Don’t Call Me Ma’am! Unless You Buy My Book
Aug 02
If there’s anything I hate
it’s being called “Ma’am.”
Ever notice how clever clerks and wily waiters call you “Miss” when they’re trying to make a sale or score a good tip. It’s a variation on the old routine savvy flower sellers once used. Remember when sidewalk vendors sold single long stem roses—or better still, “violets for your furs?” If you do, someone has probably called you Ma’am recently. Or “Sir.”
Anyway, those pushers of posies knew that when they saw an obviously married couple, they’d say, “Hey mister, buy a flower for your girl”. With young lovers, they’d refer to the girl as “your wife.” Worked every time.
Will someone please explain this kind of thinking to the 12-year olds who answer phones for online services and tell them to not treat me like a geezer. To give them their due, these people usually know what they’re talking about—and have a lot of patience. They’d have to, dealing with the likes of me.
I blissfully started a blog knowing absolutely nothing about what I’m doing, technologically speaking (writing is the easy part ), and have been paying for that lack of knowledge every minute of every day since then. I exaggerate. But then, I exaggerate. Comes with the territory.
Self Publishing For Dummies
But really, I have a tremendous problem dealing with the technical aspects of blogging, and now, with the rigors of self publishing a book. Whoever said that this would be easy was a liar at best, a sadist most probably. See Go Publish Yourself!
For one thing, publishing your own book involves talking to many an earnest young person at an online printer such as CreateSpace, who, after determining the extent of your confusion, starts calling you Ma’am. . . . .
Sigh.
Doesn’t that make you feel like you’re 150 when they do that?
(Guys, not sure if being called “Sir” by a whippersnapper has the same effect. Let me know).
I really hated it when I told Tiffany, or was it Brittany, to please stop calling me Ma’am, and she “forgot” and did it again. And again. I suspect that she didn’t exactly forget, but was paying me back (subconsciously, I’d like to think) for asking all those questions. And worse, for requiring her to stay with me each time I “just” performed another step at the site necessary to complete whatever stage of the printing process I was in.
“Just Do It”
In this dizzying new age of technology, I have come to dread the word “just.”
It’s what the guy at the car dealership told us about working the sound system. You “just” do . . . He also said it was “intuitive.” That’s when we knew we were in trouble. And two years later, I’m still not sure about how to change the CD.
It’s what the bank said when I changed my mother’s account to one with less charges and more service. Unfortunately, when we “just” changed it we forgot about all the auto-pay accounts that had to be transferred. I ended up bouncing checks all over town, and spending months straightening it out.
It’s gotten to the point where when anyone tells me that I “just” have to do anything, I start to hyperventilate. Especially when it’s something on line.
And yet, I was determined to get my book published, even though I knew that I would be dealing with many young people, some of whom would call me Ma’am and all of whom would give me a litany of things that I should “just” do.
Well, somehow, with a lot of help from my editor, designer, and those wonderful folks at CreateSpace (in spite of what I’ve said, I think they’re swell), endless hours of dog work, and the ever-present danger of breaking out in hives, I “just” did it. The book is published! And it is already available on Amazon where you can get your very own copy.
Yes, Ma’am!
BTW: At this point, you can call me anything you want.
“Author! Author!” would be nice. . . .
Fans of the blog will get an email announcing the publication of the book.
I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M NOT BITTER:
Confessions Of A Woman Who Bends The Rules
To get it on Amazon.
Just click here:
