Writing dot letters for scrapbooking

Join us this June for the winner of the LGBTQIA2+ category, Orlando: A Biography by Virginia Woolf, nominated by u/_cici !
I, alongside u/mustardgoeswithitall and u/WanderingAngus206 will take you on a gender-bending travel through time, inspired by the person and family history of Virginia Woolf's Bloomsbury Set lover, the aristocratic writer and gardening doyenne, Vita Sackville West. This is Woolf's best-loved work and an interesting experiment of genres and themes, as well as riposte to those writing women out of history, like the autobiography her father was working on. This satire takes us on a whistle-stop tour of English literature and is essentially a love letter to Vita Sackville West. A brilliant novella for June-are you in?
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Schedule:
June 9: Chapters 1 & 2
June 16: Chapters 3 & 4
June 23: Chapters 5 & 6
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Be sure to save this page, since all discussions will be linked here!
Coming Soon:
Marginalia

Hey all :) I got some helpful feedback on my first draft of a query about a month ago, sent out my first batch of emails with the revised letter, and got 2 requests in the first week, which made me think I had a really good package! But since then... rejections/nothing from the other ~25 queries I've sent. I know these aren't the worst stats in the world and it's still quite early in the process, but I figured I'd check in again and see if there's anything that sticks out as glaringly fixable. Letter below:
I’m querying my debut novel, Roadkill, complete at 71k words. Roadkill is a literary mystery that merges the dark realism of thrillers like Conner Habib’s Hawk Mountain with rich character-driven narration in the vein of Ottessa Moshfegh’s Eileen.
When he left home, Jesse thought he’d finally escaped the shadow of Shawn Galvin: his childhood best friend turned adolescent tormentor, the wellspring of Jesse’s sexual dysfunction and cutting habit, the boy he still considers his first and only love. So when Shawn turns up at Jesse’s neighborhood bar for the first time in five years, strung out and full of questions about their shared past, Jesse can’t help but run away. A month later, he gets the news of Shawn’s suicide at twenty-three.
Returning to their Connecticut hometown for the funeral, Jesse hears a spurious rumor casting doubt on the circumstances of Shawn’s death, and in his guilt and confused grief decides to investigate the mystery himself. He seeks out the people closest to Shawn—including Connor, Shawn’s dealer and distractingly charming best friend—and begins to recover a fuzzy memory of sexual trauma he and Shawn may have experienced as children. Jesse is sure it’s somehow connected to the Galvin family and Shawn’s death, but he doesn’t know who’s to blame or how to find out what really happened when they were young. He just knows he can’t rest until he figures it out.
As he throws himself further into Shawn’s world of drug abuse, self-harm, and dangerous underground connections, Jesse starts to fear that he’s not really investigating Shawn’s past but his own—a past that might be much darker than he’s ever let himself remember.
I studied English Lit & Writing at [undergrad], and I currently work as a copy editor. The first chapter of Roadkill received a notable mention in [contest].
Other minor notes; I'm not deeply attached to the title or anything, so if that comes across a bit...idk grimdark or something? I'm open to feedback on it. Also I'm not sure if branding it as "literary mystery" is the right way to go exactly, if I had to pick one genre I'd put it under litfic but I know it's not always the easiest sell. I deleted my first crit post for neurotic reasons but I can post the old draft in comments if anyone cares.

I am a 39 year old man. I like to "work from home" on the campus of a prestigious university in my city.
Why? The wifi is good, I want to get out of my house, and I don't want to feel pressured to buy things at a cafe. People accuse me of wanting to ogle and pickup college girls. Yes, some of them are quite pretty. I am 39, but look MUCH younger and am considered to be very handsome. I think that they ogle me much more than I ogle them. I very often see them checking me out and hear them say, "He's hot!"
I didn't talk to anyone. I eventually became assigned the trivia host of the on-campus bar, which does give me a better reason to be there.
There is one girl who looks like a senior. I have also seen her at a concert, and she clearly recognized me. One night she came to trivia and gave me the most exaggerated look of girlish yearning. I should have winked or waved at her, but I just didn't. Later, at an on campus festival, I saw her from afar and she was frowning at me, perhaps thinking that I couldn't possibly be attracted to her.
Months pass, and I would sometimes see her on campus. Then I finally got the nerve to approach her and chat her up. She is a senior, and I got her first name. It seemed really awkward so I didn't ask for her number, which I regretted as what was the point of speaking to her?
With her first name and some other details, I was able to figure out her full name. I mailed her a letter to the university in general and explained how I got her full name. The letter was short and funny.
I later got a phone call. One ring, then they hung up. I googled the number and it was from her on-campus job. I don't know why she called or why she hung up. I decided to write her a second letter. This one was actually much funnier and more cute.
Nothing happened, and I think it is over. I think it was good of me to approach her. We both needed vindication. Me from thinking that I am too scared to talk to women, and she might have felt good that I was in fact attracted to her.
But is this creeping people out? Keep in mind, there is a 0% chance that she was NOT attracted to me. It is very possible that she thought I was a late 20s grad student which is fine, and not a late 30s almost-rando which she might not like. But why did she call and hang up?

Hi! Just wanted to ask for anyone's experiences in any of these schools in their Language Institute? I want to make a comparison based on people's experiences regarding the learning environment + methods of learning + the school's learning priority (speaking/reading/writing).
So far, here's the feedback I got:

• My friend is pushing for Sogang since they prioritize speaking, which they said was the priority if I want to start working in Korea / Korea-affiliated company.
• My teacher in my current basic Korean classes also studied at Sogang, adding more street cred to the school.
• A relative is making me consider SNU because it has less financially crucial requirements (Guarantee Letter, to be specific) + slightly cheaper tuition fees.
  I'm planning to enroll in the Fall semester this year, and I've broken my choices down into SNU or Sogang.
  

Breakups are difficult no matter if you're a dumper or a dumpee. However, breakups look a lot differently over 30. This sub gives you an opportunity for those dealing with a breakup vent, write letters, ask for help, and support one another. Please be kind. Help each other get through this together.

I still remember the first time I ever saw a computer. I was invited to a friends house. I had never seen an elevator that automatically opened. I walked into the apartment, mesmerized by the marble flooring, the pearl white paint, and the pristine furniture that seemed untouched by time. We went to his room, where I saw a device that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. It was a computer. He started to play a game on it, and it blew me away. Growing up in the slums of Beirut, I had never seen such technology. I never knew the world beyond a few blocks. But something about that day made me realize there was so much more to discover. My thirst for knowledge and exploration has never stopped since.
When I remember that day and think about how yesterday I witnessed history in the making—an AI that can see us, hear us, and interact with us—I am struck by the incredible journey we've been on. In just 2 years, we've come so far, and the possibilities ahead are even more thrilling. We are witnessing only the tip of the iceberg, and I am both excited and eager to see what comes next.
Sam, you are in a position that few can truly comprehend. We can all speculate about how challenging it must be to manage one of the world's most powerful technologies, but no one really understands what you're going through. Know that we sympathize with you.
Throughout history, humans have been divided by many things, religion, race, ideologies, but one desire unites us all: the desire to find our peace in this life. The technology in your hands has the potential to take humans to new heights. As I sit here , writing this letter, I plead with you to ensure that this technology never falls into the wrong hands. Those who seek only money, power, and control. It should only be used to further humanity, enhance quality of life, advance healthcare, protect the environment, and discover the wonders this world has to offer.
I know how easy it is to get lost, but I believe you will always make the right decisions. With great powers come great responsibilities. Sam, I leave you with these final words: “We will die, and work will never finish.” As much as we yearn to see the future, your mental health must always come first. Don’t push yourself too hard. Thank you for everything you have done and will continue to do for us.
Sincerely, A.H.

Me [21 F] and my boyfriend [21 M] have known each other since high school. We just recently had a baby together and things have been pretty good considering that having a baby is extremely difficult for first time parents. Figuring out the dynamics and adjusting to a new human is unsurprisingly draining, but I do love it because I love my son. However, some issues that have been going on with my partner have been bothering me especially lately because I don’t think I addressed them while I was pregnant to not put stress on the baby while he was in my stomach, if that makes sense. I used to let tons of things slide. When I first found out I was pregnant it was around May. I had severe morning sickness and couldn’t work so he went to work at his regular job and another job to keep up with the rent and the car. It was a struggle with my mental health because I was always throwing up and angry because I was tired of it and couldn’t get relief. While you think he’d have patience for me because I was so sick, he absolutely did not. It was a situation where I was constantly trying to explain to him what I was going through and he just nodded said a few things that I might want to hear and kept going on with his day. He was annoyed I was in bed all day, annoyed I wouldn’t eat anything and went to the extent of telling me I was dramatic. I was too drained to argue so I let it slide. My birthday is in July and his in June so while I was almost at the peak of my sickness period we celebrated his birthday by going out with his siblings. Then, on my birthday he worked because he didn’t tell his jobs ahead of time that he couldn’t work so we did nothing for my birthday. I was alone in the dark room throwing up my guts for 12 hours while he was at work. I understood, I let him know about it being hurtful but I did kind of understand. It bothers me today but what can I do now that it’s over? Just remember it. Fast forward to me giving birth. We have two dogs at home who are crate trained so whenever we leave they sleep in the crate. We live an hour and a half away from the hospital I was giving birth at so while I was actively having contractions after being induced, he starts telling me about five hrs after having gotten back from the apartment to walk the dogs that he’s going to go again. However at this specific time he was saying that I was in a tremendous amount of pain, even with the epidural. I wasn’t hysterical but I was telling him to not leave me because what if I had the baby while he was gone. Then, he got mad at me and said I was being inconsiderate about the dogs because they needed to go to the bathroom but with perfect timing, the doctors came in and told me it was time to start pushing. I was upset he was just on his phone worried about the dogs while I was literally giving birth to our son and in pain, but all I could do is let him know it was pretty upsetting and let it go. Now, four months later I’m bothered because I was Mother’s Day, my first ever Mother’s Day and he didn’t give me a card, write me a letter, or even just sit with me and do an activity even though I reminded him about a week ahead of time. It’s just so much things that he does that make me feel he is insensitive and not really interested in making things special or taking the time to be comforting to me. His response is always “well I was going to do something but I didn’t have time” or “I’m sorry I forgot it’s because I really can’t take the day off for your birthday” or “well the dogs had to go to the bathroom what do you want me to do”. I love my dogs but because my family chose not to come and help me through the birth I couldn’t take the chance of giving birth alone in case something happened to me or my newborn. What should I do? I’ve had through discussions about this bothering me and I get the same lame excuse and even an attitude when I mention these things. It’s notable to say that I know he does love me. He does do things for me like cook and clean and obviously go to work but even after emphasizing that I do want special things he doesn’t do them.

