Appeared in The Fort Mill Times, "Transplant Times" column on June 25, 2008.
A friend of mine recently moved his family here. They held the tradition of attending a parade every year on Memorial Day. Back in Ohio, that was how their hometown honored its veterans. Unable to find a parade this year, they decided to visit a recreational park just over the state line in Union County North Carolina for the holiday.
They were impressed with the campgrounds, fishing area and hiking trails, but couldn’t find any sign of celebration, so they asked an old man working there about it. His answer, and tone of voice, surprised them, to say the least. He made it perfectly clear that Memorial Day is a “northern holiday” and said it would never be acknowledged “around these parts”.
I did a little research and discovered that Memorial Day was indeed first enacted to honor the Union soldiers of the Civil War. That was 143 years ago though. It’s hard to imagine that after fighting together in World War I, World War II, Korea, Vietnam and now Iraq, some people in this country still see us as fighting against each other, especially when it comes to the differences between the north and the south.
With the swift inflow of transplants from just about everywhere, opinions and attitudes do vary greatly and will continue to change. The entire premise of this column is to compare life here in the Carolinas with living in New Jersey. I guess its human nature to notice, and even condemn, dissimilarity.
By the same token, it’s also natural to band together when a third party introduces criticism. Have you ever watched two siblings fighting? They appear to hold no regard for one another until a kid from down the block calls one of them a bad name. Instantly brother and sister are united against the outsider. I suspect the same to be true of the transplants and the locals when push comes to shove.
Just imagine if people from another country came to America to do us harm. Suppose they hated us for our way of life and the great freedoms we’d fought for and won? What if they wanted to ruin what we had so much that they attacked us?
Oh wait, that DID happen, and it wasn’t all that long ago. If I remember correctly, every American took September 11, 2001 personally and for a good, long while there was a tremendous sense of solidarity within our nation.
I can’t imagine the men and women who are right now serving in Iraq and Afghanistan being hung up on which side of the Mason-Dixon line their great grand father fought for in 1865. We have to step into the 21st century now and just be Americans, not southerners or northerners.
As Independence Day approaches, I hope everyone remembers that the Fourth of July is to raise the flag and honor our forefathers for fighting against England. If you’re tempted to hold a grudge because your ancestors, like mine, were British, just remember, they also lost!
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
DMV's Annoying No Matter Where You Live
Appeared in The Fort Mill Times, "Transplant Times" column on Wednesday, May 28, 2008
From the viewpoint of a transplant, I write about things I find to be different here as compared to where I grew up. Lately though, I've been noticing the similarities.
Frustration with bureaucracy is something we all have in common and I believe the Division of Motor Vehicles is a place where it can be found in any of our 50 states.
I live in the Indian Land section of Fort Mill. Until last summer, we shared the 29715 zip code with much of the town. The Post Office assigned 29707 to our area in July of 2007 and gave us one year to make the change over. We’ve been warned that beginning this July any mail with the wrong zip code, will not be delivered.
A recent newspaper article advised those of us in this new zone to be sure we’ve made the necessary changes with the DMV because undelivered property tax bills for our vehicles that go unpaid will probably turn into a big mess.
Being proactive by nature, I’d already notified the utility companies, the credit card companies and my friends and family. I wasn’t sure about the DMV though, so I called my local office in Lancaster and got (surprise-surprise) a tape recording stating that all inquiries had to be left on their voice mail system for an employee to call me back when time allowed, so, I left my question with a call back number and yes, I did receive a return call approximately five hours later. That’s when I was told I had to come into their office, bring proof of my address change, pay for a new driver’s license and have my picture taken again.
I was annoyed, to say the least, so I questioned the accuracy of this information. It was reiterated to me by another employee there that indeed, I was to be inconvenienced by losing time from a new job to stand in line and pay a fee for something I had no control over.
Adding insult to injury, the burden of proving my “change of address” fell to me when I hadn’t changed anything. The United States Postal Service changed my zip code. It’s a matter of public record.
I stressed about the situation for 23 hours and 55 minutes too long. Had I checked www.scdmvonline.com as soon as I hung up with the Lancaster office, I would have learned sooner that there was an email address where I could send my question. I received a rapid response from a well-informed employee in the Columbia office who had me fill out a simple change of address form on their website. A confirmation number was delivered to my Email address almost immediately. A confirmation letter was delivered to my home two days later. A new vehicle registration reflecting my new zip code was sent to me two days after that. The simple solution was there all the time. I just had to do a bit of digging to find it.
From the viewpoint of a transplant, I write about things I find to be different here as compared to where I grew up. Lately though, I've been noticing the similarities.
Frustration with bureaucracy is something we all have in common and I believe the Division of Motor Vehicles is a place where it can be found in any of our 50 states.
I live in the Indian Land section of Fort Mill. Until last summer, we shared the 29715 zip code with much of the town. The Post Office assigned 29707 to our area in July of 2007 and gave us one year to make the change over. We’ve been warned that beginning this July any mail with the wrong zip code, will not be delivered.
