Weekend Form 2007-2026

5 Ways To Instantly Turn Small Talk Into BIG TALK:Let me preface this by presenting the following idea: nobody is boring. Whenever I hear colleagues or friends complain about small talk I always ask them "Did you make an effort to elevate the conversation?" Or did you just ask them the same jibber jabber questions that you do with 80% of the people in your life? Conversations may be a two way street but you always have the power to make it more dynamic and engaging. Ask boring questions and you'll receive boring answers. Simple as that.People can only show as much as you let them within the context of the conversation. Not everyone shines under the same light and it's your job as a social being to figure out how you can help them show off their dazzling personality. A classic conversational trap is asking people questions that you can easily anticipate the answers to.For instance you'll ask "How’s your day?" and they'll respond with "Good." That's boring, uneventful and you feel like you're just going through the motions. In this article I'll explain how to morph those typical small talk questions into meaningful opportunities for relationship growth.1) What you normally ask: "How's your day?"What to ask instead: "What's the most surprising thing that happened to you recently?"--Doing this entices them to give better answers and actually reflect on the highs and lows of the past week. Giving them the opportunity to be insightful will compel them to open up and give intimate details about their life that they wouldn't normally share.2) What you normally ask: "What do you do for a living?"What to ask instead: "What gets you up in the morning? What are you most passionate about?"--Feeding people generic questions is only setting ourselves up to receive generic answers. Giving someone a positive and encouraging context to bring up their job, sets them up to talk about it with passion. Often times we worry about answering questions in an easily digestible way. This trend of thinking is toxic for those trying to maximize the output of daily interactions. Make people remember you by actively engaging with them. Become unforgettable and you'll move up on their mental list.3) What you normally ask: How are you holding up?What to ask instead: What's holding you up? What motivates you to keep moving forward?--This question is typically saved for someone going through a rough patch in their life. There's a line in the 2000 Danny Boyle movie The Beach that says, "Either get better or die. It's the hanging around in between that really pisses people off." Asking someone about their mental state when they're clearly in distress will only encourage them to lie and say everything's fine, so they can alleviate any discomfort.By focusing on the positive aspects of sadness such as hope and inspiration, you are subconsciously allowing that person to release their repressed feelings in a healthy and uplifting way. Hearing the thought process behind their coping strategies will give you insight into the severity of their issues without having to ask outright. They say the quickest way to a persons heart is through their stomach, but it's actually through subtlety.4. What you normally ask: How was ________? (Your date, your trip to New York, your hike up Torrey Pines)What to ask instead: If you had to do ________ all over again, what would you do differently?The broader your questions are, the less details people will give in return. Asking them about the overall quality of their experience will garner a common response ensuring that their time wasn't wasted. Answers like "It was good. I had tons of fun", are the ones you want to avoid. Ask poignant questions that will actually make them think. This thought train you send them on will make other stops organically along the way, providing you a better shot at finding out how_________ truly was for them.5. What you normally ask: Are you married?What to ask instead: Do you think life partners are over or underrated?The best way to get someone to talk about something specific is to bring up questions surrounding the central topic you secretly want them to elaborate on. If you want to know about their husband/wife, you have to get there incrementally by first talking about friendships, relationships, love etc. This question serves two functions: (a) it gives you their perspective on love and (b) personal values. Someone who puts a high premium on having someone by their side has a much different psychology than a person who is indifferent to the idea. Their answer to this is a natural transition into volunteering information about their own personal experiences.Getting information through the proverbial front door of someone's brain will always be underwhelming and overrated. Small talk is normally inconsequential and monotonous. But it doesn't have to be that way! Getting to know someone is like trying to break into a house. You can't just bust the door down right away. You need a plan of attack. Could you get in through the window? Maybe sneak into the garage? Going from small talk to big talk is allowing the other person to open up the doors for you. People want to be heard and understood. You just have to give them permission first.When life hands you small lemons, make big lemonade. Happy talking!Thomas

I did inventory ordering for a large orange home improvement store. I moved on after nine months.On day 1, I was told no order should exceed $6,000. I had no idea what I was agreeing to. My first order was $30,000. I ordered one item of everything missing in a fence product we carried; Minimum orders were $15,000 to place an order as well. I sold $45,000 in fencing that week and was written up for going over the agreed $6,000 limit. They literally wanted barren shelves if the order was over $6,000.As the months went on, I had several orders exceed that $6,000 limit. I sold $2,000,000 in roofing in one week. I was written up for ordering too much, and then they tried to write me up a minute later when they found out we were out of stock… I told them I had three trucks due that night and I was written up again for going over the $6,000 limit. Theee write ups in one day.I increased sales by 30% from the previous year when everyone else was down 20%, had little “extra” stock and almost no “out of stocks”. I left after they promoted someone for the job I was doing. They promptly dropped 20% from the previous year instead of getting the 30% over… they had no one to fight to place orders that exceeded $6,000 and quickly ran out of product to sell.The guy who was promoted went on to other stores to promote this limited ordering strategy. And sales dropped there too…I personally don’t shop at stores that do not have stock… that was why I stopped shopping at Sears years before their bankruptcy. Empty shelves were a sign of them making those same mistakes. When you have nothing to sell, how does a company profit? I never understood the motive behind ordering less to save money when you are running out of product.