The bright yellow terror

‘’Every now and then I would stare at the murky brown water below and see several small glimpses of bright yellow popping up from and then retreating down below the surface in rhythmic fashion. Like a dance routine. Bright deadly yellow. The rotting sweet stench of death still lodged in my nostrils.’’
I had happened upon these diary pages by mistake when I was digging through old boxes in my basement. My wife had insisted, finally, that I sort out and get rid of everything I didn’t need. Now here I was, confronted with a part of my past I had tried to suppress unsuccessfully for so many years. 24 years to be exact. 24 odd years of trying to understand what exactly happened in those days when I was trapped on a rooftop in Phuket during a deadly and disastrous natural catastrophe.
24 odd years of having to dodge around questions of my abject and unwavering fear of the ocean. Well, in truth, I guess being caught in a large tsunami and witnessing immense destructive forces of nature coming directly from the great wide ocean would be a fair excuse, but it was only half the truth. It wasn’t just the waves themselves that had terrified me.
Until now, I thought the water damaged remains of the diary I kept back then was lost. I even hoped it was. I never shared this story with anyone. Partly because the horror was too fresh in my memory back then and I wanted to focus on moving on with my life and by the time I felt my mind was stabilized I had no real interest in returning to that dark part of my past. Partly because the right words always escaped me.
Mostly because I was afraid people would think I was insane. I can no longer contain this, however. I need an outlet. I spend years running from it. But I guess I can’t lie to myself anymore. Someone once told me that writing can be therapeutic. Simply putting your thoughts down on paper, or in our times, more likely in word document, can help you compartmentalize trauma. So, I’m giving it a try. I can’t pretend the events of those days in Phuket didn’t cast a shadow over everything in my life that came after.
I often think of the beach days I missed with my son when he was a boy. Days where I should’ve done dad stuff. Thrown him into the ocean. Watched him laugh his little face of as he braved the waves. Helped him build sandcastles. Gone exploring along the sandy shores in search of beached treasure in the form little rocks and the odd piece of amber. I just couldn’t. Initially I had objected to the idea of him going at all. Naturally, my wife would hear none of that and I realized reluctantly, that my fear and trauma should not rule my son’s life. Instead, my wife would go, and I would always stay home. She understood, to some degree, what I had gone through and where my fear came from.
Only to some degree. My son did not, and I fear he resented my absence on those perfect sunny days, despite my efforts to make up for it with other activities. Both he and my wife certainly noticed how closed off I was about certain parts of my past. Secrets untold, especially those who are grounded in trauma, almost inevitably turns to toxic in our systems. I’m finally ready. I just hope it isn’t too late.
I won’t lie. I’ve always had a vivid imagination although I have never had trouble distinguishing between what is real and what is not. At least until my sense of reality was forever challenged. I know these things happened to me. I know what I saw and what I experienced was real. I just don’t have a truly rational explanation for it. Yet, I swear, there was something in the water that came with that tsunami. Something deeply, deeply unnatural. Something brightly and oddly yellow. I had no other word for it than the bright yellow terror.
I had travelled to Thailand, more precisely Bangkok late December 2000. 19 years old about to turn 20. I was on one of those infamous and increasingly popular self-discovery trips. I had caught the fever. Like so many other young hopeful adventurers at the time I had seen The Beach. I had read into the wild by Jon Krakauer.
I watched Dicaprio walk the sandy shores of paradise and read on in excitement and awe as Christopher McCandles set out to become one with nature and discover himself. Kill the false being within and all that. In simple terms, I thought I’d try and find my own slice of heaven on earth. Expand my horizon. Get to know some new people. Learn something about myself in the process perhaps. I wasn’t exactly fleeing from anything, that wasn’t it. I had a loving although cuddling and overprotective family. Especially my mom would worry about me constantly (and still does).
Yes, I admit it. My parents had paved the way for me at almost every step. Made sure I got into the right schools. Made sure I never needed for money. I guess I got tired of feeling dependent on them. I stopped taking their money and saved up for the trip myself. It was time I stepped up. It was time I threw myself into the world to see what would happen. Hell of a time and place I picked for that.
The following story is based on the surviving pages of the diary I kept during the time and my own memory.
Bangkok 23rd December 2000. 4 days before the tsunami.
‘’My first day in Bangkok. Quite overwhelming but in a nice way. No one here to save me. No one here to tell me what to do. Thailand is hot and humid and there’s something in the air. I think it’s adventure. I think it’s limitless opportunity. I met a monkey in a diaper and got thoroughly beaten and lost 100 bath in a game of connect four by some 10-year-old kid. Got scammed as well though, I will have to wise up and learn the ropes. Avoid the yellow taxis. Go for the Tuk Tuks. Well, lesson learned. I met a guy who told me all kinds of terrifying things about Australia. Robert. I’m meeting him in Phuket a couple of days from now.’’
You could probably imagine the excitement bubbling within me. For the first time on my own. 19 years old. Prime of my life. In a strangely new and exotic city. Possibilities seemed endless. I still remember vividly driving off with the wind in my hair in a tuk-tuk as Bangkok unfolded before me with all its oriental mysticism and surrounding cityscapes. To be fair, I had never even seen an honest to god palm tree before as they simply couldn’t grow in the northern climate I was from.
I got myself stationed in a decent guesthouse around Khaosan Road. Everywhere I looked it seems others had gotten the same idea as me. Backpackers littered the streets and in a strange way, I felt at home amidst this quiet chaos, amidst the crowds of hopefully likeminded explorers, far, far away from home. The humidity was hitting me though, it was something I would have to get used to. It felt like a wet hot invisible blanket. Khaosan Road was perfect for me. A meeting place for young backpackers, with tons of opportunities to plan further travels. I did after all, not plan on staying in Bangkok for too long. It was just a stepping point to other adventures.
It was still early, and the humidity was clammy as hell. I was in the mood to socialize and with no real plans I simply ventured out into the streets of Bangkok, circling around the area where my guesthouse was located. It wasn’t long before the first opportunity presented itself in the form of a taxi driver calling me over. He offered to take me on a tour of the city. Foolish and naïve as I was, I indulged him. I remember how the cab driver lit up a doobie, joint, spliff, devil’s lettuce whatever you want to call it.
You know it as soon as you breathe in the air. Don’t get me wrong, I smoked myself, but letting a clearly high person drive me around the busy Bangkok traffic did not seem like a good idea. I should probably have asked to be let out that very moment, but as the kind of timid, shy type of person I was plus the desire to just go along with whatever happened come what may made me stay. Unsurprisingly I was eventually led to a store, fitted for a suit a didn’t want, and then subsequently charged an obscene amount for the cab ride. I didn’t have the courage to refuse his unreasonable demand. Noteworthy mention. That same night I heard from a fellow traveler that just recently someone had been stabbed in an argument with a cab driver. I didn’t let it get me down or drive me off course, because as you’ve probably gathered by now, I didn’t have a course.
As day turned to night and when the sun’s rays slowly disappeared behind the rooftops of Bangkok, the city itself began to transform. As if a part of it which had laid dormant, hidden away from the light, started to emerge.
Neon lights advertising different bars, people making all kinds of promises of untold pleasures and sensations. Tourists ready to party. All now filled the streets. Some seemed all too aware of what they were looking for, others simply drifted around aimlessly, in search of something unknown, something to spice up their existence. I found a small seemingly cool place called The Hangover. I swear to god, I wish to this day I hadn’t. Maybe then I wouldn’t have set my course for Phuket. In any case, I went in and pushed myself through the crowds of rowdy and loud tourists and up the bar where I ordered a Pina Colada. Please don’t judge me. I just really like coconuts and the song is pretty good as well. Standing at the crowded bar and looking around, hoping something interesting would catch my eye. But most of all, I was hoping someone would just take the first step and come talk to me.
Someone did. His name was Robert, and he was from Australia. A tall skinny and no-nonsense older guy who seemed quite experienced with all things Thailand. He eventually invited me down to his group of friends at the far back end of the bar. Robert spared no time telling me about himself. He had worked all kinds of jobs, in all kinds of places. Most recently he had worked as a guide in Phuket. Among other things he had arranged rock climbing expeditions. I probably forgot to mention, I was big into rock climbing and generally all kinds of outdoor activities back then.
I already had quite the climbing experience despite my young age. As Robert talked about all the places he’d been, he made me feel like the novice I was. That was never his intention though, as I quickly learned. He wasn’t a bragger. He just knew what he was talking about and when he laughed, he did it with his entire face and in a way that made you laugh with him and feel comfortable.
Eventually the conversation naturally gravitated towards Australia. A place I had always wanted to visit. He looked at me for a second, as if to contemplate something. Then told me to watch out for locals trying to play pranks on me. I was naturally interested in hearing more and that’s when he told me about drop bears. Supposedly drop bears are carnivorous versions of Koalas residing in trees to then drop down on unsuspecting victims and viciously attack them. We laughed quite a lot, and I admitted I would probably have believed the stories as I was a fairly naive person and the idea of hostile subspecies of koalas didn’t seem that farfetched to me. It would be typical of past me to get punked around like that. Our conversation then shifted towards Australian wildlife and fauna and the horrors residing within its diverse and complicated eco system. He told me about a plant not uncommonly referred to as the suicide plant. Dendrocnide moroides or more commonly known as stinging tree, stinging bush or gympie gympie apparently has such a nasty and painful sting it made a man commit suicide simply to escape the pain. Another dangerous inhabitant was the box jellyfish he explained.
Their sting was about as deadly as it gets. A single sting to a human will cause necrosis of the skin, excruciating pain and, if the dose of venom is large enough, cardiac arrest and death within minutes. I have always found jellyfish equal parts fascinating and equal parts frightening. Beautiful but deadly creatures. In fact, the ocean, in all its grand wide-reaching glory had always horrified me to some extent. So much unexplored space. Who truly knows what could be lurking down there? Robert quickly assured me, that as long as you take your precaution the likelihood of getting stung by a box jellyfish was rather small. They had signs up warning people against them. Generally, do not ignore these signs. They are there for a good reason.
It was getting late and before we said our goodbyes Robert suggested I meet him in Phuket, more precisely in the Khao Lak area on the 28^th as that was the first day he would be able to. I thought why not? He seemed genuinely nice and knowledgeable. Just good company all around and he promised to show me the greatest climbing spots a bit away from the crowded tours. It was a start.
I would never meet Robert again. I don’t know what happened to him. Thinking back on those days leading up to the point the waves came crashing down always gives me an uneasy, sad, and melancholic feeling. The people I met in Bangkok talking about going south. Those I met in Phuket before it happened. I have no idea if they ended up as corpses floating through the murky brown waters or god forbid, victims of that unholy terror from the deep. I hope Robert wasn’t among those unfortunate souls who died or went… ‘’Missing’’. Although if I must pick one or the other. I would hope he died quickly.
Bangkok 24^th of December 2000. 3 days before the tsunami.
I woke up with a slight hangover. Christmas is commonly celebrated on this date in my country, so I was expecting some calls to go through on my brick sized Nokia at some point once all the good folks back home woke up. They were about 5 hours behind me and at 9 AM Bangkok time they would still be sleeping. I used the time to do some shopping before my trip to Phuket. I got plenty of rope, a couple of snap hooks and a harness. I knew they’d have all of this on the guided tours, but I liked to find my own spots to climb, and I had good sense and knowledge enough to not attempt anything too daring. By the way. For those uninitiated, snap hooks are used to make a quick, reversible connection on a system of ropes, or to connect a rope or cord to another component, like a lanyard medallion or barrier post. Essential if you want to go climbing. If you’ve ever gone ziplining it’s the thing that connects you safely to the zipline and lets you slight across.
After having done my shopping, I bought a bus ticket to Phuket intending on leaving that same night and went back to my hotel room. As exciting as Bangkok was, I felt it was more for people intend on partying and in all honesty, a bit too crowded for me. I was excited to move on and I could always come back if I wanted to. On my way into the reception area, I was stopped by a young hip looking dude looking for a cigarette. Now I don’t necessarily consider myself a perfect judge of character, but he had an easy-going way about him that immediately drew me in. Sometimes, you can just tell.
He had sort of a rugged look about him. Dirty blond half-long hair. His face I would best describe as boyish but something in his eyes betrayed him and revealed his age to be older than you would assume. His style was… Boheme I guess I would describe it as. Like something taken out of the 70s LA scene. I’m not a smoker. Never was. So, I couldn’t help him on that front. It didn’t matter he would find someone else he said. For a while we just casually talked. Apparently, he had come to Bangkok just a few days prior and seemed about as lost and without direction as I had been before deciding on taking my chances in Phuket. Alex was his name, and he would later save my life and help me understand what it means to forge a quick and unbreakable connection through shared trauma, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
He asked me if I wanted to go somewhere and get a beer. I thought why not? He was about my age and on his own as well. I told him I had to go make some calls and I’d be out in about an hour. Back the hotel room I quickly gathered all my stuff and packed it up, so it was ready to go. My climbing gear took up the most space. I figured if things went well with Alex, I might be able to persuade him in joining me at some point in Phuket. Even though I had set out for this trip to be about discovering myself and being on my own, I longed for some kind of company. Don’t we all? I called my parents up and we wished each other a happy Christmas. It was odd to think they were somewhere nearly half-way across the world celebrating Christmas while snow draped the landscapes there. Here I was, In hot and humid paradise. No, I did not miss the cold or the snow, but I did miss not being there to celebrate the holidays with my family. But it had been my choice to go during the holiday season and I did not regret it. I had saved up enough money and there was no point in waiting anymore. There would be many other holidays to celebrate in the future.
My 5-year-old nephew somehow got a hold of the phone. Not quite the conversationalist yet, it still felt good to hear his voice. Hearing his excitement over the prospect of celebrating Christmas brought me back to my own childhood. Decorating the Christmas tree, watching holiday cartoons and of course, opening presents. I finished my calls and went out to see if Alex was ready. He was already waiting for me and had apparently managed to score some cigarettes in the meantime. He had changed his outfit as well. Now wearing a faded black doors t-shirt. We talked a bit about Jim Morrison and the doors as we headed off down streets. We passed a myriad of small stands selling everything from electronics to colorful t-shirts and small bracelets with campy misspelled English catchphrases. We dodged the many intrusive offers and eventually found a small comfy looking bar with seats outside shaded by palm trees. We ordered a couple of beers and the conversation started flowing along quite nicely. Alex was 25 and from London It turned out. We also had a common interest in music. For a while he had busked as a street musician while working odd jobs here and there and had eventually decided to travel the world.
His first stop had been India where for a while he had lived on the rooftop of some abandoned building while attempting to learn the art of playing the sitar. I thought about that for a second. Living it rough on some rooftop in India. I don’t know why that idea intrigued me so much. Seemed like freedom to me, I guess. Sleeping under the wide-open skies. Looking down on the streets and watching people go about their lives. I guess I just liked the idea of doing something that seemed different from what I had ever done before. Living on a rooftop, if even just for a while, was definitely not something I had done before. There was the view as well, Alex reminded me. And it was free of course. We drifted off into long conversations about music I won’t bore you too much with, only to let you know we shared a passion for old school music like the doors and Jimi Hendrix as well as 90s shoegaze music like My Bloody Valentine, Ride and Slowdive. I had Slowdive’s Shine playing in my mind that day. All felt so dreamy at the time.
I eventually told Alex of my plans to go to Phuket and he was onboard almost immediately. I loved how easy it was here on the road. There was no ‘’well maybe’’, or ‘’let’s think about it.’’ In fact, Alex had been to Phuket before and knew of a place we could stay for free. Another rooftop of course, but he had already sold me on the idea. From there, we could plan our next step he said. ‘’our next step’’ I don’t remember vibing with someone that quickly before or since, but then I guess making friends is always easier when you’re young and easy going. I always seemed to attract good company without much effort back then. I chalk it down to my friendly and slightly shy demeanor. Seems it only becomes harder to make friends as the years pass though. At least for me it did.
We got a bus ticket for Alex and shopped a bit more. I got some first aid supplies. Bandages, plasters, that kind of stuff. Rock climbing is safe, mind you, but you can end up scraping yourself and I felt in general, being prepared for whatever might be a good idea if I was to live it rough on some rooftop. The bus-ride to Phuket took about 12 hours give or take. By going at night, we could sleep most of the way and be in Phuket early morning on the 25^th. The trip down was uneventful. We would take turns listening to music on Alex’s Walkman or talk about things we saw along the way. Like roadside bars and restaurants who were little more than a tin roof covering a few plastic chairs and brightly colored menu cards. Everything seemed simpler here, in the best ways possible.
No big flash, no fanfares or luxury. Nothing pretentious. Just a calm, laid back atmosphere and friendly smiles from the locals as we passed by. Alex told me he wanted to start a band blending elements of Shoegaze with classic rock and insisted I learn to play the drums as he had tried but found no luck. String instruments were more him he told me. I told him jokingly if he could come up with a good name, I might be down. He just nodded and looked out the window and started talking about how beef was a rare and more expensive ingredient in Thai cuisine, and I wondered about the sudden random change of subject. Although we had talked a lot during the short time we had known each other, Alex was still a mystery to me in many ways. Judging from all the things he told me he seemed like a person who dreamed big, but never really followed through
An unfinished education. Scribbles on pieces of paper that ended up gathering dust in his drawer instead of turning into a book. A band that never really took off because he lost interest or didn’t deem that it was good enough to get successful. He talked at length about leaving a legacy. It seemed to be something that concerned him. I guess he wanted to put his mark on the world. To be remembered. To live on in some small way. I had never really thought about it myself although I did have a fascination with historical people and the lives they lived. In fact, when I do read I mostly read biographies. I just never had any ambition like that myself. I don’t need the world to know my name, or sing my praises, or remember me. Good friends, family and a sense of freedom and adventure was enough. I had tried to ask Alex about his family and friends back home, but he seemed avoidant and always found a way to change the subject without really providing any meaningful information. At certain points, I sensed a carefully hidden sadness behind his otherwise optimistically youthful and bright blue gaze.
Phuket 25^th of December 2000. 2 days before the tsunami.
Alex woke me up. It was 9 AM and we had arrived at the Phuket bus terminal 1 near Phang Nga Road. We were here. Alex explained to me that the there were several derelict and abandoned buildings perfect for establishing a free of charge rooftop domicile in an area not too far from the resorts of Khao Lak. Phuket back then wasn’t exactly the overcrowded tourist spot it is today, but it was well on the way. I understood why. The scenery was beautiful. Long sandy beaches with small island dots in the horizon, begging to be explored. Giant limestone cliffs covered in green shrubs. It did seem like paradise to me, without being too far away from civilization. I guess despite my adventurous nature, I wasn’t quite ready at that point, to walk into the wild, which is why Khao Lak seemed perfect as a start for me.
We found the area Alex had talked about. Several derelict buildings were concentrated in a small area divided by a main street that if followed long enough, led to an area with shops and places to dine. We set our eyes on what looked like an abandoned apartment complex. It was derelict, rugged looking and it seemed clear at first that no one lived there. Its ghostly façade begged us inside to explore and we accepted the invitation. As we made our way in, through a busted window in the back, we quickly became aware that the place might not be as abandoned as we had initially thought. Several signs of squatters such as cooking utensils and sleeping mats lay scattered here and there. Alex quickly rationalized that it could just be other backpackers, or it could be the people had moved on. I shrugged and we decided to make our way to the roof. We made our way to the top floor and accessed a broken-down door that led directly out onto the roof. I must admit, besides excitement, I was somewhat hesitant. Any doubt I had disappeared when we first stepped onto the rooftop terrace. It was perfect. It seemed it had functioned as a balcony or space of sorts the inhabitants could make use of for gatherings.
The entire space was surrounded by a fence. Several palm trees shaded the northwest corner which was perfect for when things got too hot. In the middle a small shed or janitorial sort of building stood. We found some cleaning materials, brooms, some parasols in there as well as an old rusty grill. The view was great. We could see the large beachfront in the far distance surrounded by limestones. After inspecting the area and finding it to our liking we sat down, and Alex broke out a bottle of whiskey. Unaware of the horror that would later unfold here, we celebrated in the shade of the palm trees. We had found our place for a while. Our place.
After a while we decided to put some money in the local economy and shop for supplies.
Essentials: Water. Cigarettes. Booze. The devil’s lettuce. Cooking utensils. Although none of us was admittedly any much of a cook. But what the hell. Can’t be seen dining out every night when we were trying to live off the fat of the land so to speak. I know, ridiculous. We were squatters. Nothing more. But heck, we would move on if we became a problem for any one here. We weren’t trying to be a bother.
Optional but greatly wanted: A blow-up animal mascot. Maybe a dolphin if possible. Some new music for Alex’s walk-man. A guitar. Decorating artifacts of any kind to make our domicile more personal.
We more or less got everything we needed and started setting up base. Getting our hands on something funny to smoke proved the biggest challenge but Alex finally succeeded at a beachfront bar. Some friendly Norwegian dude who had connections apparently. He warned us against being too open about doing drugs, even if was ‘’just’’ marijuana. Thailand had a strict approach to drugs. We thanked him and he told us to just come back here at the bar if we needed more, he was usually around.
Afternoon was rolling around and there we were. Sitting atop Phuket. On our very own rooftop presidential suite. We decorated the place with a few things we found. Among them ‘’Arthur’’ our blow-up shark (they had no dolphins). Alex had come up with the name, I asked him why ‘’Arthur’’ but in what I had quickly come to know as typical Alex fashion he just shrugged it off. We just smoked a bit and drank some booze as the evening progressed and I told Alex about Robert and Australia and all the nasty things that could kill you there. I’m not sure why, but it had made an impression on me. Insects, rare poisonous creatures, stuff like that was nightmare fuel for me. Don’t even get me started on spiders. Alex was a bit more laid back on that front. He seemed most amused and interested in the suicide plant and wondered if some poor soul had ever mistakenly used it as toilet paper and we had a good hard chuckle over that idea. Poor soul indeed.
As night rolled on stars started popping up on a clear night the sky and I learned that Alex had a fascination with the universe. Particularly the idea of multiverses and infinite universes. What if somewhere out there we were looking back at ourselves. Slightly different but still us. Sometimes it seemed to me he longed to be anywhere else but where he was. Maybe trapped in the past he was so reluctant to share with me. Then we started talking about time. I don’t exactly remember why. I think he brought it up.
Anyway, Alex had a lot to say about time. Like how he believed our perception of time is tied to our experiences. For example, someone who spends their life not stepping up, not really taking risks or chances, just following along the stream, just following the routine, in essence, just killing time, might experience time as having moved fast when they look back, because there are simply less variety, less volume, less memories to look back on. We don’t remember routines, we remember breaking them, we remember doing new things, meeting new people, being in new places. It creates the illusion that gives time volume, that makes it seem fuller, longer. I liked that idea a lot. It made sense to me. Make sure you live life to the fullest and waste as little time as possible.
I told him about my 10^th grade math teacher and how he said something about time I will never forget. Our perception of time can be measured mathematically. For example, to a 4-year-old turning 5 the transition of a year will seem much longer than it will to a 24-year-old turning 25. Because 1 in 5 is a larger fraction than 1 in 25. It blew my mind. The longer you live, the faster time seem to pass. But I agreed with him, maybe the quality and variety of the life you live and the memories you make has an affect too. Alex made a ‘’boom’’ motion with his hands around his head and laughed. We were quite stoned at that point and well, some of you might know how being stoned sometimes throws you into these philosophical conversations. It was nice. I enjoyed the ease with which I could talk to Alex about all kinds of things.
At one point I asked him a hypothetical. If he could go back in time and change just one thing, what would he do. He fell silent. I once again sensed the sadness creeping behind his eyes. It was if he was about to answer, like he was sizing me up but then shot the idea down. Time travel is impossible, so why bother was his only response and I accepted that whatever troubled him in the past, was not for me to know even if my interest only grew stronger and stronger.
I told him about my family. My overprotective mother. My father and his desperate attempts to get me interested in cars. About my older sister and my nephew. Alex nodded and asked the usual polite questions. When the subject came to my little brother his interest seemed to spark significantly. How old was he? Was I good older brother? Did I look out for him? I didn’t think much about it at the time other than finding it curious how interested he seemed to be. When we finally settled in the for night, under the starry sky, I slipped into a nightmare. It was the same I had had years earlier when I was 16. Back then I was having a hard time adjusting to the new school I had started at and maybe because of that stress I was having nightmares coupled with sleep paralysis.
I would lie in my bed, paralyzed. On my side, facing the door to my room. I often had the light on outside of the room and it would shine in through the open door. This one time , I saw dark figure approaching. Optimistically I assumed it was my mom, coming to wake me up. Although as the dark figure approached, I quickly realized this wasn’t so. No words were uttered. The eerie figure just slowly came closer, until it was right by my bed side. It sat down and I realized it was an old woman or man. It was hard to tell, because its face was literally just a mish mash of wrinkled flesh. No eyes and no mouth either. But it mumbled through its mouthless face. Speaking in tongues.
I spent some considerable time afterwards wondering what it could have been trying to communicate to me. I know of course, this was all just my mind playing tricks on me. Yet, that experience was, I suppose, my first nudge towards believing there’s more between heaven and earth than we might know. It seemed aggressive in any case. My insides were screaming as I desperately tried to wiggle myself awake as I had sometimes successfully done during paralysis. I eventually woke up. Drenched in sweat. Back then though, I had actually been in my room, and in the dream the room had stood clearly for me as it actually looked in reality which only made it seem more real. This time, I woke up next to Alex, still drenched in sweat. Alex had woken up. I had screamed in my sleep apparently. He comforted me in an almost brotherly show of affection. It took me by surprise a bit. I appreciated it, though it only made me wonder about him even more. I would have to solve the mystery behind Alex I decided. I would have to truly gain his trust. Figure him out. And I did.
Phuket 26^th of December 2000. 1 day before the tsunami.
‘’Alex played the guitar a bit and I drummed up some beats. It needed some work, but not half bad. We came up with a name for our band to be as well. Subway sleepers. Based on Alex’s time sleeping in the subway of London. It was another hot perfect day on the rooftop. We talked about going climbing the next day and I can’t wait to show Alex the joys of rock climbing. Everything is peaceful here. No stress. Just living life. Smoking it up. Meeting new people. We talked some more with that Norwegian weed dude and invited him and a couple of his friends up to ‘’our’’ place for a party. Another near perfect day.’’
Looking at these diary scribbles is making me feel it all over again. The serenity of those calm worriless summer days (well it was winter back home but it felt like summer here. Strange that) leading up to disaster. Always calmest before the storm they say. This was our last day before everything changed. Before I got a lesson in humanity. In stress under crisis. Before everything I thought I knew changed forever in the meeting with something that surely shouldn’t exist in this world.