A recent newspaper article advised those of us in this new zone to be sure we’ve made the necessary changes with the DMV because undelivered property tax bills for our vehicles that go unpaid will probably turn into a big mess.
Being proactive by nature, I’d already notified the utility companies, the credit card companies and my friends and family. I wasn’t sure about the DMV though, so I called my local office in Lancaster and got (surprise-surprise) a tape recording stating that all inquiries had to be left on their voice mail system for an employee to call me back when time allowed, so, I left my question with a call back number and yes, I did receive a return call approximately five hours later. That’s when I was told I had to come into their office, bring proof of my address change, pay for a new driver’s license and have my picture taken again.
I was annoyed, to say the least, so I questioned the accuracy of this information. It was reiterated to me by another employee there that indeed, I was to be inconvenienced by losing time from a new job to stand in line and pay a fee for something I had no control over.
Adding insult to injury, the burden of proving my “change of address” fell to me when I hadn’t changed anything. The United States Postal Service changed my zip code. It’s a matter of public record.
I stressed about the situation for 23 hours and 55 minutes too long. Had I checked www.scdmvonline.com as soon as I hung up with the Lancaster office, I would have learned sooner that there was an email address where I could send my question. I received a rapid response from a well-informed employee in the Columbia office who had me fill out a simple change of address form on their website. A confirmation number was delivered to my Email address almost immediately. A confirmation letter was delivered to my home two days later. A new vehicle registration reflecting my new zip code was sent to me two days after that. The simple solution was there all the time. I just had to do a bit of digging to find it.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Looking Local Make a Difference
Appeared in The Fort Mill Times, "Transplant Times" column on Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Some people think my views on living in the South have been too harsh at times. We all base our opinions on personal experiences. It never occurred to me though, that where we specifically have those experiences, could drastically affect the outcome.
The real estate agent who sold me my house said I live in Indian Land but the post office says my address is in Fort Mill. Fort Mill is considered York County, but I’m registered to vote in Lancaster County. It’s all a bit confusing really, but I’m not sure it matters much aside from paying taxes to the right jurisdiction.
It was explained to me that "Fort Mill," other than the town, could refer to the greater Fort Mill Township area that straddles both counties. There isn’t any difference, as far as I can see, when passing the county line. There is however, a noticeable change when you cross the state line into North Carolina, which is what I’ve been doing for the better part of two years.
I work, shop, seek entertainment and frequent restaurants in Charlotte. So when I complain about heavy traffic and dangerous road configurations, it’s probably due to hours spent in gridlock at the exits off I-485.
My fear, which I admit borders on paranoia, of local crime, stems from newscasts out of Charlotte-based TV stations reporting their own statistics.
I’m not slamming Charlotte. It’s a city overwhelmed by rapid expansion. Growing pains are bound to be part of the process. What I am saying is, until recently I didn’t realize the charm to be had here at home in South Carolina.
I’ve started taking Highway 160 and Springfield Parkway as a new route to work. I’m now enjoying rows of peach trees and fields of horses instead of staring at a sea of brake lights every morning.
I bought groceries from a supermarket in Tega Cay and filled my gas tank at a station in Lake Wylie. I found the lines to be shorter and the service was friendlier.
What prompted me to finally venture west instead of following Highway 521 north every day, were two stories I read in this newspaper. One profiled the York County Humane Society and their need for help. I took a drive to make a very modest donation one day and found a staff of dedicated people working hard in the center of a really nice town.
The other article, “York County counts on its credibility to stop crime at the state line” (March 26) quoted Kevin Brackett, the York County Solicitor as saying, “It’s a completely different world here in York…” in a warning to criminals considering coming here from Charlotte. I decided to see the difference for myself and I haven’t been disappointed.
I recently accepted an invitation for coffee and made a new local friend. I even attended my first Homeowners Association meeting last Monday night and was inspired by well-intentioned people willing to give their time to create a better place to live.
Like Dorothy Gale who discovered her heart’s desire was in her own backyard, I’m learning to see what’s right in front of me.
Some people think my views on living in the South have been too harsh at times. We all base our opinions on personal experiences. It never occurred to me though, that where we specifically have those experiences, could drastically affect the outcome.
The real estate agent who sold me my house said I live in Indian Land but the post office says my address is in Fort Mill. Fort Mill is considered York County, but I’m registered to vote in Lancaster County. It’s all a bit confusing really, but I’m not sure it matters much aside from paying taxes to the right jurisdiction.
It was explained to me that "Fort Mill," other than the town, could refer to the greater Fort Mill Township area that straddles both counties. There isn’t any difference, as far as I can see, when passing the county line. There is however, a noticeable change when you cross the state line into North Carolina, which is what I’ve been doing for the better part of two years.
I work, shop, seek entertainment and frequent restaurants in Charlotte. So when I complain about heavy traffic and dangerous road configurations, it’s probably due to hours spent in gridlock at the exits off I-485.
My fear, which I admit borders on paranoia, of local crime, stems from newscasts out of Charlotte-based TV stations reporting their own statistics.
