Stuck in the Mud

My car was stuck.

In the mud.

Yes, stuck in the mud and it was not a game.

 

I had to get to an important meeting.

I still had to get dressed for the important meeting.

My clothes were at home. I was 5km away from home.

I had no power at home. My clothes still needed ironing.

The clever part of me thought that perhaps I could go and buy some new clothes, to get to the meeting…but I was stuck.

 

I tried reversing.

I tried going forward.

My wheels were spinning and all that happened as I tried to “fix” the situation, was that the mud got deeper and deeper and my car said “No! You are stuck!”

 

Now, on another morning I would have laughed this off. But, this Friday morning was part of a whole week of feeling “stuck”. You know?  One of those weeks when deadlines come and go, decisions stall, your bank freezes your account, your car keys go AWOL, and someone parks you in?  All of those things had happened to me in just ONE week!

 

Stuck.

 

And now mud.

 

To top it all, I was feeling a bit hung over, hungry and grumpy. I should have known better than to have 3 BIG glasses of wine on a school night, but yes, that’s a story for another day.  I should also have known better than to trust the person who told me that eating 4 huge cloves of garlic would not give me bad breath (because it was roasted and not raw).

 

So, hugely paranoid about my breath, I jumped out of my car in the pouring rain to run across a field to find someone to help me. Yes, I could have just called someone.  Yes, indeed I could have done that if I had my phone with me.  You see, that’s what happens when you are stuck.

 

My story does not have a happy ending but I can tell you that I made it to the meeting on time. I can also tell you that when 4pm finally rolled around and my son ran into my arms (via a muddy puddle), I was soooo over the word STUCK.

 

Trying hard not to scream, I removed his little white sneakers and thought:  My guardian angels must surely have hearing problems. They probably misunderstand me all week as I said my other favourite word, which happens to rhyme with STUCK over and over again. 

 

Aluta continua, as they say. The road to CLARITY is long.

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

 

Lunch Date, Wrong Spot !Caution: This story contains bad language. Parental Guidance Advised

I love peri peri prawns; I love the company of women; I love a cold glass of bubbly; I love the sunshine and when the promise of all of those things are on the cards, I dress up and show up.

Oh yes, and if this magical combo of things happens to come together on a work day, well then, I even swop my EDT for EDP.

So, I spritzed the good stuff on my pulse points. It felt so indulgent on a random Tuesday. I had been under enormous pressure at work. My special lunch date had been too.  She had also been recovering from a critical illness and I planned to tell her that I loved the fact that she still used words like “bitch” instead of offering me a passage from the bible during our chats about her health.

The word “bitch” was going to come up lots and lots during our lunch meeting. This I knew for sure. We had been dealing with a mutual service provider who I really thought should have considered a company name change. RIP: Rude, Incompetent, Pricey – Where Customers Come Last is what I had in mind. There would be total value alignment with her staff. I could not wait to share my genius over lunch.

But we had a teeny problem. My lunch date was sitting in a restaurant in one part of the city. Stupid tart!  Poor thing! She had already ordered something to drink. I was sitting in a restaurant by the same name in another part of the city, 30km away from her. I had also ordered a drink.

I had sunshine. I had prawns. I had a glass of bubbly. I was not moving.  So, I Skyped my date.

We had a blast talking about RIP!  I had to agree, I DID have a certain “way with words”.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Wrong Place Right Time

I believe in being well prepared.

So, I arrived early for two reasons. One, I wanted the time to gather my thoughts and jot down some ideas before I lost them. Two, I needed to do my makeup ahead of my presentation.

So, you can imagine how annoyed I was when I arrived at my office 2 hours ahead of the meeting and there was someone waiting outside the door!

I sat in my car and watched him trying the buzzer. I just sat there shaking my head. Two hours early? Who does that? 

I took out my calendar and checked the invite again. I did not have the time wrong. The fool was two hours early.

I waited.

I thought that perhaps HE had gotten the time wrong and if that was the case, surely he would phone me.

So, I waited.

Now I know that a normal person would have walked 100m and talked to the person. But, I have never been a fan of “normal”. The other reason I could not even think of getting out of my car is because I looked (and smelled) homeless.

I was wearing slippers for driving, my hair was wet, I had no makeup on and I had been eating a slice of toast with anchovy paste. If he didn’t die from the shock of seeing someone from Thriller, the smell from my hands would surely have stopped his stupid heart.

So I waited.

He walked away from the door and went to the bathroom. I thought of making a quick dash out of the car but could not take the risk.

So I waited.