The story of how my wife and I met. Most people think we embellish, or otherwise alter our story, but it is 100% true. I'll be as brief as possible without leaving out any of the major details.In my small hometown (Athens, Alabama - pop: ~20,000), Wal Mart was the place to go for most of your needs, especially if you needed more than groceries. I was in Wal Mart on evening browsing the electronics/music section when I catch a glimpse of this absolutely STUNNING girl walk by. I was 18 at the time, out of high school, but still painfully shy, as I'd always been. However, I was at once smitten and REALLY wanted to talk to her, so I did what any painfully shy 18 year old guy would do, and followed her, at an overly-cautious distance until I could hopefully maneuver around to "accidentally" meet her face to face, as approaching from the rear, as much as I was enjoying the view, was ridiculously intimidating.I tried. Hard. I failed miserably.She apparently didn't find what she was looking for and I obviously discarded any need to further peruse the CD selection as soon as I'd begun stalki... I mean pursuing, so out the front doors of the store she went, and in a "if she knows what I'm doing she'll call the cops" move, I followed still, maintaining a careful distance. Into our cars, out of the parking lot, and down the road...At this point, I begin to question my own sanity... I push myself to make either a firm commitment that, if she does stop somewhere else, I WILL actually speak to her, or to go ahead and drop this madness, and just turn around. If she does stop and I do follow, what if she recognizes me from Wal Mart? Won't that be instant "Ewww, go away!"? But I don't think she actually saw me, at least not in a way that would register that I followed her. She turned into a convenience store. I followed. I'm SOOOOOO going to talk to her. I let her go in a few moments ahead, then followed. I enter the door and sure enough, she's got a drink in her hand and is walking back to the front of the store. This is it. Face to face. I look up and our eyes briefly lock...Her eyes... Oh my God... I'm absolutely stunned. They are the most intriguing green-ish, gray-ish, and... almost... am I seeing this right... yellow-ish, ridiculously unique and captivatingly beautiful. I know the look on my face had to look exactly like Raphie Parker's face in A Christmas Story, when he's locked eyes on the Red Ryder in the Higbee's storefront display. I smile sheepishly, nod, then walk to the back of the store, feigned interest in whatever drink I end up buying, and watch as she drives away into the night. Failure. Utter failure.A few weeks later, I'm at work and get a call from a long time friend whom I hadn't heard from in quite some time. He owns a small sporting goods store in town, and says he has this girl working for him who is "trapped" (his words) in a relationship with an "older guy" (again, his words) who doesn't treat her too well. He knows I've dated some good looking girls (I wasn't as shy when I was properly introduced, it's the whole "cold approach" that terrified me) and wanted to know if I'd come try to steal her away and save her. Not exactly how I like to start a relationship, but it sounds like fun. What 18 year old guy doesn't like a good challenge, right? The next day I take my lunch break and head to his store. I walk in and ask if Steve is in, the clerk goes in the back to get him and I walk over to the baseball caps. I hear Steve's voice as he approaches, talking to a female, but I can't really make out what they're saying. He walks through the swinging door, I walk over to shake his hand, but when the door swings back open the other way, I stop dead in my tracks. Was that...? Surely not... I look nervously back and forth from Steve to the door. Just a moment later, she walks through. Those eyes... it's her. I give myself a pep talk, knowing I'll be bolstered by having a mutual party to break the ice. "Game on. You got this."She's every bit as beautiful as I remember. Our eyes meet again and this time I smile as Steve introduces us, she holds out her hand. A handshake? It's different, I guess... I can deal with that. I grasp her hand, lightly but tight enough to control the duration of our touch. I hold my gaze into those eyes as I hold her hand. "It's... (very brief dramatic pause)... nice to meet you." I say, infinitely more confidently than it reads here. Her name is Casey.Then... as my eyes quickly take note of the rest of her face, and I release her hand, my rememberer begins skittering back many many years... I've seen her before. WAAAYYYYY before I stal... before I followed her from Wal Mart to