I’m not slamming Charlotte. It’s a city overwhelmed by rapid expansion. Growing pains are bound to be part of the process. What I am saying is, until recently I didn’t realize the charm to be had here at home in South Carolina.
I’ve started taking Highway 160 and Springfield Parkway as a new route to work. I’m now enjoying rows of peach trees and fields of horses instead of staring at a sea of brake lights every morning.
I bought groceries from a supermarket in Tega Cay and filled my gas tank at a station in Lake Wylie. I found the lines to be shorter and the service was friendlier.
What prompted me to finally venture west instead of following Highway 521 north every day, were two stories I read in this newspaper. One profiled the York County Humane Society and their need for help. I took a drive to make a very modest donation one day and found a staff of dedicated people working hard in the center of a really nice town.
The other article, “York County counts on its credibility to stop crime at the state line” (March 26) quoted Kevin Brackett, the York County Solicitor as saying, “It’s a completely different world here in York…” in a warning to criminals considering coming here from Charlotte. I decided to see the difference for myself and I haven’t been disappointed.
I recently accepted an invitation for coffee and made a new local friend. I even attended my first Homeowners Association meeting last Monday night and was inspired by well-intentioned people willing to give their time to create a better place to live.
Like Dorothy Gale who discovered her heart’s desire was in her own backyard, I’m learning to see what’s right in front of me.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Does Anybody Else Care?
Appeared in The FORT MILL TIMES, "Transplant Times" column on Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Dictionary.com says the absence or suppression of passion, emotion, or excitement is apathy. My son, a fairly new transplant himself, told me he suspected my struggle to write this month’s column was due to the fact that I’ve become apathetic since living in the South. He started listing things I’ve talked to him about that normally drive me crazy, or at least irk me enough so that I should want to write about them.
I’ve pondered the local fascination with fireworks and wondered how shops dedicated to selling them alone manage to stay in business. Should any person be allowed to purchase and ignite gunpowder for the fun of it? When I was growing up in New Jersey, we only saw fireworks displays conducted by pyrotechnic experts on the Fourth of July at public shows. Here in Fort Mill I’m regularly treated to the rocket’s red glare just when I’m about to go to sleep at night. It seems nobody else but me is looking out their window though and praying a hot Roman candle doesn’t land in a storm gutter full of dried leaves.
I’ve questioned the absence of laws I was accustomed to having in the North, like no hand-held cell phones while driving, wearing a helmet when you ride a motorcycle and my all time favorite: gun control. Rules like that were enacted and enforced in northern states to protect people from others and sometimes from themselves. I’ve been told that down here those kinds of restrictions are considered unwanted government interference. I’ll certainly defend your right to suffer permanent brain damage or total paralysis if you’d like, but I personally take comfort in the idea of somebody looking out for my safety.
Issues like these could easily be singled out and kvetched about for days, something a friend of mine insists is my favorite pass-time anyway, but I just haven’t felt like it lately.
I wish I could say it’s because I‘m reading the latest Oprah Book Club selection, A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle. While it does give great advice on existing in the now and not sweating the small stuff, I’m afraid I haven’t made the complete transformation to being my highest possible spiritual self yet. The truth is I’m running out of steam because I’m not sure anybody else cares about these things.
It used to bother me to see one employee turn out eight hours of work while another spent the better part of a day surfing the Internet and making personal phone calls. Then an acquaintance of mine in middle management at a corporation in Charlotte told me she and her colleagues would rather have their subordinates do half the amount of work and be twice as much fun. “It’ll all get done eventually,” she said. None of this is what I’m used to, but who can fight forever? I’ve been seriously contemplating a total surrender to procrastination and oblivion. I just keep worrying that I won’t do it right.
Dictionary.com says the absence or suppression of passion, emotion, or excitement is apathy. My son, a fairly new transplant himself, told me he suspected my struggle to write this month’s column was due to the fact that I’ve become apathetic since living in the South. He started listing things I’ve talked to him about that normally drive me crazy, or at least irk me enough so that I should want to write about them.
I’ve pondered the local fascination with fireworks and wondered how shops dedicated to selling them alone manage to stay in business. Should any person be allowed to purchase and ignite gunpowder for the fun of it? When I was growing up in New Jersey, we only saw fireworks displays conducted by pyrotechnic experts on the Fourth of July at public shows. Here in Fort Mill I’m regularly treated to the rocket’s red glare just when I’m about to go to sleep at night. It seems nobody else but me is looking out their window though and praying a hot Roman candle doesn’t land in a storm gutter full of dried leaves.
I’ve questioned the absence of laws I was accustomed to having in the North, like no hand-held cell phones while driving, wearing a helmet when you ride a motorcycle and my all time favorite: gun control. Rules like that were enacted and enforced in northern states to protect people from others and sometimes from themselves. I’ve been told that down here those kinds of restrictions are considered unwanted government interference. I’ll certainly defend your right to suffer permanent brain damage or total paralysis if you’d like, but I personally take comfort in the idea of somebody looking out for my safety.
Issues like these could easily be singled out and kvetched about for days, something a friend of mine insists is my favorite pass-time anyway, but I just haven’t felt like it lately.
I wish I could say it’s because I‘m reading the latest Oprah Book Club selection, A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle. While it does give great advice on existing in the now and not sweating the small stuff, I’m afraid I haven’t made the complete transformation to being my highest possible spiritual self yet. The truth is I’m running out of steam because I’m not sure anybody else cares about these things.
It used to bother me to see one employee turn out eight hours of work while another spent the better part of a day surfing the Internet and making personal phone calls. Then an acquaintance of mine in middle management at a corporation in Charlotte told me she and her colleagues would rather have their subordinates do half the amount of work and be twice as much fun. “It’ll all get done eventually,” she said. None of this is what I’m used to, but who can fight forever? I’ve been seriously contemplating a total surrender to procrastination and oblivion. I just keep worrying that I won’t do it right.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Job Search Puts the "E" in Employment
Appeared in The Fort Mill Times, "Transplant Times" column on Wednesday, February 27, 2008
I’ve been lucky enough to be employed, albeit not in the ideal situation, since moving to this area two years ago. With today’s suffering economy compounded by the barren local job market, that is nothing to sneeze at. It doesn’t mean I’m not looking for the perfect situation though. Finding work anywhere in US is getting more difficult all the time. The days of walking into a business to ask for an application or mailing out your paper resume is long gone. In its place we have the Internet.
I’m an avid computer user and I think, for the most part, the World Wide Web is a wonderful tool for sharing information and keeping communication open. In corporate Human Resources though, I believe websites are being used as electronic versions of ornery bouncers standing guard outside trendy nightclubs. Their purpose is to make you think you have a chance of getting in if you follow the instructions, when the fact of the matter is, your chances are slim to none…unless, of course, you know somebody.
If you’d tried applying for work in the past year or two, you’ve probably spent many hours typing your personal information, work history, educational background and professional references into a template on your computer screen, AFTER you’ve uploaded your resume, which contains all the same data.
Once completing the arduous E-application, you’re usually directed to take a personality test. The instructions will tell you that there are no wrong answers and it doesn’t affect your chances for employment no matter what you say, but the first dozen or so of the questions are to designed to determine whether you’ve ever had a dream about taking home a paper clip or momentarily considered using company White-Out to correct a personal document.
If you’re lucky enough to reach the end of the process without the software freezing up, you are told to click the submit button, but only ONCE! Accidentally double-clicking will not only wipe out your personality test, it will erase any trace of you from the system itself.
Most attempts at E-applying are eventually successful. That simply means after an hour and 17 minutes of biting your nails and snapping at any family member who speaks to you while you nervously watch the little hourglass spin around and around, you get a message of congratulations. You might even get an automatically generated E-mail reiterating this. Enjoy the moment, because it is the last time you will ever hear from that company…unless, of course, you know somebody.
Yes, fellow job seekers, it is an employer’s world these days. Glance at the Sunday classifieds or check out Carrerbuilder.com and you will see the evidence. If there were really jobs to fill, the requirement for answering telephones and stamping mail wouldn’t be a bachelor’s degree with proficiency in all Microsoft systems and some experience in brain surgery. It also would pay more than $8.00 an hour…unless, of course, you know somebody.
I’ve been lucky enough to be employed, albeit not in the ideal situation, since moving to this area two years ago. With today’s suffering economy compounded by the barren local job market, that is nothing to sneeze at. It doesn’t mean I’m not looking for the perfect situation though. Finding work anywhere in US is getting more difficult all the time. The days of walking into a business to ask for an application or mailing out your paper resume is long gone. In its place we have the Internet.
I’m an avid computer user and I think, for the most part, the World Wide Web is a wonderful tool for sharing information and keeping communication open. In corporate Human Resources though, I believe websites are being used as electronic versions of ornery bouncers standing guard outside trendy nightclubs. Their purpose is to make you think you have a chance of getting in if you follow the instructions, when the fact of the matter is, your chances are slim to none…unless, of course, you know somebody.
If you’d tried applying for work in the past year or two, you’ve probably spent many hours typing your personal information, work history, educational background and professional references into a template on your computer screen, AFTER you’ve uploaded your resume, which contains all the same data.
Once completing the arduous E-application, you’re usually directed to take a personality test. The instructions will tell you that there are no wrong answers and it doesn’t affect your chances for employment no matter what you say, but the first dozen or so of the questions are to designed to determine whether you’ve ever had a dream about taking home a paper clip or momentarily considered using company White-Out to correct a personal document.
If you’re lucky enough to reach the end of the process without the software freezing up, you are told to click the submit button, but only ONCE! Accidentally double-clicking will not only wipe out your personality test, it will erase any trace of you from the system itself.
Most attempts at E-applying are eventually successful. That simply means after an hour and 17 minutes of biting your nails and snapping at any family member who speaks to you while you nervously watch the little hourglass spin around and around, you get a message of congratulations. You might even get an automatically generated E-mail reiterating this. Enjoy the moment, because it is the last time you will ever hear from that company…unless, of course, you know somebody.