I'm a student graduating from a CSU looking to apply to econ & econ adjacent (accounting/finance) PhD programs. I'm not sure where to aim since I have a weird profile. I'd appreciate anyone's input. I like tax research and asset pricing so I think I'm going to focus on accounting Ph.D.'s since I think my calc grades will be less of an issue and because I have a job lined up at a public accounting firm in the fall.
I plan on working for 1-3 years before applying. I'd really just like an idea of what I can do to improve my profile and where I should be aiming right now. Goal-wise if I went accounting I'd be shooting for an R1 placement and if I went econ I think I'd be shooting for a job as a CSU prof.
I am also looking at econ masters programs. I can attend USC's applied masters program at a deep discount (taxable tuition waiver) because one of my parents is an adjunct there. That seems like it would solve a lot of my problems since it would establish some distance between me and my undergrad grades and they have a masters thesis option which could give me a letter of rec from someone well known. Placing into USC's accounting PhD would be ideal, there are a lot of people there I'd like to work with. My main concern is that it is not intended for PhD prep, so I'm not sure how much I would actually get out of it.
My Profile:
Overall GPA: 3.1
GPA in the last 2 years: 3.65
Econ GPA: 3.9
Math GPA: 3.13
Note: My university does not award A+ grades, an A is a 4.0.
Math Classes in Chronological Order:

• Business Calc: A
• Stats 101: C
• Calc 1: B (Retaken after a D)
• Calc 2: C
• Calc 3: B
• Probability Theory: C
• Intro to Higher Math (Proof Writing): A
• Linear Algebra: A
• Intro to Real Analysis: A
• Mathematical Statistics: A

Econ Classes in Chronological Order:

• Intro to Micro: A
• Intro to Macro: B
• History: A
• Price Theory: A
• Money and Banking: A
• Econ Data Analysis: A
• Macro Theory: A
• Labor: B+
• Development: A-
• Metrics: A
• International Finance: A
• Public Econ: A

Research Experience:
1.5 years as an undergrad research assistant:

• Assists in modeling energy markets & optimal levels of liquid natural gas storage in the EU
• Used Python to aggregate over 20,000 firm level datasets into a comprehensive dataset for the EU, giving us 100 times as much usable data.
• Incorporated state-level Renewable Portfolio Standards into existing python model, generating additional metrics used to measure the impact of regulatory pressure
• Utilizes Python data science packages for regression analysis, data manipulation, and visualization

Letters of rec:
3 pretty enthusiastic letters, but none of them are well-known economists of course because its a more teaching-oriented school. One is from the professor I was a research assistant under, the other two are from professors who I took an upper-division class with and wrote a class paper for.
My math stats professor, who has a phd in stats & a masters in econ, said he would write a supplemental letter saying that I am well prepared for phd level econometrics if that matters.
GRE:
Haven't taken it yet, but I have done well on every standardized math test I've taken and this will be the first one I put a lot of effort into. I got a 170 on the quantitative section of the practice test before studying, so I expect I'll be able to get a 167+ by the time I apply. Would a 167 vs 170 make a difference in my case?
If you read this whole thing, thank you so much! I appreciate the time everyone here takes to help each other out.

a review by Evan Landon

I remember distinctly the first time I saw the trailer for Last Voyage of the Demeter and just shaking my head as they butchered Bullet With Butterfly Wings with some stupid techno downbeat. Why do they do that shit? They take a song that everybody knows, then shoehorn that shit in so hard that it's comical. “The world is a vampire” with a bunch of reverb and synth drums while a monster stalks his prey is so corny and lazy that I want to punch a kitten. “Oh, it's a movie about vampires? Ohhhh let's put that one Smashing Pumpkins song in it and make it suck.” Talentless, generic hacks are behind that brilliance on every level, I'm telling you. After seeing the 1931 Tod Browning movie as a kid, I immediately wanted to read the 1897 Bram Stoker novel from where it originated, and I have to say that it was not the kind of read I was expecting. The entire novel is told through letters, journals, and newspaper articles which is not the kind of thing one would expect when it comes to one of the first horror stories, but that also was what gave it its appeal, I think. It was different... Just because something is different does not make it good; however, this one was good enough to be adapted into a stage play in 1924 by Hamilton Dean & John L. Balderston. Hey, that was 100 years ago! I bring the whole Dracula origin because that is the part in the novel (Chapter 7, to be exact) where it is told through the Captain's Log which I found the most tedious and somewhat boring. When they said that they were doing a film based on that, I was very quick to dismiss it when it finally arrived, but watching it gave me a different feeling altogether. Was it a good feeling? Meh. What I did enjoy about this movie was how they were able to somewhat build a narrative out of a nothing burger in the novel. The gore is adequate for CGI, so I don't worry too much about that because there are some okay close-ups that make up for it practically. The acting is on point too with Liam Cunningham as The Captain, David Dastmalchian as his first mate, and Corey Hawkins as the ship's doctor. The only problem I have with having a black doctor on the boat in the 19th century is that there were not a lot of black doctors (Cambridge alumni or not) around at that time, so it's shoved in there pretty hard with no real reason. They acknowledge it, but that does not change the conveniency of the writing. Then there is the Transylvanian woman who was placed on the boat for Dracula to snack on, so those boxes got ticked for the suits because everyone needs to have representation in every movie nowadays. What did not work was mostly the lack of gore or “Dracula” himself. We are used to seeing ol' Drac as a beguiling count who borders on romantic, then crosses that border. Also, the fog and mist coalescing with the lack of lighting and flowing motions of the camera makes this difficult to see, much less watch. Although the acting is great, the characters and dialogue between are not interesting enough to truly value and what would stand as a story is very flimsy; but again, there was not much to work with in one chapter of a novel that is basically just a captain's log. When you have tentpoles so weak to build upon, I guess what you want is something outrageous to gain some weight. What is the story, you ask? A 19th Century English supply ship named the “Demeter” is coming from Romania to Britain and its contents happen to contain a monster that feasts on human blood. Chaos ensues, as the crew not only try to make it to shore, but also to save their lives. Maybe even their souls! The Last Voyage of the Demeter is an interesting look at the most overlooked part of the source material, but nobody really has any original ideas anymore, so might as well. Released by DreamWorks Pictures, it pulled in $21.8 million against a $45 million budget, so I would not expect to see a sequel that was teased at the end. This is the end, for this movie, anyways. With all the other “Dracula” movies out there, I'd say go with one of those instead if you are looking for the classic Dracula character. It's literally just a giant CGI man-bat version of it, which works and doesn't at the same time. 

2.5 out of 5

I read a quote recently that said “if you want something be the type of person who has it.” So, for example, if you would like to receive love letters, be the type of person who writes them. If you would like to be invited to parties, be the type of person who hosts them, so on and so forth.
I’m trying, still, after two years to process the grief of losing you and to process the grief of all that was lost during our relationship, including pieces of my innocence and my dignity, pieces, I dare say, I will never be able to recover. You hurt me in the worst ways imaginable yet still I can’t hate you. I won’t. Everybody says that I should and that whatever love I have fantasized in my head towards you is merely the limerence that results from Stockholm Syndrome. An obsession one would hold towards a hateful caregiver in an infantilized state.
Though, I’m not so sure. I am loathe to believe the love I hold towards you is fetishized grief. I am hoping that by putting these letters out into the void I will gain some temporary relief from the pain of your absence, at the least, and at most I will begin to build a bridge over that dark and glowering moat of grief that has kept me tethered to the past, tethered to the abusive and turbulent relationship which left me with nothing but debt to be repaid by a wandering life of pain, misery, and an emptiness never to be filled by love in the same way.
Oh how I admired you, oh man of mine. How I wanted to grasp onto every word that came out of your mouth when you were discussing your ideas. How your poems, though a little prose-like and robotic, made me sink faster into the pit of infatuation. I was in love with you. Obsessed. I wish I could have recorded the sound of your voice when you talked about science. I wish I could have mended the pain of your abandonment in adolescence. I wish I could have been the support you needed even when you pushed me away and put me down. I wish I could have healed the parts of you that were so broken to make you believe that stealing from me would somehow fill your empty cup.
But you cut off the bottom of the glass and no amount of debauchery could ever leave you more full than you were before. No amount of purity stolen from me could mend the agony you had held onto for far too long.
I am still left wondering, now, without you even by my side to soothe the wounds you had inflicted, why you chose me to steal from? Was everything really as you said? Was I too unlovable for the mistakes I had made in the past? Hadn’t I more than atoned for them with everything you had put me through? Was I really someone you loathed, who you couldn’t rest easy with at night? Was I really such a burden because I was too nervous around the crowds you chose to surround us with at the nightclubs or too sheepish about my femininity to ever be as sexy as you wanted? Where is the line? What was real and what was fake? Was there anything you liked about me at all, or did you just enjoy the joy and admiration I had for you?
When will my lonely heart stop pining over someone who hates me? If you hated me so, why didn’t you simply leave? Why did you always persuade me back into staying with your sweet words and your grand gestures?
I would say I miss you, but to miss someone is to know them truly and be abashed by their absence. I don’t know you anymore so I can’t miss you. Did I ever know you?
Part of my life has come full circle and now I am starting to wonder if any of it was ever real? The memories are so fleeting and time has warped along with everything around it. I feel alone in this universe. Nothing feels real. Were we just a dream? A requiem for a nightmare? Did any of it ever happen? Why has it all just faded into a distant memory, seared like a firestone against the forefront of my subconscious?
How are you? Do you think this way too? Why did you hurt me so much that I had no choice but to leave? Was I really so reprehensible?
Or, was it you whom you hated for your inability to love someone who had given everything to be with you?
All I know is that I didn’t deserve to be discounted and discarded the way I was. I may never be able to recover some of the innocence I lost while we were in it, but my heart, with each passing day, still feels mightily pure. Your hatred did not win, and my love for you does not cease.
From M. To J.

Throwaway account. Just received notice that I am placed in Academic Suspension. I did have circumstances that impacted my college experience, one being a death in the family and a freak accident that caused me to lose a semester. They have documentation of all of this information. I was kicked into a deep depression from the death of this family member that has not gotten better since freshman year when it happened, I face my own internal struggles and in this past semester I have tried attending C-Caps meetings to help with my depression.
I am writing all of this to ask what I can add in my appeal letter. For medical reasons, it says to list general medial reason, but I did want a chance to explain how my accident that left me with broken bones made it hard for me to do well in the following semester. I don't know how in depth I am allowed to go about all of that, and wanted some advice in general about the situation I am in.

Hi, I'm purchasing a local pizzeria, partially with seller financing (40%) and partially with an SBA loan (60%). The SBA loan also includes an amount equal to the seller financing, intended to cover operaing costs for startup.
And, because I anticipate many readers asking the obvious question: Yes, I will be working with a business lawyer ASAP, before we create the purchase agreement. Right now I'm working on the letter of intent because that is one of the requirements for the SBA review process, and I hope to submit it tomorrow morning.
I have an SBA template for letters of intent, and it covers alot of my needs, but I'm uncertain of how to include language to define the offered seller financing.
The SBA LOI section on the "seller note" seems like the obvious solution, but I would love some advice on how to adjust the wording to match my needs. The base text is:
"(c) Seller Note. Seller agrees to carry a promissory note in the amount of $ ____________. Accrual of interest would be permitted on the Seller Carry Note, but no payment of principal nor interest would be permitted for the first twenty-four (24) months after loan closing. The balance at that time could then be amortized up to seven (7) years or more and/or paid off by the Buyer. Repayment of Seller Carry Note is subject to permission, in writing, from the SBA lender and SBA."
I intend to adjust the timeframe dictating repayment, because the goal is to repay a chunk using the SBA loan, and then amortizing the rest for repayment within 2 years.
But, is that blank intended to be filled in with the entire sale price amount, or should it reflect only the 40% they have offered to finance?
Or does the seller financing need a completely different section to the document, or just a further definition of how the promisory note is intended to be repaid.
The Seller is also willing to finance the entire aquisition, but we both prefer not to go that route.
Any advice on how to modify this document to meet my needs is appreciated!

Hi, I'm purchasing a local pizzeria, partially with seller financing (40%) and partially with an SBA loan (60%). The SBA loan also includes an amount equal to the seller financing, intended to cover operaing costs for startup.
And, because I anticipate many readers asking the obvious question: Yes, I will be working with a business lawyer ASAP, before we create the purchase agreement. Right now I'm working on the letter of intent because that is one of the requirements for the SBA review process, and I hope to submit it tomorrow morning.
I have an SBA template for letters of intent, and it covers alot of my needs, but I'm uncertain of how to include language to define the offered seller financing.
The SBA LOI section on the "seller note" seems like the obvious solution, but I would love some advice on how to adjust the wording to match my needs. The base text is:
"(c) Seller Note. Seller agrees to carry a promissory note in the amount of $ ____________. Accrual of interest would be permitted on the Seller Carry Note, but no payment of principal nor interest would be permitted for the first twenty-four (24) months after loan closing. The balance at that time could then be amortized up to seven (7) years or more and/or paid off by the Buyer. Repayment of Seller Carry Note is subject to permission, in writing, from the SBA lender and SBA."
I intend to adjust the timeframe dictating repayment, because the goal is to repay a chunk using the SBA loan, and then amortizing the rest for repayment within 2 years.
My questions are: is that blank intended to be filled in with the entire sale price amount, or should it reflect only the 40% they have offered to finance? (Note: The Seller is also willing to finance the entire aquisition, but we both prefer not to go that route.)
Or does the seller financing need a completely different section to the document, or just a further definition of how the promisory note is intended to be repaid?
How should I modify this document to best fit my needs?
ps: I am cross-posting this on other subreddits that are more focused on legal questions.
Text modified to clarify my questions to make this post more in line with the intended format of this subreddit

TW for sexual, physical, medical, emotional, and religious abuse, childhood sa, suicidal ideation, and self harm
This past week has been incredibly difficult due to that holiday so I decided it would be good for me to write a letter to my nmom to keep for myself during my healing process to get everything out and it's been very cathartic. Part of my healing journey has been sharing my (extremely personal) experience with others who understand, hence why I'm sharing this here, and maybe it'll give someone some strength knowing that I made it out after all of this. I hope everyone was kind to themselves this week and was able to treat this holiday as a holiday for themselves for surviving their nmoms!
Dear mom, Happy belated Mother’s Day. My Mother’s Day was spent being upset and anxious so I decided to write this letter. This letter is so incredibly difficult to write and even more difficult to read back to myself. Moving away from university and back home during COVID was genuinely one of the most difficult things I have done in my life simply because of all of the repressed memories that flooded back into my brain every single day I was in that house. I used to resent the pandemic for forcing me to live in an environment that made me want to harm myself every single day and die every other day, but I am now thankful for the clarity that it brought me as I don’t think I’d have the foresight that I have now.
There is a lot that I want to say. I am angry, bitter, resentful, and traumatized from things that you have done to me as a child and also as an adult. I thought for a very long time that thing were normal but thank God I now know just how truly fucked up so many of my childhood experiences were. Not a single day goes by where I don’t think about the emotional, physical, and sexual abuse that I went through. I am haunted every single day by things that you did (and some things that you didn’t do) and hope that one day I will be able to heal from what I experienced.
I grew up being close to my cousin Chloe (a year younger than me) who was obviously very bitchy, mean, and abusive. This fact isn’t something you weren’t aware of as I know a fully grown adult would be able to see how she treated and talked to me when around you and come to the obvious conclusion that I should not have been allowed to be around her. She bullied me, called me names, physically assaulted me by pushing me, pulling my hair, and sitting on me with my hands held behind my back until I couldn’t breathe, forced me to bathe in scolding hot bath water that would burn my skin, making me undress and make fun of parts of my body, and forced me to watch things that she knew would scare me. This is the same time that I started having insomnia and struggled in school due to anxiety. It’s also the same time I remember my sound sensitivity starting. Do you remember my childhood friend’s mom Amelia and how protective she was over my friend, Diana? Diana met Chloe at my 9th birthday party and Diana went over to her house for a playdate and Chloe did something to her. She physically reached over and groped Diana on the privates. I knew Amelia IMMEDIATELY prevented her daughter from ever being around Chloe again. I also knew that it's possible she mentioned this to my aunt, but I'm not positive. I know that Amelia is the type of mom to prevent Diana from reading Harry Potter because she thought it was a bad influence on her due to being “demonic”, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she made you aware of what Chloe did to Diana as she knew that I spent a lot of time around her. I doubt that what Chloe did to Diana was ever kept a secret from you. Chloe also forced me to do sexual things I didn’t want to do from roughly the ages of 8-11. One time, we were in her kitchen and she pulled out a knife and said that she was going to stab me. By then, I knew she just wanted to scare me so when I had no reaction, she put the knife away. I was terrified of what would happen if I said no to her so I went along with whatever she wanted. She would go into the bathroom and tell me to follow, would lock the door, and make me take off my clothes and let her do things to me and forced me to do the same things to her. I used to think that you had NO IDEA about this until I remember you saying the words- “you were an amazing kid and never had any problems until you got a little older. I always wondered if something happened.” Who the fuck says that to their kid???? Yeah, something DID happen and it wouldn’t have happened if you protected me!!!! You fucking idiot!!!! I remember being in our new house and taking a shower with you when I was about 8 (which was VERY inappropriate and should NEVER have happened at all) and saying something that clearly made you uncomfortable. It CLEARLY indicated something was going on. I remember the exact face you made and know that any normal, healthy adult would have done something about it and made sure nothing was happening. They would have made sure I was SAFE, and talked to me about safety, but nothing was said or done. You have failed me many times, but this one is the most painful. Not only will you need to live with the fact that you knew about my abuse and did nothing, but I will have to live with the fact that my mom knew "something happened” and didn’t care about me enough to protect me. I look at my beautiful niece Hallie, and imagine not protecting her like that and want to vomit. I cannot fathom how a mother would have the thought “I wonder if something happened to my daughter to case a massive behavioral change” and NOT DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT! You didn’t talk to me, never asked me if Chloe was doing anything, or anything at all. If I even had a minor suspicion that something was happening to Hallie, I would IMMEDIATELY do something about it because THAT IS MY JOB as an adult in her life. You failed me and deserve to know that this traumatized me and gave me PTSD. I am NOT autistic, no matter how much you WANT me to be so you can go around and gain sympathy for “having an autistic daughter” rather than owning up to the fact that you caused what “went wrong” with me.
Not only did you not help prevent me from being molested by my cousin, you also added to my sexual trauma by forcing me to use the giant egg monistat insert to treat a yeast infection when I was 11. I was ELEVEN and you had a bright idea to force a HUGE foreign object into my prepubescent body even though you were fully aware I could have easily gotten a prescription for a pill to swallow from a doctor. I was scared. I had so much pain and itching and needed a mother to hug me, tell me it’s going to be okay, or at the very least, EXPLAIN what I had and how we were going to fix it. You didn’t do any of that. You told me to lay down and proceeded to try and administer medication that is NOT meant for children 12 and under due to the physical damage it could cause. I was clearly in pain and scared, but you kept trying anyways. At any point, you could have stopped and taken me to the fucking doctor, but nope. You then got frustrated that “you couldn’t get it in” and told your 11 year old daughter to shove it inside herself. Then you left the room. I hadn’t even had a period yet, let alone know where my vagina was but you sure felt the need to yet again abandon your parental responsibilities and place them onto your kid! Miraculously, I put it in and wobbled out to lay on the couch because I was in physical pain from BOTH the infection and YOU, but because a child’s body isn’t able to properly fully insert the medication used (which once again I’ll remind you is meant for girls 13 and up), it came out and got on the couch because you didn’t give me a pad. And rather than prioritize your own daughter’s health, safety, wellbeing, and comfort, you were more upset about the stain on the couch and yelled at me. I will never forget in all of the years that I am alive how ashamed and disgusted I felt standing behind you watching you furiously scrub at the stain that I caused (actually, that YOU caused since this never should have happened in the first place!) and feeling a huge flood of guilt every time I saw that couch stain. One of the best days of my life was when we got a new couch and I never had to see that stain again.
All of this caused me to develop anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts and ideation, self harming behaviors, having out of body experiences where I dissociate, and panic attacks amongst other things. YOU caused ALL of this and you fought tooth and nail to convince me that it was MY fault for being broken. “There’s something going on with you,” and you made it your mission to never take any responsibility for any of the trauma that you caused. Not only did you ignore all signs of abuse and sexually assault me yourself, you bullied and helped a family friend Sharon bully me when I was “being mean” to (her daughter) Faith. I was treated like I was a mentally ill monster who couldn’t be trusted and always got in trouble whenever Faith shed a single tear because I was “mean to her”. Faith cried at LEAST 15x a day, and I was blamed every time she decided to say I was the reason. You allowed a monster (Sharon) to ABUSE me and had the incredibly wise idea to start passing along what shit talking you two would say about me TO ME, a 13 year old girl. I was THIRTEEN. I was A CHILD. And yet, you came crying and complaining to me about how tired you were of hearing Sharon say I was being mean to her daughter when you could have TOLD THE OTHER ADULT IN THE SITUATION TO STOP. It never was my responsibility as a child to try and make another adult stop abusing me by “behaving better.” There was nothing wrong with how I was behaving. You never once tried to help me, you always blamed anybody and everybody else for your failures. I would come and ask you for help when I was struggling and if you didn’t care, you would pawn it off to somebody else- “go talk to your older sister” “talk to your therapist about that” “I don’t know what to say except to tell you to pray about it” and when I came back saying praying didn’t magically fix my depression, you told me to pray harder. I guess you really thought it was a skill issue rather than a diagnosable health condition! No wonder I wanted to die! Hahaha! I’ll never forget the look of disgust on your face when I was sobbing hysterically and struggling to get out the words when I told you just how badly I was affected by Sharon and said how you played a role in helping her harm and abuse me. “WELL. I’m SORRY if you think I didn’t protect you enough. I know what that feels like because my parent’s took my sister’s side a few weeks ago when we were having an argument” (as FULLY GROWN 50+ YEAR OLDS arguing and bitching LIKE CHILDREN!) No, mom, it’s not the same. I was a child and not only did you not stop an abuser from harming me, you joined in. You allowed her access to me and you passed along what horrible things she said was wrong with me. “SHARON said she thinks YOU’RE BIPOLAR. Do you think you are?” “Sharon told me that you’re having AN EPISODE and are being mean to Faith! Show me your phone!” Erm? I’m thirteen? What do you expect me to do? “Well, I just don’t understand why you keep bringing this up when it happened so long ago. I just hope you can forgive her and move on.” You’re fucking disgusting. Should I go into detail about how many times I asked you to not interact with Sharon more than you needed to and you proceeded to try and force her into my life more? You KNEW how uncomfortable I was with you attending Faith’s wedding and yet, you cared more about how you looked and not only attended, but hosted both her wedding and wedding shower. I have always wondered why you never cared how I feel until I realized that you prioritize yourself and how you look to other people above anything and everyone. There is a clear pattern of behavior- - When I was 17 and you were berating me at your work for wanting to visit my friend up in Boston to see a concert together because “you just didn’t understand why I’d want to do that” and I started crying. You rolled your eyes and said “you better leave now if you don’t want my next client to see you crying because her appointment is in a few minutes.” You cared more about having your random client seeing me cry and potentially thinking you’re a bad mom than comforting me. - When I was 13 and we were saying our nightly prayer the night that I had my “therapy appointment” (aka, you and my “therapist” chastising me for writing in my diary that I was having suicidal thoughts), when you were praying you said “Dear God, please help (my name)… and… pLEASE HELP ME!!!!” Clearly, YOU were affected more than I was even though I was the one wanting to die because of you. Wow. Your life is so hard! - Telling everyone around you that I “have problems” and am “really struggling” so you can gain an ounce of sympathy. The way that your friends come up and talk to me is baffling. - Laughing about me with my friends in high school when I was out of the room- “hahaha my daughter is sooooo weird hahaha” - When I was 18 and you called my “therapist” (who did NOT get my consent before doing this and violated her ethical guidelines) after I moved out and stopped talking to you, you got her to help you write a list of “rules” to force me to stay in contact with you. They consisted of requiring me to “talk to you, dad, or my sister at least 1x/day” so you “knew that I was safe” aka, you wanted to control me even though I was an adult and not living in your house. I was perfectly safe, and yet you made me sound like I was doing drug deals in the morning, prostituting myself after lunch, and had plans to commit felonies later that night. I went to school, ate, and went back to my apartment. You had no right manipulating me into talking to you by using my therapist, dad, and sister against me. Pathetic. - Telling me to go do my runs on a strange man’s property instead of the road because it’s “safer.” Dad said that this man who I’VE NEVER MET told him that “there are bad people out there who will kidnap her and do horrible things to her, SO INSTEAD she should run on MY property!” Not sketchy or rapey at all, right? And completely dismissing me when I said that made me uncomfortable by saying “my dad knows him”? Lady, do you know any rape statistics? Clearly not, because you’d then know that only 7% of assaults are strangers while 93% are family members or acquaintances. NINETY THREE PERCENT. The amount of times that I’ve mentioned someone made me uncomfortable or had a massive affect on me as a child and you’ve replied with “Oh, well did they touch you?” People don’t have to touch me to traumatize me. You’re pathetic for thinking that.
I’m not mad at Chloe. I don’t feel any anger or ill will towards her at all. She was a child just like I was a child. She was failed more than I was failed. No child acts that way and assaults other children without learning that from somewhere. I blame her parents for what happened to her. I blame YOU for what happened to me. I vividly remember things that my aunt would say the same time this was happening about little girls and their bodies and I want to smash my head against the wall. Children are to be protected above anything and everything else, by you didn’t. Do I hate Faith and think that she’s a bad person because of what happened when we were 13? No. I fully blame you and Sharon. The amount of adults that have failed me in my life keep me up at night. I think about how different my life would be had dad been more involved and seen what was going on and taken me away from you. I am angry with him for that. I dream one day I will be able to sit down with him and tell him everything I have written about and he will hug me, support me, cry with me, and apologize for not being there more to protect me. But who knows, he might defend his child abusing, mentally ill wife and say I’m making up everything. Who knows.
Do you want to know what my sister said when I told her all of this? She apologized to me for not being 15 years older than I am so she could have raised me instead. I want you to sit here and think about how fucked up that is. My own sister wishes she could have taken me away from you so you couldn’t have abused me. I imagine the pressure she must have felt having to grow up while also raising her mother and sister and I sob for her. I’ve sobbed for me for the mental anguish and torture I experienced at your hands. I’ve even sobbed for you because I can’t imagine being even a fraction of how fucked up you are to resort to abusing and neglecting your child- a child you begged to have. A child you had trouble having and prayed for. Embarrassing.
I’m never going to have a relationship with you again. If God is willing, I will never have to interact with you ever again. Saying that phrase “if God is willing” is ironic because you forcing me to pray my problems away rather than helping me led me to not believe in him. How can I believe in something that also neglected me? I’d sit in my dark bedroom night after night praying and sobbing for him to help me. I didn’t know what was happening to me, but I felt broken and alone. I now know that I was a child praying for God to take away my PTSD, and that is not possible. My heart breaks for that child.
You’re a pathetic excuse for a mother and human being. I’m truly shocked that I survived you and your abuse. I’m surprised that I didn’t ever try to kill myself to try and get away from you because you’re a vulture that prays on innocent people. The only important people in your life are people you think will give you something or will make you look good. That’s why you refused to ever cut ties with Sharon, you knew she was sexually abused as a child and you couldn’t POSSIBLY NOT be her friend because you need her to be your “friend,” or rather, your token sexually abused as a child friend. I genuinely hope that you get better and become a normal healthy person but I won’t ever be around to see it. I hope you feel even a fraction of the pain and abandonment that I have felt my entire life. Happy Mother’s Day, but today isn’t Mother’s Day for me, it’s Daughter’s Day. Moving far away from you one month ago has truly saved my life. Instead of trying to survive, I am enjoying my life. I would have died in that house. I get to finally celebrate being away from you and celebrate myself for staying strong and fighting when I could have easily given up. You once told me “you feel like I HATE you!” to guilt me into fawning over you and telling you how much I loved you, but now you get the opposite. I DO hate you and hate how you have permanently changed me and I wish to never see you again. Instead of praying for the “God forsaken, atheist, lost, evil, liar, miserable, spiteful, hateful, disgusting, mentally ill, “autistic” daughter, pray for yourself. Pray for God’s forgiveness for emotionally, medically, physically, sexually, and religiously abusing and neglecting me. You deserve to remain in your "clueless" state of "having NO IDEA what you did wrong to make her stop talking to me!" for the rest of your life.Happy Daughter’s Day.

My Nomad has seriously revolutionized my ability to be organized in my life despite my ADHD and unrelated severe memory issues. I'm on meds and have decent coping skills, so I already had that down, but everything I've tried to make myself more organized or remember better have failed anyway.
I've tried a lot of things:

• Typing up notes is great, but I'm not always somewhere I can comfortably type and I often need more free-form notes that have math, diagrams, drawings, and so on. I love compiling my handwritten notes into one well-formatted page on Notion or Obsidian or similar, but quick notes never work well for me through text. Linking notes makes it all worth it in the end.
• Dictating notes requires me to listen back to them or suffer with how much speech-to-text struggles with my voice.
• Paper notebooks always got lost if I had more than one, got crazily out of hand if I only had one, and couldn't do a lot of things I came to rely on after trying digital notetaking (image/PDF insertion, re-arranging + adding + removing pages with such ease, selecting text to move it, easily having ruled + grid + dot grid + blank pages in one notebook).
• Goodnotes 5 on my iPad was great for a while, but I never loved the feeling of notetaking on an iPad and didn't want to sacrifice visual quality and nib strength for Paperlike. Still, it was the closest to what I needed. Goodnotes 6 being a subscription service, despite the company insisting that they'd never go subscription-based, caused me to explore more.

Eventually, I got my Nomad, and holy shit. Not only does it have everything else I want, but the battery life is crazy, the feel of notetaking is perfect, and most importantly: links.
As far as I know, Supernote is one of the only handwritten notetaking options with the ability to turn your own handwriting into links, which has enabled me to make a "second brain" like in Notion or Obsidian, but with handwritten notes. I journal daily and link to what I work on each day, so I never worry about forgetting. I make my own pseudo-wikis with headers that lead to tables of contents with links to specific topics, both for work and for my personal projects like worldbuilding or analyzing my favorite media. If a PDF is relevant to what I'm writing down, I can just link to it.
I almost feel spoiled with how much it helps me day-to-day be more organized and stress about my memory loss less. My largest issue is, honestly, just waiting for the A5X2.
Has anyone else had this experience? Does anyone else with ADHD have any tips I might have missed? I've not even had this thing for a month, so I'm still learning, but I want to utilize it to its absolute best. Any other experiences would also be great to hear, too!

So, here is part 2 of my entitled employee story. We left off with discovering Sally’s retaliation of giving me trash as a Christmas gift after her latest write-up.
So, the next several weeks, I am noticing more problems, but here’s some of the highlights.

1. Ever since we had issues of the office’s checks going randomly missing, Sally had apparently decided to just stop throwing any envelope away when opening the mail. She would supposedly search the envelopes/paperwork & then keep the envelopes with the paperwork. So, instead of doing her job better, she would decide to just stop doing the job at all. After all, you can’t get in trouble for screwing it up if you aren’t doing it, right? However, this resulted in items getting left with the paperwork (which sometimes wouldn’t get touched for several weeks due to being busy) that had needed to be collected or addressed right away.
   
2. Sally’s careless mistakes continued at about the same rate (average of 2 to 3 a week). She would put deposit slips/emails with the wrong office’s report, put one office’s mail in another office’s bin, put one office’s funding papers in another office’s bin, put one office’s bills in the folder for their correspondence & vice versa, put one office’s bills in the folder for another office’s bills, put the new month’s bills in the folder without taking out the old month’s bills so they would get mixed up. I could go on & on.
   
3. Sally would still ask for help on things she shouldn’t need help on anymore, ‘cause I had helped her many times on items exactly like it in the 2 years she’s worked here. I mean, the whole point of asking for help when learning new things on a job is so you can take the input you’re given & use it to get better at the job so you don’t have to ask for help anymore. I mean, what kind of office works by their employees constantly needing to be walked through everything every day? Sally would even ask for help on things no one would need to ask for help on. For example, she asked me, “An office took a deposit to the bank without showing it on their report. How do I write that up in the letter to fax to them?” Um, exactly what you just said to me. Or another time, she asks how long she should wait before calling an office back. Well, how long do you think you should give them? Just use your good judgment. You don’t need help with that! Again, you’ve been here 2 years!
   

On Jan 26, I take the Dec bills, correspondence faxes, & timesheets out of their folders to scan them into the computer. Now, one thing the bills should always have on them are the check number used to pay for this purchase & the date it was paid. The offices themselves are supposed to write this on there, but they don’t always, which is why it is our job to write it on there if it’s missing. I had noticed when I scanned Nov’s bills around Nov 30 that a lot of Sally’s offices don’t have that info written on them. So, I explained to her what needed to be written on every bill/receipt. I now flip through the Dec & Jan bills of her offices really quick to check them. There are quite a few of them with no info written down on them. There’s strike one for noncompliance.
Another task we would do several days a week (that’s Sally’s responsibility) is to check the bank accounts online. She is to look at the bank balances & report any low balances to Greg (or me if Greg isn’t there). She is then to look at the transactions in order to see if anything looks fraudulent. Since we are a loan company, check fraud is very common for us. So, we look at the checks for anything funny-looking, & we look to see if there are any auto debits (like when you use your bank account online to pay for a bill) that would tell us if someone got hold of our bank account info.
On Jan 30, at 1:15 p.m., I asked if any of the bank balances were low (Greg was out of town for a few days). Sally said she had forgotten to check the bank accounts that morning. Weird, ‘cause you had to check the Dallas office to make sure the money we sent them had shown up. How did you get the login sheet out to look in their bank account but then forget about checking all the bank accounts? This just further cemented in my mind that she was NOT checking these bank accounts the way she should. I was 100% positive that all she does when logging into these bank accounts is checking the balances to give to Greg but then never checks the transactions. I know this ‘cause, 1) I’ve observed Sally only logging in to write down the balances & then logging back out (she had some flimsy excuse ready when I asked her about it), 2) there have been auto debits that appeared in bank accounts that we didn’t find for weeks until I happened to see it for some reason & guess what? She never pointed those out to us, & 3) Sally hadn’t bothered to check the bank account balances since Greg was out of town, so clearly she only felt the need to check the balances. There’s strike two for noncompliance.
& even more bad mistakes or decisions:

1. At the end of Jan, we discovered that Sally had mailed the employees’ W2s to the managers’ home addresses instead of to the offices to distribute to their employees!
   
2. We had an office that moved locations to right across the street, so the only thing that changed in their address was their street number (12 Main Street instead of 11 Main Street). I explained this to Sally & gave her an updated list of the office’s addresses. 3 weeks later, we get a call from that office saying that mail we send to them keeps going to their landlord’s house. I check the address labels Sally had created for herself. Sure enough, it had the wrong address on them. I go to grab the lease, & at the top is where the tenant’s new address is listed. & all the way at the bottom of the page in the paragraph titled “RENT” where it lists where to send the rent is the landlord’s home address. & that’s the address Sally had chosen to be the new office’s address on her address labels.
   
3. Sally hadn’t been faxing the offices to ask for bills/receipts that never made it to us.
   
4. I used the last towel on a roll of paper towels, so I went to the cabinets to grab another. We were out. Sally is in charge of keeping track of supplies that need ordering, so I go to Sally & say we’re completely out of paper towels, we need to order some. Sally response: “No one ever tells me when they grab the last roll so I know when to order them.” Um, excuse me, since when is it our job to tell you to do your job? It’s your responsibility to keep track of supplies. You should be checking the level of paper towels, toilet paper, Kleenex, etc., to see when you need to order them.
   

So, I knew she needed a second warning write up for carelessness cause of the numerous mistakes since the first warning write up in the middle of Dec, & I would be giving Sally a first warning write up for negligence cause of her not asking the offices for missing bills & not writing the info on the bills I had told her to do at the end of Nov. However, it was only a few days from Feb, which was the time for performance reviews. So, rather than doing a write up now & then in a week or so doing a performance review that was one of the worst performance reviews I’ve ever heard of, I decided to just do it in one fell swoop. You know, just get it all out of the way with one bad conversation, one bad day, & then both of us can hopefully put it behind us & move on.
I decided to do the performance review & write ups on Feb 5 (Monday). It went much smoother ‘cause Greg was there, so Sally couldn’t really give me lip or lash out by showing attitude & anger like she had previously.
On Feb 7 (Wednesday), I log in to get the transactions for an office who is switching banks. I wanted to get an updated list of outstanding checks so they know how many checks are left before they can close the old bank account. & what do I see? Someone had used the bank account to pay $100 on their AT&T bill. I call the office & find out it was actually them, so no fraud there. But I then ask Sally if she had seen that when checking the bank accounts. She said she didn’t remember. Obviously, I have found my proof that she is either not checking them or isn’t paying attention when she does. I have a discussion with Greg about it, & we decide I need to have a sit down with her about her not doing her job. She is sick on Thursday, so I plan to talk with her the next day she comes in.
On Feb 9 (Friday), I begin the conversation about checking the bank accounts & how important it is. I am planning to say things like, we expect you to do this job, you’ve been told multiple times to do this task, if you’re not going to do the job, then you’re welcome to go find another one, etc. But she cuts me off at the beginning with an excuse of, “Well, I didn’t know what I should be looking for, now I know.” & it broke me. She does this exact thing every time I have to have a conversation with her. She has an excuse ready to go on the tip of her tongue, always spins it around so it’s not actually her fault. It’s always, “Well, I didn’t know that, but now, I do.” & I was just done. I didn’t continue the conversation, even though I needed to, ‘cause I just broke down in tears from the stress of having to discipline her & knowing that nothing will ever come of it, but having our hands legally tied to be able to fire her right now. I cried nonstop for over 4 hours.
On Feb 12 (Monday), I sat down to continue the conversation, this time with a written statement for her to sign.
Me: You respond a lot of the time that you don’t know how to do things, which is very frustrating, ‘cause you’ve been shown multiple times how to do these tasks. It’s very inefficient & wasteful that I have to constantly check all of your work & retrain you on the same thing over & over again. This needs to change. This job is about accuracy & accountability.
Sally: You’re not giving me a chance to improve. I never hear “Good job,” from you. All I ever hear is, “You’re doing a bad job, sign this paper.” I get in trouble every time I ask for help, so I guess I’ll just follow the instructions & hope I’m doing it right.
The problems with that response:

1. You’ve worked here for 2 years, Sally. You’ve had plenty of time to improve.
   
2. The reason you never hear “Good job” is ‘cause you’re not doing a good job. How am I supposed to tell you “Good job,” but also need to give you a write up for doing a bad job? If you’re getting multiple write ups for doing a bad job, don’t you think that’s a sign that something is wrong? I mean, she thinks that managers should be telling their employees good job on everything they do right. No, you’re expected to do these tasks. We’re not going to congratulate you every time you do your basic job requirements like some toddler that needs constant positive reinforcement so they know that doing something right is a good thing! You will hear “Good job” when you are doing a really good job on something, when you go above & beyond!! I mean, do you think Greg tells me “Good job” when I’m just doing my job as expected?!! NO!!! I’ve never had a manager constantly tell me “Good job” all the time!!!! (Whew. Sorry about that. Kinda went on a crazy rant there. I’m good now.)
   
3. Here’s another example of her mentality of “if I don’t do the job, I can’t get in trouble for doing it wrong.” She’s going to stop asking for help instead of using the help I’ve given her to do better. I mean, if you’re making these mistakes when you ARE asking for help, how many more are you going to make when you stop asking for help? How does this make any logical sense?!
   

Well, here’s another chance for some malicious compliance. She claimed she didn’t know how to check the bank accounts, right? Well, my job as the manager is to make sure my employees know how to do their job. So, I need to sit down with her & train her how to check the bank accounts. Again. Even though I know she already knows how to do it. So, every time you tell me that the reason why you didn’t do a job is ‘cause you didn’t know how to do it right, well, we’re going to sit down & waste both our times & annoy you having to be retrained on something you do, in fact, know how to do.
Sally continues making careless mistakes & not doing stuff she doesn’t think she should have to do. Like answering the phones. It’s her job to answer the phones; that’s something I as the manager should be delegating to her. However, she never answers the phone unless I literally can’t. So, I had asked her to start answering the phone more. She will wait until the last possible second before answering the phone. By that time, it’s already rung twice, so I have to answer it before it goes on any longer or they hang up. One time, we were both away from our desks when the phone rang. We both went to answer it, but she was closer & got to her desk before me, put her hand on the phone, & watched me until I got to my desk before she picked it up. With a comment of, “Oh, (laughs) I didn’t want to make you walk all the way to your desk.” Well, you did, anyway, you little jerk.
On Feb 27, Sally asks for help on a report. She says that my note stating the office is over-deposited $28 on report 1 but fixed on report 2 by being $28 under-deposited didn’t work out. She says that they were never over by $28 in the first place. I take the report to look it over. Her calculator tape adding up the deposits shows the bank is in balance, but I don’t see deposit slips.
Me: Where are the deposit slips?
Sally: I haven’t gotten them yet.
Me: (trying to comprehend her logic) Then how do you have the deposit amounts added on this tape?
Sally: I got the amounts from the report.
Me: You…(my brain trying not to implode at this point) you can’t add up amounts to see if the bank has too much or too little money in it without knowing what was actually taken to the bank. The amounts on the report don’t always equal what was taken to the bank.
I log into the bank account & discover just that: the report says they took $500 to the bank, but their deposit says $528. They were indeed $28 over-deposited. I then lecture her (for the second time in a few months) on the correct way to account for the deposits at the bank, that we are only to use the dollar amounts on the bank’s deposit receipt. (The first time was her getting the deposit amount from what was written on the deposit slip instead of what the bank gave us credit for on their printed receipt. The bank had shorted us $500, & we never knew until her deposits didn’t work out when reconciling the bank statement at the end of the month. We were missing $500 for 4 weeks! It’s a miracle we didn’t overdraw the account.)
Another task that we do several days a week is checking the CFPB website. This is a government website that uses federal regulations to monitor financial institutions. It’s like the Better Business Bureau, but more official. Customers can make complaints through them, prompting an investigation to make sure we’re following the federal guidelines. We have 2 weeks to respond to a complaint before it is past due.
On Feb 29, Greg just happens to be looking at an email inbox that he never checks, ‘cause after all, we’re checking the CFPB website, so he doesn’t have to look there, right? There is a complaint in 2 of the portals that have been in there since Jan 22. He immediately marches out & tells Sally about them.
Greg: Aren’t you checking the CFPB sites?
Sally: Yeah, I am.
Really? Then how come you didn’t print this complaint off to give to Greg in the last 6 weeks? She came back from lunch to a second warning write up given by me for negligence.
On Mar 5 (Tuesday), we are working on reconciling the bank statements so we can close the month of Feb. Sally brings me a Jan bank statement for an office.
Sally: This never cleared in Feb.
I look at the bank statement. It’s an electronic deposit of $254 on Jan 31. I remember this. She had asked me at the beginning of Feb why this deposit wasn’t recorded on the office’s report. I explained that since it didn’t show up in the bank account until the last day of Jan, they might not have known about it before the end of the month & so recorded it on the first of Feb. We will wait until the first report of Feb. If it’s still not recorded, then we’ll bring that to the office’s attention. & here she is, clearly telling me she hadn’t brought it to anyone’s attention all month long.
Me: (staring at the bank statement as I try to prevent my autistic brain from exploding at her while also trying to prevent a spontaneous stroke) You didn’t keep track of this all month?
Sally: Well, I didn’t know if it was treated differently ‘cause it was OTBP (One Time Bill Pay, which is the electronic deposit). (Oh, what a shocker, she once again didn’t know how to do something.)
Me: But we talked about this. If it wasn’t on the first of the month, we needed to address it.
Sally: Okay, well, now I know that we treat this the same as other deposits. (goes nonchalantly back to her desk like it was no big deal, like she hadn’t just revealed she had once again disobeyed my detailed instructions)
Me: (seeing her flagrant disregard for the seriousness of the situation & wondering just how on earth she could once again think that not doing her job would have no consequences) This is exactly what Greg talks about over & over, about how we can’t leave errors like this to sit for weeks & weeks, that these need to be dealt with as they happen.
Sally: (still as easy-going as if she had simply used the wrong color highlighter) Okay, I’ll make note of that.
Now, I am getting really pissed off. She keeps saying, “Oh, now I know that OTBP is treated the same as everything else.” That doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter that you didn’t know it’s treated the same! I specifically told you to take care of it if it didn’t appear on the first of Feb! It didn’t matter what kind of deposit it was! I said to tell me if it wasn’t on the first of Feb!
Now, this was right before she leaves at 3:30, so by the time I’m finished with my text conversation with Greg (‘cause he isn’t there that afternoon), she has already left. But I’m telling Greg that I have once again caught her being negligent, & she’s already had 2 written warnings about this, which means our next step is letting her go. Not to mention, her carelessness is still continuing. He said that he supports my decision to let her go. By the way, the final decision happened an hour after she left. If I had known before she left that we were indeed going to fire her, I would have done it before she left so she didn’t have to come all the way to work in the morning just to leave again.
So, on Mar 6 (Wednesday), I arrive early to work so I can be prepared. I am standing at my desk, watching her come in. This is unusual, so she frowns as she approaches me.
Me: Sally, we need to talk.
Sally: (still frowns at me)
Me: (handing her the typed up notice) We are going to read this together. “When reconciling the month of Jan, around Feb 5, it was brought to my attention that we had a deposit that hadn’t been reconciled. I gave you instructions to wait a report to see if it works out. If not, you would need to bring it to mine & the office’s attention for further instructions. This wasn’t done. It wasn’t until Mar 5 that you brought this to my attention again. You have been told many times the importance of reconciling the financials of the office. You have been warned several times of negligence. This is another example of negligence with respect to your job. All you had to do was follow my instructions. It is for this reason that it is now time to terminate your employment.”
Sally: When did you tell me to do this?
Me: (thinking, “Um, I kinda just told you when I told you do that, but, okay.”) When you showed me the Jan bank statement—
Sally: Yesterday?!
Me: You showed me the Jan bank statement a month ago when you were reconciling Jan. I told you to wait for the first of Feb & then—
Sally: You did no such thing!
Me: Yes, I did, Sally.
Sally: When does Greg get here?
Me: Around 9, like usual.
Sally: I’m calling him, ‘cause this is ridiculous. You’ve had it out for me from the very beginning.
Me: No, I haven’t.
Sally: Yeah, you have. Just like the other 2. (sets her bags at the front door, goes outside, & calls Greg)

1. How could I have had it out for you from the very beginning when we didn’t have problems for the first year & a half you worked here? If I’d had it out for you from the beginning, you wouldn’t have had a job the past 6 months. Need I remind you what Greg told you about the timesheet thing being something we fire someone for on the spot, but that Molly had gone to bat for you & gave you a second chance? Why would I have done that if I had wanted you gone from the start?
   
2. “Just like the other 2.” She’s talking about Irene (who had left in Feb 2023) & another employee (who we’ll call Phil). Phil had been fired (by Greg, by the way) for continuing to watch movies on his phone at his desk despite being told multiple times by Greg to not do that. & Irene? She wasn’t fired. She gave her 2 weeks’ notice. & we then discovered when going through the work she’s been doing as we started taking over her tasks that she didn’t just not do jobs. She would actually forge the work so she wouldn’t have to work. “A bank imbalance of $2.65? Well, I’ll just add it to the imbalance that’s been building up for who knows how many months & just label it as an over-deposit from the end of the month. That way, I don’t have to look into why the bank isn’t balancing.” But no, I had it out for them, apparently.
   
3. Does she really think that calling Greg was gonna reverse my firing her? Does she really think I would do something as drastic as writing her up or firing her without discussing it with my supervisor first? Did she really think I would do this behind his back?
   

Apparently, she did, ‘cause Greg confirmed that Sally tried telling him about all the stuff I’ve been doing to her as if he didn’t know. She hung up on him when he explained that he’s been told everything as it happens & he supports this decision.
Sally: (storming back into the office & towards her desk) I’m not signing anything.
Me: Ok.
Sally begins packing up her desk. I had known she kept a lot of personal items at the office, so I had gotten a big box or 2 out & placed them nearby for her to use to pack up her desk.
Me: We can give you a box if you need it.
Sally: I don’t need sh** from you guys.
Me: The only thing we’ll need is your office key.
Sally: You’ll get it when you get it. I’m packing my desk.
Me: Ok.
I go back to work, keeping an eye on her as she packs to make sure she doesn’t take anything she’s not supposed to or damage any company property. Sally at some point decides to use the boxes she didn’t want from us to pack up her many items. She takes both boxes to the front door where her bags are & sets them down to put the last of her things in. She picks up one box to take outside.
Sally: You are the worst manager ever. (goes out the door)
Me: (shrug)
Sally: (comes back in for the final box) Seriously, you’re the most evil person I’ve ever met. (leaves)
Really? I rank worse than the guy that beat you up? I’m worse than him?
I continued watching her to see if she’s going to come back to give up her office key. As she packed up her car, another employee had arrived (we’ll call him Randy). He had run into her on the way in & asks me if Sally quit. I explained, no, she was let go. I then see that Sally has gotten behind the wheel of her car without coming back to give us the office key.
Me: Well, I guess we’ll just change the locks.
Randy then takes it upon himself to go out to her car. He phrased it very gently by saying he wanted to spare her having to come back in to turn the key in.
Sally: I guess Molly didn’t have the balls to do it herself. (hands the key over)
& then…she was gone. Despite having to do the entire corporate office’s work all by myself & falling steadily behind little by little, I have never been more happy. I had forgotten how much I loved my job & how much I couldn’t wait to get to work. I haven’t been this stress-free in 6 months, & it feels fantastic! & the great part is, I’m not really falling as far behind as I expected to without her. Having to do 2 people’s jobs by myself is only affecting me a little. Really goes to show you how bad she was for the company & for my job when she disrupted everything that much. For example, me & her would get through maybe 5 to 6 offices’ reports between us in a single day when playing catch up after closing the previous month. One day? I caught up on 10 offices’ reports in a single day. By myself.
Oh, did I mention she smoked marijuana most days on her way to work or while on her lunch break? We could never actually prove it. But, come on, you don’t smell that strongly of marijuana on only select days if you aren’t smoking it recently. If it was leftover from the smell of your house or car, you would smell like that every day. But it was only some days she would come into work or back from lunch smelling like that. Obviously, smoking on the job. So very glad to be rid of her & her awful skunk smell. Although, I do wish her well on a new job search. I don’t wish ill on anyone, ever. But I am just glad she’s no longer my problem to deal with.
(Added 2 months after she was fired): By the way, I am actually gaining on my work. I’m not only not behind on my work, I’m actually getting it done soon enough to work on extra stuff. Also, out of the blue, we’ve started getting about 3 to 4 sales & scam calls every day since Sally left (for things like better Medicare benefits, better retirement benefits, & even one time recently where “Walgreens” was calling to ask if I still had diabetes). I’m convinced Sally signed us up for calls as retaliation. I hope they die down soon, especially as they are starting to get rude. (Our response to every one of these is “Sorry, this is a business.” This one guy responded to me with, “This is my job.” I said, “I understand this is your job, but this is a business. I am not allowed to take personal calls.” He said, “Why?” I said very slowly & firmly, “Because I’m working!” He started to say, “Can you explain to me why—” I hung up. Jerk.)

Oh, boy, Charlotte, do I have a doozy for you. It’s such a doozy that it comes in 2 parts. I guess it would qualify as petty revenge, since that’s the only flair that fit, but it’s more of an entitled Karen story.
For the sake of telling the story a little smoother, I'm going to explain some things up front. I (female, early 30s; let's call me Molly) am the manager in the accounting office of a very small loan company. Like, really small. We have less than 30 offices with only 2 employees at each office. For this reason, we are kind of low-tech, old-fashioned. I'm talking paper timesheets that get faxed to our office (we're also the corporate office that handles the payroll). Our office hours are 8:30 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. with a half-hour lunch. Me & my employee (who we'll call Sally) work this shift. Our boss (who we'll call Greg) is the owner & CEO. He works in the office starting at 9:00 a.m. till whenever he leaves for the day. Most of the time, that's around the time we leave, sometimes it's earlier due to errands he needs to run.
So, in Oct 2022, Sally (female, early 30s) gave us a note that her doctor wants to have daily appointments with her indefinitely. She let us know she would need to leave at 3:30 every day. Greg granted that request & even gave her the opportunity to come in early so she didn't miss any of her 8 hours each day. So, she began coming to work between 6:45 & 7:00 & would take however long of a lunch she needed to so she would have an 8-hour day.
Due to a combination of our fiscal year-end work in Oct & Nov 2022, playing catch-up from Dec 2022 to Feb 2023, & the other coworker (who we'll call Irene) leaving the company in Feb 2023 so we had to play catch-up again for several months before we got used to the bigger workload, I hadn't been able to pay too close attention to Sally's work. But in the middle of Aug 2023, I began to suspect her. I realized that the tasks Sally had in the morning would usually take me an hour & a half to do, which meant I would be relatively finished by the time I would arrive at 8:30. Sally, on the other hand, would only have stuff halfway done. Now, I knew Sally worked slower than me since I knew the job better than she did, but this still seemed very slow. I began to suspect Sally was either not arriving as early as she said she was (she was the only one in the office before 8:30) or she was arriving on time but wasn't working.
On Aug 21 (Monday), I decided to come in early to the office since I had to make up time due to a doctor appointment later in the week. So, I arrived at work at 6:40. 6:45 rolled around...no Sally. 6:50...no Sally. 7:00...same thing. Sally arrived at 7:20. Now, ok, maybe she ran into traffic. However, that's a bit of a coincidence that the one day I show up early unannounced is also the day she happens to be late. But I waited to see what time Sally would write down on the timesheet. However, she didn't write down her time until Tuesday right before she left. She had written down that she had arrived at 7:05. I asked her about it, and her response was "I must have copied it down wrong from my spreadsheet." That's strange, 'cause you hadn't arrived at 7:05 any other day that week. Just where did you copy it down from?
Now, I am curious as to what time Sally puts down when she believes no one has seen what time she arrives. So, for Sept 4-15, I would arrive in the parking lot across the street & read a book & eat breakfast while I wait to see what time Sally would arrive. Every single day, she would arrive around 7:15 or 7:20, but would write down 6:45 or 6:50, a half hour discrepancy every single day. & we have no way of knowing how long she's been stealing a half hour every day. She could have been doing this for the past year since her schedule changed.
On Sept 18, I write down Sally's actual times from these 2 weeks on a paper & tell her to correct all the times I indicated. Sally says that she will use the office clock to write down her times from now on. Wait a minute, you're saying that your phone is a half hour earlier than the rest of the world? But only when you arrive at work. When you go to lunch & leave work, it matches the rest of the clocks. & then switches during the night so your arrival time can be wrong again the next day? Wow, that's a pretty glitchy phone you got there.
On Sept 20 after Sally left, I installed a camera that connects to an app in my phone. I put the camera in a place where it wouldn't be able to see any computers/paperwork & turned off the microphone (I didn't want to risk any company info being seen/heard). I only needed to see when Sally arrived. Where I ended up placing it, I was able to see Sally where she sat at her desk.
On three of the following days, Sally would arrive 10 to 15 minutes after the time she would write down. I speak with Greg about this, & we decide to write her up. By the way, usually when an employee is caught forging the timesheet like this, it's an immediate termination. At any other office, she would have gotten fired in the beginning of Sept after I first discovered the half hour forgery. I am deciding to give her a chance to make this whole thing right.
On Sept 26 (Tuesday), I give Sally the write up when she arrives.
Sally: I'll sign it, but I don't know why. I mean, I get here at 7:00. (Ok, there's a sign right there. Who signs an official write up when their employer is lying or setting them up?)
Me: I've observed you arriving between 7:10 & 7:15.
Sally reads the write up & then keeps it at her desk for a bit after signing it. After plenty of time, I ask for it back. She grabs it, so I lean forward & hold my hand out (our desks are right next to each other), but Sally flings it at my desk. The whole thing is made better by the fact that Greg is out of town Tuesday thru Thursday. So, Sally proceeds to be angry & have an attitude all the way through Thursday. She refuses to talk or answer the phones. She does that tossing/flicking-papers-around, aggressive-typing, heavily-setting-things-down thing people do when they're frustrated or angry (which she did all...day...long). She sped out of the parking lot & down the street so fast that I could hear her engine rev & tires squeal from inside the building.
On Sept 27 (Wednesday), Sally is still doing that slamming things thing. I enjoy not responding to her whatsoever. I could see out of the corner of my eye that she would slam something down & look at me. I wouldn't give any kind of reaction, wouldn't look at her, & it would piss her off. Sally would then start slamming things around again. I admit, that was fun.
On Sept 28 (Thursday), I see on the camera that Sally arrives at 7:00, but then I watch her sit on her phone for 45 minutes! She is still having attitude issues, &—unbelievably—is still slamming things. After she leaves for the day, I then see the calendar that Sally keeps on her desk as I was passing by. On the box for Sept 26 (the day she was written up), she had written the words "F***ING JOKE!". The audacity of her to write that in plain view of everyone in the office & think she wouldn't get in trouble for it.
On Sept 29 (Friday), Sally arrives at 7:00 but sits on her phone for 30 minutes WHILE VAPING! (Not sure about other cities or states, but it's illegal to smoke or vape inside a building in the city where our office is.) But Greg is back this day, & I had been texting him what's been going on. He had texted back he wanted to do a meeting on Friday. So, the 3 of us go into the breakroom for a meeting.
Greg: So, Sally, what's been going on with this timesheet thing?
Sally: I just, I forget to write down the time when I arrive.
Greg: Ok, well, whether it's done on purpose or through negligence, we can't have wrong times on the timesheet. So, from now on, you won't be able to come to work before Molly gets here at 8:30. Now, are there any other problems you'd like to discuss with us?
Sally: (begins getting worked up) I just, I feel like I can't talk to her. She creates such a hostile work environment.
Now, I am blown away. Me? Hostile? I'm autistic, so I'm naturally shy & hate socializing, so I usually don't talk to anyone very much. Everyone I tell this story to, their eyes widen when I mention this, 'cause there's no way anyone would ever describe me as hostile.
Luckily, Greg interrupts her to defend me: This isn't a hostile work environment.
Sally: (backpedaling) Well, I mean, she gets mad at her printer & bangs on it, & that just flashes me back to stuff. I mean, I'm trying to work on myself & the anxiety, & she just sends me back.
Oh, so now, we're claiming we have PTSD & that my "violent" actions are giving her flashbacks? Um, who is it laughing right along with me every time my printer jams? (By the way, I know she's lying about the PTSD, 'cause I have a couple friends with PTSD & recognize the signs. Sally doesn't show any sign of fear or panic or shrinking away from things, nothing like that. There are no signs whatsoever of her being alarmed by anything I do.) Oh, not to mention the double standards. You're allowed to slam things around (for 3 straight days, by the way), but I'm not?
Anyway, we wrap up the meeting after Greg underlines (for Sally's benefit) that everyone in the office needs to get along.
On Oct 2 (the next Monday), I had a good drive & happened to get there at 8:20. Sally arrives at 8:25 & comes in, stopping at my desk.
Sally: (annoyed) Are you gonna be early all week?
Me: (frowning & caught off-guard) Um, I don't know. It just depends how long my drive takes.
Sally: (with a snarky attitude) 'Cause I had to keep driving around waiting for you, so if you're gonna be early, I'd like to know.
Ok, first of all, no one is forcing you to drive around. You can park your car in the parking lot. Do you really think we're gonna fire you for sitting in the parking lot while you wait for me? We only said you couldn't come in & work before I do. & second, it's none of your business when I get to work. My shift starts at 8:30, therefore, you should aim for 8:30, just like Greg told you to do. How am I supposed to predict the exact minute I get to work? & you're gonna get angry at me 'cause I didn't show up before my shift starts? Since when is it a requirement of mine to come into work before I start working?
Well, a bit of malicious compliance in this entitled story: if I can see I'm going to arrive at work more than 5 minutes early, I stop at the store just down the road & shop until 8:30. 'Cause guess what? Sally gets there who knows how early & sits in the gas station across the street, waiting for me. Fine, you wanna be that way? I can be petty, too.
By the way, Sally has a radio talk show she listens to from before I get to work until it ends at 10:00. I'm not into talk shows, but it wasn't too annoying (most of the time), so I didn't say anything about it. The reason why I started having a problem listening to it was that they would get into inappropriate things (s** toy review, for example). It made me super uncomfortable when they did segments like this. From the moment Sally was written up, she started only listening to the show on her headphones, thinking she was punishing me by me not getting to hear the show. Joke's on her. Sally did me a favor by not having to listen to that thing.
Sally was also told that she is no longer allowed to take smoke breaks on the clock. As no one else in the office takes breaks but chooses to work through them, this change would be made so all employees were equal now. But here’s the interesting thing: Sally suddenly stopped taking smoke breaks at all, but her bathroom breaks grew more numerous & longer. When she had been taking smoke breaks, the alarm on her phone would go off at specific times, such as 2:00. She would then go outside to take her smoke break. After the on-the-clock-smoke-break privilege was taken away, the same alarms would go off, such as 2:00. She would then disappear to the bathroom for 15 minutes. & I even smelled smoke in there when I went in there right after one of these long bathroom breaks.
Ever since the write up, there’s been attitude every once in a while. Most of the time, I have no idea what it is I did that could possibly have set her off that day. All I know is that Sally’s suddenly slamming things around again (hmm, PTSD cured now, is it?). & she’s still constantly making mistakes (like she’s always done).
On Nov 27, Sally is working on the Funding (loan proceeds funded onto a customer’s debit card). What we do is get the list of customers, determine how much the office funded that customer, transfer the money from the office’s bank account to the holding account, & then transfer the total from the holding account to the account that directly funds the debit cards to replenish the money. We had two customers with similar names (say, John Smith & Jack Smith). Sally hadn’t paid attention to the whole name & had applied John’s $0 funding to Jack. However, Jack had been funded $250. So, that money was missed, & I had to make a separate transfer for it.
On Dec 4, Sally is working on the Funding & writes down $0 for a customer. But the report from the office says he actually got $96.
On Dec 8 & 9, we discovered 2 checks that were supposed to be sent to our office (one from Oct, one from Sept). Neither had been cashed, & neither had ever reached us, even though we had the rest of the paperwork that would have come with those checks. Due to the dots I had connected, I had a pretty strong hunch that Sally wasn’t thoroughly checking the mail envelopes to make sure they’d been completely emptied before they got thrown away. I believed these checks were still in some envelopes that were then thrown away by Sally.
On Dec 11, on the bank reconciliation sheets we work at the end of the month (like balancing a checkbook), one of Sally’s offices was out of balance by $68, & she couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find it, either. I pulled out the one done for the month before. I couldn’t find it there, either. But I did notice one thing. The checks that hadn’t cleared the bank yet didn’t add up to the total amount of outstanding checks Sally had written down. By $68. I go back to the month before that one. There were a total of $68 in old checks that never got cashed & therefore should have gotten written off on the fiscal year-end at the end of Oct. But she hadn’t transferred them to the new month’s sheet. So, now, we have to hold onto them for a whole year to write off next Oct.
The same day, I went through all the offices to double check the GL codes that we post the expense checks to (GL codes determine where an expense gets coded, e.g., post an electricity payment to the GL code for utilities). The day previously, Sally had gotten several GL codes incorrect in the Miller office. She had forgotten to change the codes from the one for the Checkbook to the ones for the expense account. She had caught those ones since it affected the balance of the Checkbook, so I had helped her fix those properly. However, there were expense checks sent to a GL code that wasn’t the right one that Sally hadn’t caught.
I talk with Greg, as I feel that every time I turn around, I am either retraining Sally on stuff I’ve trained her on multiple times, I’m correcting mistakes on stuff Sally should know how to do by now (‘cause again, I’ve trained her multiple times), or I’m disciplining Sally about stuff she’s doing wrong. Greg asks how many mistakes due to carelessness she’s made in the last 2 weeks. I check my notes & tell him 4. He says that’s too excessive for an accounting office. We need to write her up.
So, I made the write up, but I just know I’m going to be dealing with the same attitude as the last time I had to write her up. & guess what? Greg’s out of town till Thursday again. I used my phone this time to record the audio of the interaction. That way, if Sally has attitude towards me again, I’m able to play the recording to Greg so he can hear what Sally’s like when he’s not here (which is why the following conversation is pretty much word for word).
On Dec 12 (Tuesday), I sat her down first thing.
Me: So, in the past couple weeks, I’ve noticed some errors happening due to carelessness, & they’ve become a bit excessive for an accounting office. The most important thing in an accounting office is accuracy. That’s why we focus so much on thoroughness & attention to detail. So, whatever needs to happen to lessen those errors, whether it’s slowing the pace of the work itself or double & triple-checking the work before it’s finished, it needs to happen. For example, when I work the payroll, after I get the total for all the offices, I then subtract each person’s individual hours to double check my entries. That way, if there is an error, at least I know it wasn’t ‘cause I was going too fast or not paying attention or something. So, whatever you need to do to decrease the mistakes, please—
Sally: What errors are we talking about?
Me: I have a page here with the items from the last couple weeks. (hand her the write up)
Sally: (reads the pages for a minute) Ok…
Me: So, whatever you need to do to—
Sally: (talking quickly ‘cause she’s pissed now) I’m gonna need more time & focus strictly on Funding. I don’t wanna touch mail, I don’t wanna touch anything else. I wanna focus strictly on that. ‘Cause I’m getting 80 plus a day (which was a lie, we never get nearly that much), & now, I’m gonna start getting in trouble if it’s not 110%. I am human. I will make mistakes. So, if that’s not allowed, then…(shrugs) let me know, I guess. I’ll talk to Greg & I guess figure something out. I am human, & I am gonna make mistakes, A. B, I feel like crap. He (Greg) has been in here sick the last week. I caught whatever he has. I’ve been hacking. I’ve been sicker than sh** the last week. I am trying. You guys usually have until the 12th to close the month. Since I’ve worked here, I’ve closed before the 8th. Yeah, I made mistakes. I told you I made a mistake on the Miller office. I knew what happened. So, to throw it in my face again that I already made that mistake is kinda rude, but…(shrugs) I’m actually kinda shocked to see that on there.
Me: Well, you did catch the errors involving the Checkbook, but there were other mistakes on that office that you didn’t catch, & that’s the reason that was listed on there.
Sally goes back to her work, & I decide to not ask her to sign the write up I had given her right away since she was diving right into the Funding. She had expressed she wanted to focus solely on it to minimize mistakes. I wanted to use positive reinforcement to convey that this was good behavior & good thinking, so I decided to wait for her to finish before asking her to sign & return the write up.
Now, here’s the issues with her little outburst above.

