The Problem With English-Only

I was grocery shopping last Friday when I saw a sign that made my stomach turn.

It was at the manager's stand behind the checkout lanes, hastily scribbled and taped up and probably not meant for customer's eyes, but the words were bold and big and cruel and in my face:

ENGLISH ONLY!!!! ENFORCE THIS.

I was so stunned when I saw the sign that I just stood there. I stood there, and my jaw dropped. I stood there, reading and rereading the words, allowing myself to feel and understand what I was feeling. 

Anger. Confusion. Hurt.

At some point the cashier got my attention, handed me my receipt, and I considered asking for a manager right then and there. But I didn't. Instead I drove home.

In less than five minutes I was home, unloading groceries. But I couldn't shake that sign out of my consciousness. 

Now, I'm a big girl. It usually takes a lot more than a sign on a grocery store to get me upset. So my gut reaction was confusing.

But I decided that if it bothered me that much I had to complain, so I called the corporate office. 

The receptionist was a little surprised to have a customer with a complaint on the line, so I explained that I saw an offensive sign at one of their stores.

"In that case, I will transfer you to one of our directors. Is that OK, Ma'am?"

"Yes."

When he came on the line, I introduced myself as one of their customers. I explained to him that I that I speak three languages, and my husband speaks five, and I told him about the sign I saw at their store. I told him about my three children, and how one of them could have read that sign. And then what?

And then I told him that I know that the reason that sign was up is that they probably had customers complain about employees speaking in foreign languages with each other in front of customers. And I told him how disappointed I was that they gave in to such bigotry. Because the problem isn't that employees are speaking to each other in a language other than English -- the problem is that employees are having private conversations in front of customers. 

Look, I get it. It drives me insane when I'm trying to pay for my groceries and the employees ignore me so they can talk to their buddies. It is absolutely unprofessional and bad for business. BUT, it is unprofessional no matter what language it's happening in. And I shop at that store -- I know that this is also an issue among english-speaking employees.

So why are they only picking on bad behavior that happens in foreign languages? 

When he told me that the reason was that some customer's feeling were "hurt" because they thought employees were making fun of them...That is when my BULLSHIT-O-METER when off the roof.

I said it. I told him to stop patronizing me and to face the truth. I requested that they work on the real problem, which is employees having conversations with each other when they should be taking care of customers.

Yes, I requested that they work on the actual problem, instead of on the way the problem looks to people who don't like the way "other" people sound. And I asked them to stop bowing down to bigotry. It's wrong.

After all, what message are we sending to the employees that are ignoring customers while speaking English? That their behavior is OK? That they can get away with things that other (lesser?) people can't? I don't think that's the ultimate goal, of course, but that is what is happening. 

It's wrong.

This is a little drop in a big, big problem. But it has got me thinking -- perhaps I should speak more Spanish? Perhaps I have to show that the "others" are just like them, except that we do also do everything they do backwards and in tacones.*

I can't change the world by example, but I sure won't let it change me.

*that's Spanish for high heels 

Pivot Boston 3

It's hard to believe, but we have just (as of this Friday night) put on the latest (sold out!) Pivot Boston event. This one was especially fun, because we focused on Style Pivots.

I mean, style? How much more fun can you have? And how much talk of it can professional Boston ladies stand?

Turns out, a lot of it. 

One of the questions we wanted to answer is why is style so intimidating?

Part of the problem is that “style” is often sold as, well, something to buy. As much as I enjoy flicking through fashion magazines and shopping blogs, they do encourage the false notion that “style” can be had as long as you purchase the latest thing. Style has nothing to do with trends or trying on a persona - it’s an expression of who you are and should therefore have some constant truths as well as evolve over time.

Just as you do.

So anyway, we pivoted around style and had some fun. 

Sponsor MiniLuxe gave participant quick polish changes...

HoneyJo led master classes on hair (I'm so sad I missed them, because I need help!)

And Epiphanie gave away a gorgeous Charlotte metallic bag in chevron. I totally shed a tear when I handed it over to the winner.

Our title sponsor, One Medical, also gave away complimentary one year memberships to their concierge medical group. (Because you've got to be well to look good!)