Yes, fellow job seekers, it is an employer’s world these days. Glance at the Sunday classifieds or check out Carrerbuilder.com and you will see the evidence. If there were really jobs to fill, the requirement for answering telephones and stamping mail wouldn’t be a bachelor’s degree with proficiency in all Microsoft systems and some experience in brain surgery. It also would pay more than $8.00 an hour…unless, of course, you know somebody.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
We Can't be in Denial about Crime
Appeared in the Fort Mill Times, Transplant Times column, on January 23, 2008
I arrived in the Carolinas with a cast on my right leg and spent the first 16 weeks housebound and watching a lot of TV, including local newscasts. I was overwhelmed by how much violent crime was being committed in and around the Charlotte area.
I arrived in the Carolinas with a cast on my right leg and spent the first 16 weeks housebound and watching a lot of TV, including local newscasts. I was overwhelmed by how much violent crime was being committed in and around the Charlotte area.
The first few people I mentioned this to said, "It's just the way they report it down here," suggesting the New York news market I was accustomed to watching, either downplayed or didn't cover their crime stories. That seemed ridiculous to me, so I did some research. There are plenty of Web sites that chart crimes rates and list U.S. cities from safest to most dangerous based on reported statistics.
These numbers don't lie.
I learned that the area of New Jersey I'd moved from ranked anywhere from first to third safest, depending upon how the numbers were calculated. Charlotte, (and we are considered a suburb of Charlotte) came in anywhere from 385th to 389th. So, I wasn't paranoid after all. I noticed a marked difference because there is one.
This is not to say that there are no dangerous cities in the North or safe cities in the South. Of course, there are many of both. It has been my personal experience, though, that when presented with crime statistics, more people here prefer to deny them, and even seem insulted, as if it's a personal attack. I'm not sure why.
An otherwise intelligent, professional man from southeast Mecklenburg County said to me, "You worry too much. That stuff doesn't happen here. They stay in their own area and commit crimes against each other."
Well, who exactly are "they" and where is this "area?" Just last week in Ballantyne, a fairly affluent section of Charlotte just six miles north of Fort Mill, had a series of home invasions and burglaries. That's a little too close for my comfort.
I've been accused of everything from exaggerating the severity of this subject to focusing too much on the negative. I'm sorry, but when the evening news starts out by reporting four shootings, two armed robberies, a carjacking and a hit-and-run in the same city on the same day, and the anchor woman smiles through it all then exchanges comedic banter with the weatherman about the high school football scores, there is a reality problem.
A lady I work with advised me to adopt her way of dealing.
"Don't watch the news or read the papers. It's just too depressing to know about this stuff." She said.
Great for her, but as a sober, thinking adult, I find it unsatisfying to live in the 100-acre wood.
My subdivision has just started a neighborhood watch program because gang graffiti was discovered on our sidewalks last week. I'm so glad they want to be proactive. From what I can tell, the police are doing an excellent job, but with the growing population and insane availability of guns, it must be like running uphill in the mud for them. They need our help and that doesn't mean pretending everything is fine.
The first step in correcting a problem is admitting it exists.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
When It Does Snow, Slow Down!
Appeared in the Fort Mill Times, "Transplant Times" column on December 26, 2007.
Living here in South Carolina where temperatures climb well into the 70’s, and sometimes even the 80’s, in mid-December, it’s very easy for me to forget, or ignore, the way the mid-west and northeastern states have been pummeled lately by ice and snow. I do realize though, that our winter weather is coming eventually. It may be short-lived, but we will have our share of frozen precipitation. Based on what I witnessed last year, my first one here in the South, I am not looking forward to driving in it.
I clearly recall one January morning in early 2007 when we had some freezing rain. Road conditions were anything but ideal, so I was baffled by the high rate of speed at which most drivers chose to travel. Even more, I was bewildered by the shock and confusion they exhibited after sliding 50 feet and crashing into each other. It seemed to come as a surprise to them that a quarter inch of ice over asphalt didn’t make for good traction.
I started out for work that day cautiously creeping along at somewhere between 10 and 15 m.p.h. leaving at least a car-length of stopping distance between myself and the vehicle in front of me. That’s just common sense for winter driving, isn’t it?
When I reached Highway 521, I thought I’d happened upon the demolition derby. There was a pile up occurring right before my eyes. Three or four cars were already connected in a mass of crumbled tin, and others were barreling toward them, slamming on their brakes just before becoming part of the heap. I turned my car right around and crept back home for the day.
My son was working retail at the time and had to open his store at 10 a.m. He was also trained to drive in the north, so he left home at 9 o’clock to make the 10-mile trip safely. One of his employees, a local teenaged boy, showed up for work too. He was terribly frustrated by the drive and my son was about to commiserate on the bad road conditions when the boy clarified what bothered him exactly. He asked,
“Why do y’all northerners have to go so dang slow when there’s ice on the ground?”
My son gave him the first answer he thought of. “Because we don’t want to die.”
A co-worker of mine offered up the explanation that since we have so few days of truly bad weather here, people forget how to drive in it.
I can certainly understand that if you don’t do something very often, you probably don’t do it very well, but is operating a motor vehicle on a wet, slippery pavement something that needs to be practiced in order to know you need to slow down? Isn’t doing it wrong the first time kind of like sticking your finger in an electrical socket? Once should be enough.
(c) Crystal Stango
12/26/2007
Living here in South Carolina where temperatures climb well into the 70’s, and sometimes even the 80’s, in mid-December, it’s very easy for me to forget, or ignore, the way the mid-west and northeastern states have been pummeled lately by ice and snow. I do realize though, that our winter weather is coming eventually. It may be short-lived, but we will have our share of frozen precipitation. Based on what I witnessed last year, my first one here in the South, I am not looking forward to driving in it.
I clearly recall one January morning in early 2007 when we had some freezing rain. Road conditions were anything but ideal, so I was baffled by the high rate of speed at which most drivers chose to travel. Even more, I was bewildered by the shock and confusion they exhibited after sliding 50 feet and crashing into each other. It seemed to come as a surprise to them that a quarter inch of ice over asphalt didn’t make for good traction.
I started out for work that day cautiously creeping along at somewhere between 10 and 15 m.p.h. leaving at least a car-length of stopping distance between myself and the vehicle in front of me. That’s just common sense for winter driving, isn’t it?
When I reached Highway 521, I thought I’d happened upon the demolition derby. There was a pile up occurring right before my eyes. Three or four cars were already connected in a mass of crumbled tin, and others were barreling toward them, slamming on their brakes just before becoming part of the heap. I turned my car right around and crept back home for the day.
My son was working retail at the time and had to open his store at 10 a.m. He was also trained to drive in the north, so he left home at 9 o’clock to make the 10-mile trip safely. One of his employees, a local teenaged boy, showed up for work too. He was terribly frustrated by the drive and my son was about to commiserate on the bad road conditions when the boy clarified what bothered him exactly. He asked,
“Why do y’all northerners have to go so dang slow when there’s ice on the ground?”
My son gave him the first answer he thought of. “Because we don’t want to die.”
A co-worker of mine offered up the explanation that since we have so few days of truly bad weather here, people forget how to drive in it.
I can certainly understand that if you don’t do something very often, you probably don’t do it very well, but is operating a motor vehicle on a wet, slippery pavement something that needs to be practiced in order to know you need to slow down? Isn’t doing it wrong the first time kind of like sticking your finger in an electrical socket? Once should be enough.
(c) Crystal Stango
12/26/2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Two Tags Too Many
Appeared in The Fort Mill Times, "Transplant Times" column, on November 28, 2007
A friend of mine, who lives in Ohio, was recently ticketed by a state trooper there for not displaying a front license plate. In New Jersey too, it is against the law to operate a motor vehicle without having both a front a rear tag in place. Of course, as someone pointed out on a website where I did my research,
"Everything is illegal in New Jersey."
Actually, 35 of our 50 states currently require dual license plates and it seems North Carolina is trying to become the 36th. Personally, I haven’t found a convincing argument for having two tags. The rule seems to be motivated by money, as states using them not only earn more from car owners who must purchase them, but on fines collected for moving violations caught on traffic cameras. The accuracy of that practice is always in doubt.
The question really is whether or not the second tag is necessary for proper vehicle identification by law enforcement. Sometimes it seems as if the one tag we already have isn't being used. I'm amazed at the way abandoned cars are left on the side of the road for days, sometimes weeks here, before they are removed. Considering the safety hazard they pose, especially after dark, I wonder why they aren’t towed away sooner at the expense of the owner. (Seriously, that metal tag with letters and numbers on it actually connects the vehicle to a person who is responsible for it.) I guess that’s what I've come to expect after living in the northeast. If you leave your car on a highway or main thoroughfare there at 12 noon, you’ll probably find it at impound long before 2 p.m. That kind of diligence, or tyranny, depending upon how you look at it, requires a lot of police presence, which requires a lot of revenue. Maybe that’s what they did with the money we paid for the second license plate.
A native Carolinean I work with offered some advice after reading my last six columns. He said, "If you keep saying this stuff about the South, some good ole boy is liable to tell you to go on back where you came from."
Lest anyone think I only find negatives in my new surroundings, I'd like to say that I enjoy having the freedom to decorate the front of my car with the novelty of my choosing. I think it’s a great way for people to show their individuality. Some support for their favorite sports team or let the world know whether they are cat person or a dog lover. Others display the flag of their ancestral nation or a souvenir from their favorite vacation destination.
I'd like to have something on my front bumper that says what I spend most of my time doing, but I haven’t figured out a way to fit my computer keyboard into that black plastic frame yet. For now, I’d settle for a nice M*A*S*H tag.
© Crystal Stango, 2007
A friend of mine, who lives in Ohio, was recently ticketed by a state trooper there for not displaying a front license plate. In New Jersey too, it is against the law to operate a motor vehicle without having both a front a rear tag in place. Of course, as someone pointed out on a website where I did my research,
"Everything is illegal in New Jersey."