1. Sally is complaining that she’s human & makes mistakes & we’re not allowing mistakes. We’re not saying that she can’t make mistakes, ‘cause she’s right. Everyone makes mistakes; I make mistakes. What we’re saying is that she’s making mistakes much too often.
   
2. Sally says the reason for these mistakes the last 2 weeks is ‘cause she’s been sick the last week or so ‘cause she caught what Greg had (do you see the timing problem there?). Also, these kinds of mistakes have been happening for months & months. I only brought these examples up ‘cause they were recent.
   
3. Sally pointed out the fact that she closes each month really quick. We don’t care how fast things get done. Our goal isn’t to get things done quickly but to get things done accurately. If we happen to get it done quickly, that’s just a bonus. We would rather things go slow than to have errors causing problems or costing us money ‘cause we didn’t take the time to make sure it was correct.
   
4. Sally states it’s rude that I’m throwing her error back in her face (you already know my reaction to that). She obviously doesn’t know how a job works. Just ‘cause we discussed this error already doesn’t mean it can’t go on the write up. This is just one of the examples that required us to do a write up. We’re not doing this ‘cause we want to write you up or that we’re looking for excuses to get you in trouble. We’re doing our job. If a situation needs correcting, we have to correct it. We can’t just ignore it. & obviously, me talking about your errors all these months hasn’t helped. You’re still making the same mistakes. So, now, we’ve had to escalate to a write up on paper.
   

Sally doesn’t say another word. She, as expected, starts doing her tossing-things-‘cause-I’m-pissed-off thing. I just go back to my work. I’ve said my piece, now we can put it behind us & move on.
Now, we have until 10:30 to make the transfers for this Funding program in order to get the money back to the account the same day. We are still missing the paperwork for 2 customers from an office. (FYI, when we’re missing paperwork, we call the office & ask them to fax it. If we still don’t get it when it gets close to the transfer deadline, we call again & just ask for the amount to get it done.) So, at 10:20, Sally turns to me.
Sally: What do I do for these 2 customers? Do I just skip them?
Me: (frowning) Do what you usually do when you don’t have the paperwork in time. Call the office—
Sally: (in a sharp tone) I did. (she’s assuming I mean call the office to tell them to fax it)
Me: (ignoring her attitude outburst) Call up the office & ask for the dollar amounts.
Sally: But I don’t want to write down the amount without seeing the actual paperwork. If I’m gonna get in trouble for errors now, I don’t want to take down what could be the wrong dollar amount over the phone. I mean, I think that’s only fair to me.
Me: In the instances that were mentioned, they weren’t cases of taking down an amount over the phone. They were instances where we had paperwork or a report to see the amount. We would never write you up if there was a possibility that the office gave you the wrong amount over the phone.
Sally stares at me for a second & turns back to her desk. I turn back to my own work as Sally then calls up the office. I had to deal with her attitude the rest of the day: throwing mail into the mailbox, throwing open the letter folding machine so it made a big bang on the table. I was trying to still be the usual friendly, professional person I am at work; I told her “See you tomorrow” & everything. Sally wouldn’t talk to me unless she had to.
This is when I discovered that Sally has a habit of lashing out at me when she gets in trouble. The first write up involved her trying to drag me under the bus by claiming I’m hostile. This time, it was more personal. See, we do a Christmas gift exchange at the office; we each buy each other a gift. I had searched over & over trying to find something Sally would like. I finally found this desk calendar with gnomes on it (she likes both of these things), so I got it & a couple small items. I open my gift from Sally, & among a few cheap little things, I found…Sally’s own nearly empty bottle of nail polish remover. Wow, this is the thanks I get for not firing you back in Sept with the whole timesheet forgery thing?
& this is where I leave you until Part 2, the conclusion.

Earlier post for the backstory:
https://www.reddit.com/Crushes/comments/1ca3jgu/coworker_crush_update/
So, I didn't really confess until I gave him a handwritten letter past friday. He did know I was gay. Contents of the letter:
Name, I think you are a fun & cute guy. The first thing I noticed, was your smile. And I knew then I wanted to get to know you better. It still took me half a year to ask you if you wanted to have lunch together. I still don't know why you said "yes" so enthousiastically. I mean, we hardly knew eachother, from some work-related questions, a few "hey's" in the hallway. But your smile, your beautiful & sincere smile, let me take the risk. You could have said "no", but you said "yes"\*
During these lunches it became clear, at least for me, that we shared some common interests. Then it happened, feelings started to grow...
I was convinced, for about 85%, that you were gay. After I saw some comments on your Steam-profile, it rose to about 95%. But still I didn't ask the question right away. Maybe I wanted the dream to last a bit longer. Eventually I did ask and you answered. To be honest, I was a little disappointed & sad.
I'm not sure what to do now:
On the one hand, I want to spend time with you; like, go to lunch more often or maybe hangout after work. But I'm not sure how you see this. I wouldn't want you to get the feeling that I'm bothering you by keep asking/sending to do things together.
On the other hand, I realize nothing could ever happen between us & that my feelings for you could possible hinder our developing friendship.
What I wrote, is how I feel. But you have a say in how things will be progressing too. If you ever want to talk about it, please know I will always be ready to listen.
His response came a day later:
Hey My Name, I just read your letter. I'm a bit lost because I didn't see this coming but I appreciate your openness. I apologize if I ever gave you the wrong signals, I didn't mean to. I do think we indeed have some common interest & up until now I enjoyed our lunches together. I think it's for the best to keep it at that. If there's anything else that bothers you, let me know
No need for advice, just wanted to write this out to maybe make me feel better somehow. I don't think there will be a friendship anymore nor us having lunch together

Earlier post for the backstory:
https://www.reddit.com/Crushes/comments/1ca3jgu/coworker_crush_update/
So, I didn't really confess until I gave him a handwritten letter past friday. He did know I was gay. Contents of the letter:
Name, I think you are a fun & cute guy. The first thing I noticed, was your smile. And I knew then I wanted to get to know you better. It still took me half a year to ask you if you wanted to have lunch together. I still don't know why you said "yes" so enthousiastically. I mean, we hardly knew eachother, from some work-related questions, a few "hey's" in the hallway. But your smile, your beautiful & sincere smile, let me take the risk. You could have said "no", but you said "yes"
During these lunches it became clear, at least for me, that we shared some common interests. Then it happened, feelings started to grow...
I was convinced, for about 85%, that you were gay. After I saw some comments on your Steam-profile, it rose to about 95%. But still I didn't ask the question right away. Maybe I wanted the dream to last a bit longer. Eventually I did ask and you answered. To be honest, I was a little disappointed & sad.
I'm not sure what to do now:
On the one hand, I want to spend time with you; like, go to lunch more often or maybe hangout after work. But I'm not sure how you see this. I wouldn't want you to get the feeling that I'm bothering you by keep asking/sending to do things together.
On the other hand, I realize nothing could ever happen between us & that my feelings for you could possible hinder our developing friendship.
What I wrote, is how I feel. But you have a say in how things will be progressing too. If you ever want to talk about it, please know I will always be ready to listen.
His response came a day later:
Hey My Name, I just read your letter. I'm a bit lost because I didn't see this coming but I appreciate your openness. I apologize if I ever gave you the wrong signals, I didn't mean to. I do think we indeed have some common interest & up until now I enjoyed our lunches together. I think it's for the best to keep it at that. If there's anything else that bothers you, let me know
No need for advice, just wanted to write this out to maybe make me feel better somehow. I don't think there will be a friendship anymore nor us having lunch together

I posted this before, and it was popular, but as soon as I added identifying details it was thrown out. So here it is again, without identification.
This is more retribution than revenge, but it's still...
When I was studying for an M.A. in Psychology, we had to take one of two courses: advanced statistics (conventional statistics, boring as boring can be) or a course in a kind of alternate analysis. The second course was given by a professor who had developed a brilliant method for tabulating variables and defining predicted relationships between them and I chose his course. Wrong move. While the guy was brilliant, he was also megalomanic and nasty. He spent most of the lectures badmouthing conventional statistics and rarely taught anything. His T.A. weren’t very good at answering questions, and writing papers for the course was a nightmare.
One of the things the professor was hung up on was language – he had invented terms for the elements of his theory (some of them were invented words, some of them were common words that he gave new meanings) and insisted on using them - and woe betide any student who tried to use his/her own words to explain the concepts! During one lecture, he spouted a sentence full of his terms – common words but with his meaning – and most of the class didn’t understand what on earth he meant. (Incidentally, I was one of the few who did understand). A student raised his hand, said he didn’t understand and asked the lecturer to repeat it. The professor repeated what he had said word for word. Ths student said he still didn’t understand. The Professor barked out: “do you know what X means? Do you know what Y means?” etc (X and Y being the words he used). The student said “I understand each word, but I still don’t understand the sentence, could you explain it in other words?” The professor exploded: “These are scientific terms, there are no other words”. I raised my hand, he called me (his mistake) and I said: “Excuse me, but this course is required for M.A. students of Psychology and Sociology. The students here are M.A. students of Psychology and Sociology. If most of us don’t understand, there must be another way to explain it”. The Professor turned DARK PURPLE – I thought he was having a heart attack - but he went to the blackboard, drew a sketch and explained and everyone understood.
By the end of the year, I failed the course. Not that I didn’t understand – but I insisted on using my own words, and that was unacceptable. Next year I took the conventional statistics course.
After that year when I failed, I went to the head of the Psychology department, and reported. I said that it was unacceptable that a required course was one that was given so badly, and graded so unfairly. He asked me to interview other students about the course and write him a report – it could be anonymous. Some students were afraid to express their concerns (he was very powerful at the University) but I got a long list of complaints, and wrote a detailed report – problems with the course, problems with the T.A., problems with the assignments. And I signed it and handed it in.
Two other students were braver than me. They wrote an open letter: “If you want to be insulted all year. If you want to hear one gospel from the teacher and the opposite one from the T.A. etc. etc. This course is for you!”
And they signed it, and hung it up on the bulletin board. Other students added their signatures and endorsements.
Well - the course wasn’t removed. But I found out that the professor had insisted on his course being made compulsory for all Psychology students, and with his clout at the university he would have succeeded. However, due to our protests, his demand was blocked. At least half a win.
By the way, his method was BRILLIANT! I used it countless times over my years working in research support, and even consulted with him. He either didn't know or didn't remember that I had snitched on him...

Hello handwriting experts and enthusiasts,
My handwriting looks significantly different day to day and even from paragraph to paragraph on the same page.
I'm able to write legibly when I focus on it, but when I relax and just take notes for myself, it seems like several people are taking turns writing with my hand. Density changes, letter shapes change, slant, no slant, nothing is stable.
What could be the cause?