One hour later, after my hair had dried, my makeup had set, my slippers were in the boot and my breath was fresh (thanks to some baby-bum wipes and some Listerine which you don’t need to know where I spat), the long waiting game was over.

I walked up to the door and said “Wow, you are early!”

He replied “No, actually I think you are late, but it’s okay. I understand”.

We laughed and I walked ahead of him into the board room.

I said “Please make yourself comfortable”.

He replied “I will try. I am very nervous”.

Nervous? This dude was weirder and weirder. Why would you be nervous about attending a pitch when YOU were not the one doing the presentation?

I gave weirdo his coffee and he said “Will you be the only one interviewing me?”

I thought of replying “No, I think the CEO of the Mental Health Association will be joining me”.

He took out a copy of his CV and gave it to me. Weirdness should come with a forehead tattoo, I thought.

I looked down at the CV. It had a cover note that said “Block D”.

The dude was now 1.5 hours LATE for his dream job and sitting in a board room in Block B.

My heart broke for him.

So, I did what any “normal” person would do.  I asked our secretary to deal with the situation.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and http://www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Watch your back

I used to have a file on my desk with the label “F-Ups”.

I never intended that it would become the subject of any controversy when I named it.  In fact, it was only when a board member asked me how many times I planned to “f@ck up”, that I saw the humorous side.  Before then, I diligently kept all documents that needed following up neatly inside it.

I jumped in my car and went to have my nails done. On my way there, I was getting pissed off that I was stuck in traffic.  It was 11am on a Tuesday morning and there was no reason for the stupid road in front of my office block to have had any issues.

When I eventually got to the end of the queue, I saw that there had been an accident.  There was a blonde lady standing outside her 4×4. She was on the phone and was crying.

There was also a crowd gathering around someone sitting on the floor behind her vehicle. There was no second car and I wondered what the blonde tart was crying about.  The traffic light went green and it was my turn to go.

I had called the salon to say that I was running late.   As I arrived and was running up the stairs, I looked back. I could see the crowd around the person sitting on the floor growing bigger and bigger.

When I got into the nail bar, the receptionist told me that the therapist was running late.  I was a little annoyed.  For God’s sakes, I thought, could you not have told me this when I called you to say I was running late?

I sat down and took out my Blackberry.  Yes, a Blackberry.  I thought I would use the time to check my emails.

The first email I saw was from a colleague from another division.  She was a known chaos-sower and we rarely had to interact, thank God.  Her email said that the CEO was urgently looking for a document, which she knew that I had kept a copy of.  So, she went to my desk and helped herself to a file which she thought may contain the document.  It was the F-Up file.  She made it seem as though she was “helping” me.  You know?  Doing the work for me in my absence, so that the boss would not find out that I was using “company time” for my private shit.  Yeah right!?  I worked flexi hours, dumb thing.

The nail technician did not turn up for work that day. She had been the one sitting on the floor and the blonde tart had reverse crashed into her while she was walking to work.  It was the last time she was able to walk.

I got back to my office and the tension was thick.  The F-Up file had been taken apart and my friend at reception whispered “She’s such a b2tch!”

The unpaid bills that were the subject of the commotion in the office had in fact been paid long ago.  I kept the copies in the F-Up file to remind me to change the address when we moved offices in months’ time.  If the chaos-sower had taken the time to look at the back on the document, the whole saga could well have been avoided.

I thought about the blonde tart.  I sent her love across the walls of my office block and down the main road.  I thought that perhaps a lot of f@ck ups could well be avoided if we took the time to look back.

But, I figured, that most times we’re so focussed on what’s on/in the front, that nothing else really matters. 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Blue Monday

I was having a shit morning.

It was Monday.  My husband left for university at 6am in the pouring rain because he was taking an important exam. My daughter spilled her cereal all over her new dress. My son had the world’s worst case of chicken pox and I was due to participate in an important Skype meeting.

That’s when the doorbell rang.

It was a social worker.  She was there to check on our “living conditions” and the “wellbeing of the children”.  It was a routine visit.  I just wish the stupid tart would have warned me!

My hair was a mess, I was wearing a formal shirt and red lipstick (getting ready for my Skype call) with my husband’s pj pants stained with baby food (because that’s all I could find when the damn doorbell rang).

My house looked like something out of a horror movie. I reckon the “living conditions” scored very low.   My kids were both crying, one because she felt embarrassed about her wet clothes and the other because he was itchy and hungry.  I reckon the “wellbeing of the kids” did not score very highly either.

Talk about first impressions huh?

The woman spoke to me in Dutch.  I did not understand.  My daughter laughed loud! She said “Mamaaaa, your boobie is open”.    It was true!  My breast-feeding son had been having his drink and in my rush, I completely forgot to put the boob away again.