the gas station... In my head, gears whirr and bells clang as I search through my internal index of faces from my past... Then the mechanics grind to a halt. The school bus. First grade. FIRST GRADE??? Out of my mouth, before I've given any real thought as to how the ensuing conversation might go, gush the words "Did you go to East?" (East Limestone, one of the "county schools" in Limestone County) Only I knew she didn't go to East, I did. I went from Kindergarten through graduation, and I most certainly would have known if Casey had gone to East. I scramble back through my memories for more details, as her reply comes..."No. I went to Clements." (Another of the county schools, Clements was on the exact opposite side of the county. Yes, there is a "West", but it's farther northwest than Clements.)In an instant, clarity. There was a little girl that rode the same bus I did, but only for a year. She was in kindergarten when I was in first grade, and she cried. Every. Single. Day. She would cry to stay with her mother. I remember now... THAT little girl's name was Casey too... I had often wondered what happened to Casey. This was long before homeschooling was an option for kids who just didn't want to go to public schools, so I had assumed they had moved, but in my mind, of course, they went much farther than the other side of the county. I remembered on many occasions offering her something, anything she wanted, from my lunchbox, to try to make her feel better. I hated to see her cry."You didn't go to East, not even in..." I began, before she finished my thought, "... in kindergarten, I did. How did you...""And you rode Mrs. Walker's bus... right. You cried, every day... I remember. That was you, wasn't it?Stunned, she stared deep into my soul. "Yes. Did you... were you the boy that..." "Yeah.... I hated to see you so upset."And now, a full 13 years into our marriage, I still hate it when those beautiful green-ish, grey-ish, yellow-ish eyes shed a tear.And yes, I later told her about the Wal Mart incident, which she found incredibly endearing, thank God!EDIT: By request, here's a photo of us. When we have the kids with us, it seems she or I always end up behind the camera... Just look at those eyes...

About 4 years ago, I took a part time cashier position at the local Dollar Tree. I work full time but wanted some extra income and made this very clear in the interview process because the store manager seemed perplexed by my over-qualifications. I have spent the majority of my career in customer service with a few years of retail management, too, but I wasn't looking for a career change, just a temporary income boost close to home.I asked for 2-3 short shifts per week, explaining that I worked 9-5 Monday through Friday. I said I could do 1 or 2 weeknights and alternating Saturdays and Sundays. Instead I was scheduled for 7 hour shifts for every Saturday and Sunday and no weeknights . Ok, I could deal with working 7 days a week straight, if that was all, just to make a little extra money for a short time. But that wasn't all…I quickly learned that Dollar Tree employees are paid minimum wage and treated like dirt. I would be scheduled with only 1 other employee at a time, who was either the store manager or assistant manager that I would only see for 5 minutes at the beginning of my shift. I would be checked in, given the till drawer with only $20 in change in it, then directed to an understocked register and given a list of tasks to accomplish, usually including a pallet or 2 of stock. The manager would vanish, only to make brief reappearances when summoned and berate me for summoning her.I'm no stranger to retail— I knew i wouldn’t be idly sitting behind the register. But working at the dollar store was awful. And the clientele was a motley crew too. Every shift, I was left to deal with an overflowing line of cranky customers, helium balloon orders, unruly children, angry seniors, and demands for personal shopping assistance all alone.It was a never-ending madhouse (& a shoplifter’s dream). Customers would yell out in line about waiting, asking why arent there any other registers open. These same people would then pay with slowly counted out change, or checks that required 2 forms of ID, or declined credit cards (always MY fault), or demand I wrap their glasses and dishes in newspaper and cardboard like it was fine porcelain. If two people paid with a 20 dollar bill within the first 10 minutes of my shift, I was cleaned out of change (you wouldn't believe how many people whip out a 20 or a 50 for a $2 sale).We had resident crazies like the old man who called us all damn Yankees and waxed poetic in the