Actually, 35 of our 50 states currently require dual license plates and it seems North Carolina is trying to become the 36th. Personally, I haven’t found a convincing argument for having two tags. The rule seems to be motivated by money, as states using them not only earn more from car owners who must purchase them, but on fines collected for moving violations caught on traffic cameras. The accuracy of that practice is always in doubt.
The question really is whether or not the second tag is necessary for proper vehicle identification by law enforcement. Sometimes it seems as if the one tag we already have isn't being used. I'm amazed at the way abandoned cars are left on the side of the road for days, sometimes weeks here, before they are removed. Considering the safety hazard they pose, especially after dark, I wonder why they aren’t towed away sooner at the expense of the owner. (Seriously, that metal tag with letters and numbers on it actually connects the vehicle to a person who is responsible for it.) I guess that’s what I've come to expect after living in the northeast. If you leave your car on a highway or main thoroughfare there at 12 noon, you’ll probably find it at impound long before 2 p.m. That kind of diligence, or tyranny, depending upon how you look at it, requires a lot of police presence, which requires a lot of revenue. Maybe that’s what they did with the money we paid for the second license plate.
A native Carolinean I work with offered some advice after reading my last six columns. He said, "If you keep saying this stuff about the South, some good ole boy is liable to tell you to go on back where you came from."
Lest anyone think I only find negatives in my new surroundings, I'd like to say that I enjoy having the freedom to decorate the front of my car with the novelty of my choosing. I think it’s a great way for people to show their individuality. Some support for their favorite sports team or let the world know whether they are cat person or a dog lover. Others display the flag of their ancestral nation or a souvenir from their favorite vacation destination.
I'd like to have something on my front bumper that says what I spend most of my time doing, but I haven’t figured out a way to fit my computer keyboard into that black plastic frame yet. For now, I’d settle for a nice M*A*S*H tag.
© Crystal Stango, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
The Cost of Living Not So Down Home
Appeared in The Fort Mill Times, "Transplant Times" column on Wednesday, October 27, 2007.
If you were relocated South by your employer, chances are you’ve retained your Northern or West Coast rate of pay. If, however, you are like me, and had to go out and find a job here, you’ve probably experienced salary shock too.
At first I was leaving interviews shaking my head and laughing at what seemed like ridiculous offers for pay compared to what I was earning in New Jersey doing the same work. Eventually I realized that the wages being offered to me weren’t the exception, but rather the rule for this area. I started mentioning this to people and found fellow transplants eager to commiserate, while most prospective employers reasoned that the pay is lower because the cost of living is less down here. It is? Then I must be doing something wrong.
Granted, there are still some real estate bargains available, but is buying a million dollar home for $750,000 really “the cost of living”?
To me that term means how much I have to spend day-to-day to maintain an average lifestyle.
I decided to make a list of living expenses here versus there…”there” being New Jersey, a state considered pretty expensive I’d say. I pulled out old receipts and discovered that utilities like cable TV, electrical power and natural gas are priced just about the same. Telephone bills for hard wire service run about 12% higher here. (And no, not because I’m making long distance calls back home.) Basic phone fees are just priced a bit higher in the Carolinas. I’m not sure why.
I found a major difference in my municipal water and sewer bills. I’m paying almost double for that now. Auto insurance rates, as well as medical and dental bills are the same. The price of clothing is the same, only now there is sales tax applied, something not done in the Garden State. I also wasn’t used to paying tax on groceries, but that’s been added to my budget as well.
Speaking of groceries, I can’t figure out why green bell peppers were $1.69 per pound up north, yet they run about $1.69 a piece here. I find the same true for tomatoes, eggplant, berries and melons. I might not mind paying more for them if they didn’t rot faster.
A Human Resources director at a local hospital asked what I’d expect my salary to be were I hired as an administrative assistant there. I quoted the salary I was earning in NJ one year earlier doing the same type of work. I didn’t think that was out of range since both facilities charge its patients the very same rates. She nearly choked on her coffee though and said,
“Well, we don’t even pay our registered nurses that much.”
How scary is that? I know we live in a time where the CEO is earning 600 times more than a worker at the same company, but I think employers need to realize that unlike fruit and vegetables, when it comes to their work force, they’re usually going to get what they pay for.
If you were relocated South by your employer, chances are you’ve retained your Northern or West Coast rate of pay. If, however, you are like me, and had to go out and find a job here, you’ve probably experienced salary shock too.
At first I was leaving interviews shaking my head and laughing at what seemed like ridiculous offers for pay compared to what I was earning in New Jersey doing the same work. Eventually I realized that the wages being offered to me weren’t the exception, but rather the rule for this area. I started mentioning this to people and found fellow transplants eager to commiserate, while most prospective employers reasoned that the pay is lower because the cost of living is less down here. It is? Then I must be doing something wrong.
Granted, there are still some real estate bargains available, but is buying a million dollar home for $750,000 really “the cost of living”?
To me that term means how much I have to spend day-to-day to maintain an average lifestyle.