The visit ended quickly.  She jumped on her bicycle and left.  I never heard from her (or the department of social services) again. Thank God.

BUT, I spent the rest of the day in turmoil.

What did she think of me? Did I look like a bad mother? Would she cause trouble? Did the children seem okay? Did she think I was crazy? Did she rate my boobs? Would she call the cops? BlahBlahBlahBlah!

Stupid woman on a bloody Monday morning!!

After a few hours of that head storm, I thought to myself “Damn this! Enough! Grab a hold of yourself.  Youuuuuu cannot control what’s done.  It’s done!”

And just like that, I channelled my inner Iyanla and focussed on what I COULD control.

I cleared my diary, took the spotty baby and the sweet girl out for a picnic.  Ahhhh!  Peace at last.

As we sat down, my daughter said “Mama! Mama! There’s your friend”. 

Yes, you guessed it!  Miss-Stuff-Up-Other-People’s-Mondays herself.

That’s when I had my first stroke of genius for the entireeee day.  I said “Let’s play tent-tent Everybody hide!”

And we did.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Boobs, Business & Morons

My client was angry!

They were angry because they felt that service was not up to standard.

Their company CEO was due to visit the event.  He was bringing the Deputy President and some other important people.

Shit was happening.

So, I did the right thing.  I swopped my high heels for flats and literally RAN around with the team trying to fix a couple of things.

Hours went by.  I was still running.

I did not eat breakfast.  That was fine.

I did not make it to wee when I needed to.  That was fine too.

Lunch came and went.

But gosh, by 3pm, my body said STOP.

I had a little baby at home and when I couldn’t nurse, I needed to remember to express. Express? Oh crap!  That small matter of sitting still for 15 minutes to get milk out of my breasts.  Yes, that!

I felt like I was about to burst.  I had to sit down.

So, I ran to my car, got all the shit I needed and went to find a secluded spot.  A nice, dark corner on a stage, behind a curtain where no one would find me.

I unbuttoned my shirt.  God, I had no time!   I just removed the whole damn thing and sat there topless.  Breaaaaaaathing and getting ready.

As the pump started, I felt so happy!  The relief and release of hormones was magical.

But then I heard voices.

They kept saying “What’s that sound?”

The pump kept going.  Djooom Djoooom  Djooom. 

I peeked out behind the curtain.  God! It was the CEO of the angry client!  He was waiting with his entourage for the important delegation.  I literally could not escape.  There was no way.

That’s when I heard an angel’s voice. 

Some daft person said “Oh! That’s just the aircon.  They’re getting a technician to fix it”.

Hallllleuia!  Saved by a moron!

I continued to pump, continued to giggle and continued to enjoy the surge of endorphins only a nursing mother knows about.  Nature’s drugs filled my veins and I have lived to tell the tale.

And in celebration of Women’s Day in a month, allow me to remind you Goddesses that we are life!  We are the incubators of God’s breath.  We are miracles.   We are powerful beyond our knowledge.

We have boobs and we know how to use them.

Let’s celebrate that together, we are magic.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The “Brief”

I ordered two young girls.  No, not in a strip club.  I called an agency that dealt with students.

I was organising a large trade show and two of the regular staff members had called-in sick.  I needed backup promo girls.

The brief was simple.  They needed to use their good looks and charm.  Not to get anyone into trouble with their wives. No, just to welcome dignitaries to the event, usher them to their seats and drive alongside them in golf carts twice a day. Simple right?

The first couple of days went well!  The girls were well groomed.  They were professional and I got the feeling that they really understood the integrity of our brand. 

That evening, I saw the girls drinking.  They were off duty, but still at the function.  They were drinking tequila with the important people, and laughing a bit too much for my liking.

As I drove home, I considered that perhaps I was just hormonal.  I had, after all, just spent 15 minutes expressing milk out of my breasts during each lunch break.

The following morning, they were back on the job.  Using their good looks and charm once more.

I heard one of the girls say “We have the best job here. All we have to do is look hot and make the men melt”.  The feminist in me cringed slightly, but I guess they were right.  That was the brief.  Well, I would have settled for something that left out the “melt” bit, but ja, I guess those mama hormones were pretty damn powerful. 

The next morning, one of the girls was in tears!  She was insulted by a text message.  It was from an important client telling her that she was “fat and ugly”.

The HR gurus in our team took over quickly.  They processed the facts and paid due attention to the sensitive young girl.

I was angry.  Angry and sad.

That’s when the other girl appeared in my office. She said “She’s lying”.  She was talking about her colleague.  She claimed that the girl fabricated the text message because “none of the guys like her”. 

I realised there was trouble.  My anger dissipated.  I was just sad. 

I decided to butt out and let the professionals handle the rest of the drama.

But, it left a very bad taste in my mouth.

I didn’t need to know who was right, who lied, who the victim was and who had actually made the girl cry.

The fact is, she was crying.  And, it was about SOMETHING.

So, friends, that got me thinking about the lengths we go to in order to execute “the brief”.    And the position we put other people in when we describe “the brief”.  Because, let’s face it, this story isn’t about whether the girls should have been given a better grounding, whether the men who rule the business world need to change or why sex sells, it really is about boundaries and self-worth.

May every situation you are called to engage in this week, have clear guidelines, crisp boundaries and may your personal mandate always serve the best, and highest version of you.  

Aluta continua, as they say.  The road is still long (for me).

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Knee Jerk Reaction (Bloody Rude)

I used to be a secretary.  About 100 years ago.

One of the things I had to do, was receive emails on behalf of my boss.   There was a forwarding on his email address.

So, I am sitting in front of my new laptop one sunny morning in Johannesburg when an email pops up.  It says “Dear Mr X, I had the displeasure of deeling with your secretary this morning”.

My first thought was “You can’t spell” but I read on.

It continued “I was looking for some information which she refused to give me, hence holding up the project.  Delay will probably cost millions, thanks to Miss bloody rude!”

Bloody rude?  Did I just see that?

My CEO (Mr X) and I had come a long way.  We had a mutual respect and though I had moved on from the secretarial role a long time ago, I still dealt with his emails. We had that sort of relationship. Some call it trust, others habit. It’s just the way things were.

It took me 15 minutes to decide what action to take.

I responded “Dear Mr B, I take exception to the tone of your email and its inaccuracies.  As such, I have deleted your email and have not brought it to the attention of Mr X.  Sincerely, Bloody Rude”. Yes, I signed the email “Bloody Rude”.

Now, before you send forth waves of applause.  Hold it.  This kind of knee-jerk reaction is not something I advocate. It was also very out of character for me. I was blinded by rage and in hindsight, I am sure that my reaction would come in very low on an emotional intelligence scorer. 

Mr B happened to be a very senior business associate.  Someone we dared NOT challenge.  We needed him.  Our business depended on it.  He sat very high up on the food chain. I knew this.

When I arrived at my office the next morning, I weighed up my options:

1. Tell my CEO about the incident (and get fired)
2. Wait for Mr B to tell my CEO about the incident (and get fired)
3. Wait for my Chairman to tell my CEO about the incident (and get both of us fired)
4. Shut up and hope for the best

My fear immobilised me and I could not do a thing. 

Next thing, I hear a knock on my office door.  It was Mr B. With flowers.

He said nothing. I said nothing.  We smiled and parted ways.

I looked at his blonde hair as he walked off and thought “Bloody rude!”

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Let it go!

I believe in punctual, prepared and well-groomed.

So, I arrived 10 minutes early, took out my research notes and hung up my favourite navy blue Zara blazer.

The waitress with her strong perfume seated me.  I felt nauseas. 

I noticed that feeling again. The same feeling I had when I was driving to the meeting.

My guest arrived 20 minutes late.  We ordered tea.

She had not prepared for the meeting.  She had not signed the Non-Disclosure Agreement I had sent her either.   In fact, she had not even looked at it.

I should have stopped right there.

Instead, I ordered some more tea and she pitched her ideas to me. I loved them.  There was definite synergy there.  A partnership was on the cards. I was excited.

She texted a lot during the meeting.  She also took 3 or 4 calls.  I used one of those moments to go to the ladies room.  I looked at myself in the mirror and shook my head a few times. 

The rest of the meeting was fun.  We laughed lots, ordered lunch and lots more tea. I noticed that her shirt had stains on it. 

By 6pm I had forgotten all about the weird feelings and the stains.  Creative juices were flowing and we were making plans to take over the world together. She was so smart!

Well, things began to fall apart a week later.  She landed a contract.  Alone.  Solo.  With my ideas, though my contacts, without me.

I was mad.

I was sad.

I was jealous.

I was disappointed.

So, guess what I did?  I chose to let it go. 

No, I am not a saint!  Nor do I believe in karma.   I don’t even subscribe to the philosophy that “the wheel turns”.

I chose to let it go because as I said, I believe in being punctual, prepared and well-groomed and let’s face it, if I let that tart take any of my time and energy, I will be none of those for my beautiful future.

Aluta continua I say!  Let it go