1347 To the Museum

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

To the Maritime Museum volunteer gig this afternoon. I processed new member and renewal checks. The first half-hour was opening envelopes. The second half-hour was making copies of the forms and checks to leave on the accountant's desk. The last two hours was updating the membership info in the database.

I hate Lotus.

We found an "uh-oh" with the new dues payment forms. The museum wants to start accepting credit cards, so there's a space on the form for the type of card, the number, and a signature. No space for the expiration date. Cute. That's the letters I sent out last week, so this month we'll start getting payments we can't process. Real cute.

Well, that's the coordinator's problem, not mine. I refused to have anything to do with credit cards the first time it was proposed.
"We're going to start accepting credit cards for the dues, so you'll have to process them in the gift shop."
"No."
"Huh?"
"No. I won't do credit cards."
"Huh?"
"I don't want to do credit cards. If you want credit cards done, someone else'll have to do them. I've got more than enough to do now. I won't take on more."
"Oh."

Man, as a volunteer, you can pretty much dictate your terms. Lots better than being an employee!

The credit card machine is downstairs in the gift shop, and it's temperamental. Last week some woman bought like $45 worth of stuff in the shop, and the machine overcharged her card by fifty-some dollars. The volunteer on the register followed the printed instructions to cancel the transaction, then tried to refund the card, and nothing worked. She offered the woman a cash refund from the register, and the woman, tapping her foot impatiently, refused it. Small panic, phone calls made.

Hain't no way I'm touching that fool machine. Sounds like something a paid employee should do anyway.

No plans for tomorrow.

I guess I have to admit I did waste time yesterday. Absolutely no other person has been in this house in the past year. The place is a mess. When Roman picked me up to go Mass MOCA a few weeks ago, I was waiting outside for him. He asked if he could use my bathroom, and I said "No. We'll go to the diner." He was shocked, but nope, no one's seeing the inside of this house until I can clean up. I used to say it's cluttered, but at least it's clean clutter. Now the clutter is so bad, I can't clean.

Roman's house is a mess, too, stacks of paper on every surface and the floor, but that's different and ok. He lets me in his house (but nobody else, only me). He doesn't understand the difference. I said, "Well, when a man sees a woman's house all messy, he thinks, 'Yuck. She's a rotten housekeeper.' When a woman sees a man's house all messy, she thinks, 'Aw, so male. He needs a woman.' And that's a BIG difference."

So, tomorrow I move storage containers to the basement, and see if I can't get some order in one or two corners, at least.
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