If you are in Boston, you can also get the same deal if you register by 6/07/2013. Just go their site, and enter promotion code OM13YBOS06 on the membership confirmation page. (Thanks, One Medical!)

Will I see you at Pivot Boston 4? (I hope so!)

Things my children have cried about in the past month

1. Pet snowballs and the fragility of life

Because his pet snowball ("Snowy") wasn't allowed to come along for the ride in our heated car. At the time I was in such despair over the never ending winter, that I got all metaphysical and told him what I was really thinking: "Snowy is all around us. Don't cry. Snowy is NEVER LEAVING."

Because in March it truly felt like it the Snow was never leaving. Woe.

SPOILER: It's now spring. (Hooray!)

2. Because I don't let them have donuts for dinner

Breakfast, however, was fair game:

That's a pretty kickass breakfast, kids. Nevertheless, there was still tears and drama. Because children.

3. Because I don't let them wear the same clothes for an entire week.

A week! I mean, I don't care if they wear the same pants a couple of days in a row, but I draw the line at wearing the same t-shirt and shorts on seven consecutive weekdays. I have standards. And a nose. 

4. Because my blog was hacked and I had to ditch Wordpress and I don't even have time to think how am I supposed to figure this out? Wah.

(Actually, the kids truly couldn't care less. But maybe I did. Thankfully, the wonderful Elan (better known as Schmutzie) took pity on me on day four of the hacking drama and took my sad, destroyed wordpress blog and replicated it on Squarespace. Schmutzie is a true Internet Ninja. Thank you!)

How to ask for a boy's cut at the barbershop

I love taking my boys to the barbershop - it's cheaper than a hair salon or one of those kid's cuts places at the mall, and the boys get to be around other men and boys. Barbershops tend to be local institutions, and the vibe is definitely more low-key than at most hair salons.

However, I have the hardest explaining what I want when I go to the barbershop. "Um, something not to short or not too long, you know?"

No, usually the barber doesn't know, and my son ends up looking like Moe. Not good. Just say No to the Moe! The problem is that I don't speak "barber." So I got to googling and found the solution: This guide at haircutsformen.org is a lifesaver. We all know what a "faux hawk" is (thanks Angelina!) but do you know what the "Ivy League", "High and Tight", "Business Man" or a "Burr" is? Well, now you do!

By the way, what I need to ask for is a tapered cut with a natural arch and a tapered nape.

Aah...

Eight

"An eight year old boy died, Mama," my eight year old son said to me. He was looking at his feet.

"And, like, 256 people were injured. It was a nuclear bomb, I think. Obama's looking for the bad guy, but there are too many people in the world. I don't think he'll find him."

I wasn't ready to hear those words come from my eight year old son's mouth. The mouth that currently is a mess of tiny milk teeth and way-too-big adult teeth. So I looked at the floor too. All I could think of was to ask him why he thinks that happened.

"I read it on the TV."

Of course. He can read. He's not a baby. We were out running errands in our little town center, and while people were especially kind and I caught strangers looking at my sons and making the mental calculations -- eight, that's what eight looks like -- the news was everywhere. People stopped talking as we entered shops and turned the volume down on the televisions, but the screens kept rolling the news ticker with the awful truth.

An eight year old boy from Boston is dead.

My eight year old boy from Boston is safe. But he was so afraid. And while I'm not afraid, I was sad -- and now I'm sadder because he knows.

I don't have any wisdom to share. I didn't come up with a sage answer to soothe his fears. All I could do was tell him that, yes, a bad person did a bad thing and a boy died. But that he and his brothers and his friends are safe. And that they will find the bad person that did this, because there are more good people in the world than bad. And, um, how do you know about nuclear bombs?

And then, I had to ask something of him.

"You can talk to me and Papa about this and anything you hear about it. You have nothing to be afraid of. But can you not tell your brothers? It might scare them too much."

"Okay, Mama," he said.

I could see the sadness in his eyes. I hate that he has to know. I hate that he has to protect the innocence of his younger brothers.

And then he tickled me so he could free himself from my arms and went outside to play.