I decided to make a list of living expenses here versus there…”there” being New Jersey, a state considered pretty expensive I’d say. I pulled out old receipts and discovered that utilities like cable TV, electrical power and natural gas are priced just about the same. Telephone bills for hard wire service run about 12% higher here. (And no, not because I’m making long distance calls back home.) Basic phone fees are just priced a bit higher in the Carolinas. I’m not sure why.
I found a major difference in my municipal water and sewer bills. I’m paying almost double for that now. Auto insurance rates, as well as medical and dental bills are the same. The price of clothing is the same, only now there is sales tax applied, something not done in the Garden State. I also wasn’t used to paying tax on groceries, but that’s been added to my budget as well.
Speaking of groceries, I can’t figure out why green bell peppers were $1.69 per pound up north, yet they run about $1.69 a piece here. I find the same true for tomatoes, eggplant, berries and melons. I might not mind paying more for them if they didn’t rot faster.
A Human Resources director at a local hospital asked what I’d expect my salary to be were I hired as an administrative assistant there. I quoted the salary I was earning in NJ one year earlier doing the same type of work. I didn’t think that was out of range since both facilities charge its patients the very same rates. She nearly choked on her coffee though and said,
“Well, we don’t even pay our registered nurses that much.”
How scary is that? I know we live in a time where the CEO is earning 600 times more than a worker at the same company, but I think employers need to realize that unlike fruit and vegetables, when it comes to their work force, they’re usually going to get what they pay for.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Know What I Miss? Jug Handles.
Appeared in The Fort Mill Times, "Transplant Times" column on September 26, 2007
People who have lived here for years must be exasperated by the rising traffic. I’ve seen what seems to be a doubling of the volume in just 14 months and I find it frustrating. I live off Hwy. 521 South and head into Ballantyne every morning. That requires making a turn onto Hwy. 521 North at 7a.m. – a maneuver that would challenge even an Earnhardt. The speed at which most vehicles travel that stretch of road is well above the legal limit.
I’m not placing all the blame on drivers though. I hope the young woman who veered close enough to nearly shave the pin stripe off the side of my car the other day because she was talking on her cell phone and eating cereal out of a ceramic kitchen bowl while operating a motor vehicle (I kid you not) is not an accurate representation of the average local driver. I think at least half the problem is road design. Let’s face it, our roads weren’t designed for the current capacity. The number of cars turning left onto Hwy. 160 East from 521 has grown so much that it backs up further down Hwy. 521 every morning.
The bottle necking it creates by people merging into the right lane to get through that intersection is dangerous.
When you do get onto the two-lane Hwy. 160, the stop-and–go is maddening. Each time someone needs to make a left turn, traffic in both directions comes to a sudden halt.
The thing I can’t get used to is how it’s OK to make a left-hand or U-turn just about anywhere. Coming from the land of jug handles, I still assume the left lane is the fast lane and the passing lane. I’m never expecting somebody to just stop there.
A jug handle is a loop off the right lane that you drive around and wait for a green light before crossing the main road. Go ahead, Google “jug handle roads” see how cool they are.
A little girl visiting New Jersey from Florida once asked me,
“Why do y’all have to go right to go left?”
At the time I didn’t have a reason because jug handles were all I knew and I thought everybody had them. After a year of defensive driving here in NASCAR country though, I think my answer now might be:
“Because we like to keep the left lane open for passing and we aren’t very fond of head-on collisions.”
People who have lived here for years must be exasperated by the rising traffic. I’ve seen what seems to be a doubling of the volume in just 14 months and I find it frustrating. I live off Hwy. 521 South and head into Ballantyne every morning. That requires making a turn onto Hwy. 521 North at 7a.m. – a maneuver that would challenge even an Earnhardt. The speed at which most vehicles travel that stretch of road is well above the legal limit.
I’m not placing all the blame on drivers though. I hope the young woman who veered close enough to nearly shave the pin stripe off the side of my car the other day because she was talking on her cell phone and eating cereal out of a ceramic kitchen bowl while operating a motor vehicle (I kid you not) is not an accurate representation of the average local driver. I think at least half the problem is road design. Let’s face it, our roads weren’t designed for the current capacity. The number of cars turning left onto Hwy. 160 East from 521 has grown so much that it backs up further down Hwy. 521 every morning.
The bottle necking it creates by people merging into the right lane to get through that intersection is dangerous.
When you do get onto the two-lane Hwy. 160, the stop-and–go is maddening. Each time someone needs to make a left turn, traffic in both directions comes to a sudden halt.
The thing I can’t get used to is how it’s OK to make a left-hand or U-turn just about anywhere. Coming from the land of jug handles, I still assume the left lane is the fast lane and the passing lane. I’m never expecting somebody to just stop there.
A jug handle is a loop off the right lane that you drive around and wait for a green light before crossing the main road. Go ahead, Google “jug handle roads” see how cool they are.
A little girl visiting New Jersey from Florida once asked me,
“Why do y’all have to go right to go left?”
At the time I didn’t have a reason because jug handles were all I knew and I thought everybody had them. After a year of defensive driving here in NASCAR country though, I think my answer now might be:
“Because we like to keep the left lane open for passing and we aren’t very fond of head-on collisions.”
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