Everything is amazing right now and nobody is happy ~ Louis CK

Leaving to catch an early morning flight out of Sacramento last week, my semi-upbeat mood quickly faded, faster than my last root touch-up, leaving me irritable and feeling like a glass half empty. I had barely packed the car, buckled my seatbelt, inserted my favorite CD, drove a miniscule mile to merge on the freeway when I immediately encountered a traffic accident. Slam on the breaks! The traffic alert sign said in bright orange letters "Accident Ahead" while what I really thought should be flashing in neon was "Idiot Driver Up Ahead". Yes, there was fog, there was traffic, I hadn't had my Starbucks and definitely not enough sleep, but my God, watch where you're going people! I already mentioned my glass was at least half empty, right? And speaking of the half empty or half full analogy, I saw this and had to share it ~

You gotta love that. Anyway, back to the story.

When I finally made it to the airport, parked in the economy lot, caught the shuttle, made it over to the terminal, I was surprised to find that once I entered through the revolving doors it was a completely new terminal, one I had not been to before. Nothing looked familiar and I thought momentarily that they had dropped us off somewhere very very wrong. Entering now in the baggage claim area with it's uber chic architecture, spacious and light, shiny escalators and dramatic glass elevators that take you to the next level where you will catch the tram to the other terminal.

The new interior had some great art pieces, including an exquisite over sized branch and crystal hanging sculpture that was stunning, competeing with the finest of art galleries. Walking quickly to the boarding area there was an almost eerie quiet, like the Sacramento Tule fog, a hushed atmosphere, usually reserved for a museum or library. The other passengers seemed to move in slow motion, almost in a Stepford Wives kind of fashion, looking straight ahead, like we had all been dropped into a scene from the Twilight Zone. At least that was how I was feeling and how I perceived my other fellow travelers to be feeling as well.

We boarded the plane, an Alaskan/Horizon Q400, two seats on either side of the aisle, too small for my taste. I was seated in the window seat when luckily a rather average sized woman sat in the aisle seat next to me. Average for Americans anyway, most assuredly overweight by many other standards. But at least there wasn't spilling flesh being shared between the two of us as many times seems to be the case. But I still have the same problem with the arm rest situation. It drives me crazy and I can't help being obsessed with this every flight I take. There are two passengers and one inside arm rest. Who gets it? Well the woman next to me had no problem taking possession of said arm rest. She was bigger than me, her hair much shorter, arms more muscular, not that I am implying anything by this or even if I was, there's nothing wrong with it. What I think I am saying here is that she was more Yang to my Yin. But damn, why do I have so much trouble claiming the friggin arm rest?

As I fastened my belt, making myself as comfortable as humanly possible, I looked out the scratched up window and saw that I was seated directly next to the propeller. I took this photo from my window.

I am not used to being on such a small plane and the sight of a propeller flooded my mind with all kinds of fear and set my imagination on high gear. Perhaps I had a bad experience as a child with those little spinning pull string saucer toys that kids would aim at one another, I doubt it, but it is a possibility. As they spun wildly round and round, faster and faster, I kept visualizing them spinning right off, slicing the plane in two, along with my head, decapitating me somewhere over Redding or Crater Lake. I wasn't sure when this disaster would happen, but I was sure it would. Whenever I fly, before takeoff I always look around the plane, take stock of the other passengers as I like to see who I might be spending my last few minutes or hours on earth with. I know, sick you say.

In the row in front of me I was "lucky" enough to have a mother with a baby on her lap in one seat and her little toddler in the seat directly in front of me. Yes, that really is a photo of the real him. Now, I don't know why I am like this, but when I am on a plane I want to be left alone, don't want to socialize with people I don't know and might possibly die with, I just want to be left to my own thoughts, my book or the delicious snacks that will soon be served (and actually I had the best little Biscoff biscuits ~ such a pleasant surprise and welcome change from the standard pack of 7 peanuts).

So while the little boy in front of me was cute enough, I don't want to be in charge of entertaining ~ Nanny material I am not. He kept reaching back trying to touch me or steal a biscuit, I'm not sure. Or he would stand on his chair and look over the seat at me while I gave the obligatory smile, secretly hoping his drool wouldn't land on my knee. I tried to act somewhat amused by this child just in case his mother should catch a glimpse of me, I didn't want her to see me scowling and out me for the bitch I can really be.

So after all my complaining about my flight, the other passengers, about getting to and from, I just had to post this video of Louis CK. He was a guest on Conan O'Brien and if you are not familiar with him, my opinion is that he is a very crude and vulgar comedian and a little CK goes a long way. But this bit is good ~ really really good. The only thing I disagree with here is that this attitude is isolated to a single generation ~ sadly, I believe we all own it.

What will it take to get you in a new car today?

I am not a salesperson.  I'm not really sure how I managed to weasel my way into this gig.  I do remember coming upon the ad on Craigslist years ago for a sales consultant at a prestigious Napa Valley gallery.  Hmm, I thought, I like art, I myself create my own art, so what could be better than to spend my days surrounded by fine art in a beautiful up valley gallery.

I sent in my resume and to my surprise got an interview.  I met with the owner, Ira, who I instantly felt a connection with, his brilliant white and sincere smile, the light in his sky blue eyes, and the way that he listened.  He leaned forward, into my words, like he really wanted to hear me, to get to know me. We talked about Buddhism and Feng Shui, got into a philosophical discussion, both agreeing on everything, seeing both eyes to both eyes.  I left the interview after an hour and a half feeling pretty confident that I had got the job.  At the very least, I had just made a very good friend.

The call came days later, a message left on my cell phone, "Hi Kim, it's Ira.  Could you please call me at the gallery at your earliest convenience?"  All jittery, but trying to act like I was in complete control, I waited a couple of hours and then calmly made the call.  He didn't hire me.  He really really liked me, but there was someone else more qualified, she in fact had her MFA, as did everyone he had ever hired.  I tried not to let him hear the disappointment in my voice. 

The same ad reappeared on Craigslist a year later.  I immediately sent an email.  "Hello Ira, It's Kim, I interviewed with you last year for this position.  I believe you might have hired the wrong person. Interested in giving me another shot?"  He got back to me quickly, thrilled that I had seen the ad. Come in, come in, soon!  So, I ended up getting the job after all.  And I was always aware that this was an opportunity not afforded to many.  I got lucky, I was being groomed by one of the best gallerists on the West Coast.

Time went on as it has that habit of doing and it took me awhile to realize that just because I like art, and the idea of being involved in the art world, doesn't make me want to sell it.  I wasn't good at marketing and selling my own art, why would I be good at selling other artist's work, especially those artists where even if I had more money than Bill Gates, I still wouldn't buy their work?  Now, I can of course sell a simple cup of coffee, even up sell, add a scone to that order?  But a $15,000+ painting? Not so simple.  Plus, the people walking into a coffee shop are usually intent on buying something anyway.  They are not window shopping or pastry case shopping.  They want it now.  No need to go home and weigh themselves first, see if they can indulge today in a few more calories.  Measure their waistline to see if it fits, they aren't even that particular about the ingredients, who roasted the beans, who baked the apple fritter, can they see the baker's bio, their resume?  They really don't care.  Unless of course, they are from Portland.  You have seen Portlandia, haven't you?  The episode where they go in to a restaurant and order chicken, but then want to know if it is organic, where it was raised, what it was fed, was the chicken treated kindly and did the chicken have any friends?  But in general, most people aren't that concerned and that's what you call an easy sell.

Now art on the other hand, has conflicting issues for me. One part of me believes that you are providing this client with something that will truly enrich their life while at the same time knowing that this is truly a luxury item whose price tag could feed a small nation.  You act totally nonchalant, cool in that black dress/sweater gallerina kind of way, while inside your head you are jumping up and down, spending your enormous commission before even coming close to closing the deal. The bottom line is that you make your living on those commissions so every potential client becomes a major dollar sign. I don't have it in me.  I don't want you to buy a painting or work of art unless you love it, can afford it, can't live without it, and have already sold it to yourself.

Needless to say, I'll be looking for a new line of work here in the near future.  Maybe volunteer work in some third world country, like Oakland or Detroit, or perhaps selling coffee to those hard working early morning commuters in anywhere USA. A line of work that makes someone else's life a little bit easier  - not just helping  to "decorate" by placing a painting over the sofa in someones vacation home. Like my friend *Jerry Seinfeld says, "Not that there's anything wrong with that," it's just wrong for me.


*Jerry and I would be great friends if we ever met.  I just know it!