beef. Tea lady one reckoned she knew exactly whodunnit. So she ignored all corporate guidelines with regard to processes and procedures in order to take immediate action. It involved a piece of paper, a pen and some sticky tape, and this appeared on the fridge:

You couldn't blame her. The fridge in question contained milk and butter that was a free for all, but if you took two pieces of corned beef that some day shift person had left for their lunch the next day, well let's face it, you were nothing but a nasty thief (at least in the eyes of the tea lady, and don't forget the power of tea ladies.) Some people philosophized. Could you be a nice thief? Maybe leave a thank you note or be a bit of a Robin Hood? Who cared. There was no more nasty thievery after the note on the fridge.
But then something happened. A manager in the organisation with an eye for politically correct signage, took offense, and it ended in a battle of corporate procedure versus one humans view of justice. He wanted the sign removed. She didn't. They met somewhere in the middle, which to me, always means they both lose. The sign was replaced by this:

It reads: Only Milk and Butter are for common consumption, everything else contained within fridges is the personal property of your colleagues. Please do not take or partially use other peoples belongings.
I'm not sure what the communication gurus of the world would say about all of this, I can only tell you what I think: if you ever work for a huge international corporation that is politically correct, values people, is driven by policies and procedures and also treats employees to free tea, coffee, scones and toast; don't go taking other peoples corned beef from the fridge. There'll be serious words...

My Day in Court

It's a bit like an extended family gathering: the judges, barristers & solicitors are the grown ups. They have that look of silent understanding that they are the world wisely stalwarts, pillars of society you might say. The Gardai, now they're another story. They sit giggling and chatting in rows like a bunch of teenage cousins, one trying to outdo the other with a smart comment or a jibe. Every now and then the judge will go 'shush' and they all shut up for a few minutes until the next bout begins. 

The defendants and the accused, well they are the outsiders who, for whatever misfortune, have been dragged into this family melee ( and pay attention to the word melee, it will reappear further down the page of this blog). 

So the grown ups begin to mediate. First of all a Garda puts forward an appeal. A woman is appealing the fact that she has been disqualified from driving for three years. Granted, she was twice over the limit, she admits that, but she only had a ten minute drive home and her designated driver had let her down. Besides, the Garda points out (at the cost of the tax payer) this lady is a nurse, and doesn't she have an awful big mortgage and she needs the car for work, could we not make the punishment more lenient?  The judge is not impressed, he says he should really be sending her to jail. I'm on the edge of my seat as I listen.

I'm now at risk of causing one of the grown ups to bang down a hammer and shout 'order in court', because all of a sudden I'm bursting to jump up and shout 'so if it was only a ten minute drive, why didn't she call a taxi?' In fact, she could have walked.  But I don't. The judge doesn't grant leniency, but he does point out that he should be imposing a jail sentence but that in this case he won't. The reason - because she's a nice good girl, a respectable nurse, so he'll let her off. Not only do I want to jump up at this stage, I want to jump up and down on a pogo stick and ask the judge does that mean he'd send her to jail if she were a busker or a bar maid?

But then the next case comes along and all of a sudden nobody cares about the legless nurse who lost her wheels anymore.

The court hears how two brothers 'exchanged words' with a man outside a pub. Then one of them threw a punch at the man, then the man fell to the ground and yer man gives him a right beating. It sounds very black and white, just the thing for the law, a person in the right and a person in the wrong. But it starts to get messy. It seems the fight had more than fists, it had legs and roots and history and a rift between two families going back a generation. And as if it could end there, no. The two brothers, big lads, one of them a boxer decided to get reinforcement. So they went home and got their mammy. This is the bit where I'm on the edge of the seat again. Their mammy? Two fist fighting boxers pick on one guy, beat him up, and then go home to get mammy to come sort it out. And that's just what mammy did. Mammy drove the lads back to the pub and they got going on their victim again, whilst mammy had a go at the victim's wife. 

I'm expecting the judge to give this guy a spell behind bars and a hefty fine, but then the boxer lad's solicitor stands up. 

There were important points to be made. Theoretically, the man who was attacked actually fell to the ground and was not pushed by the boxer lad at all. This is because by the time the boys had gone home and gotten mammy, the other side had gathered a few supporters too, so what ensued was not one man attacking another, by now it was a melee (remember I said that word would come back?).  Things got mentioned, such as the fact that some members of these two warring families were first cousins, and that nobody was sure what exactly it was that started up the feud twenty years ago. Although the accused had a string of previous convictions, his lawyer pointed out how  he was a family man who was very keen for this feud to end. Strange way of initiating the end of a feud, but I was getting used to being quiet at this stage. 

The judge said that he should really be sending this guy to jail (with the nurse who should be getting sent to jail too), but that if they all agreed to go to mediation and get it sorted that he'd let them off as long as they gave some money to the guy who they beat up. The money was to make up for the fact that the guy had had to go through some operations to have a metal plate put into the arm that got broken during the melee. 

I decided that I should have been a judge, because just the night before, after listening to my two sons argue the same point for over two hours - it was more a heated discussion about who owns the earphones than a melee. So I told them to shut up and eat their dinner and that after dinner they were to stop talking about the problem and start looking for solutions. Not rocket science, but maybe there really is something about getting the mammy involved after all. 

Then case 11 was called - The State against Margaret Treanor...