aisles about how he missed living in Savannah, and the Diet Pepsi man (2 bottles every day, exact change, must get bag & receipt); regulars who came in just to use the bathroom; people who never made it to the bathroom but shopped anyway; weekly shopping trips from the nearby group home; local business owners haggling over bulk items they bought there just to mark up at their own stores; angry parents buying last minute school project supplies; people in formal wear buying cards on their way to an event; cheapskates trying to get refunds because the $1 toy made in China broke after 15 minutes; little kids crying as they learn for the first time about sales tax when that toy costs $1.07 …There was nothing more i could do than try to move everyone along as fast as humanly possible. I was filling up helium balloons with one hand, scanning items with the other, running from aisle to register to ballon center and back to the register. Meanwhile, the manager would be off in an aisle stocking shelves or hiding in the storage room or chain smoking out in the parking lot. If anyone asked her for help, she'd send them up to the register for me to deal with.When I would page my manager for help if I had a line to the door or a 50 dollar bill or I ran out of change, she would take her time coming through multiple pages, then alternately tell me I should have called her sooner or not at all. And with every appearance, I would be reprimanded in front of the customers for not stocking enough product, double bagging canned items and running out of bags, accepting too many 20s, paging her too often /not enough, not kicking the shoplifting teenagers out, not walking someone over to the toilet paper display, not knowing if we sold out of a product (because i never knew what we had since I couldn't leave the register), you name it… I would come home feeling like I had run a marathon.Memorial Day weekend, I went in for my regular hectic Saturday shift, and saw the upcoming schedule taking away my entire holiday weekend and the next 2 weekends, again. I grabbed a sharpie and wrote a note on my task checklist asking to be removed from the schedule permanently. Next to each task, I wrote stuff like, “nope” and “are you crazy?” or “you do it, i dont have time.” At the end of my shift, I turned that in with my receipts and left. I didn't show up the following day and never called to make sure anyone read it.

This is what my son and I did when he wanted to live independently, but couldn't really afford to live out on his own.I live on the west coast of Canada. Rents are very high, so it is difficult for young people to work at the minimum wage jobs available to them, and live independently.We have a strong Provincial Landlord Tenant Act which governs both landlords and tenants. Everything is very clear, and life is easier for all concerned if landlords use the government forms, and follow the act.My son called me one day, after living away from home for maybe 3 years, saying he wasn't going to be able to pay the rent due in 3 or 4 days. Could he please move back home into his room?I rented a truck, about 3 hours was all I could get at that late date, and we moved him home.It turned out he was having trouble with having a consistent income with the minimum wage jobs he was qualified for at the time.He moved into his childhood room, which is tiny, and my living room became a storage room for the rest of his things. (I have a tenant paying market rent in a one bedroom suite in my basement. It pays the mortgage.)Not long after, we moved him into the master bedroom, which has an ensuite (master bath), and all his things moved from the living room into his room, which is very large.Next, he filled out a provincial government landlord tenant form, and began paying $200 each month.I put a full size fridge and microwave in his room. He did his own grocery shopping, and cooking. He did his own cleaning and laundry. We didn't share a bathroom, so that removed a source of friction.I certainly did not worry about the cleanliness of his room. That's what doors are for, although it turned out he cleaned more regularly than I did.I did not enter his room without permission or proper notice, as per the Landlord Tenant Act.I had already taken him grocery shopping a few times to show him how to shop and cook on a budget.I hired someone else to cut the lawn. My son had no time, and I didn't want to be arguing with him about chores.He was no longer a child. I had my chance raising him. That period of both our lives was over. He was trying his best to be an independent adult in a difficult financial climate, so I treated him like an adult. I also treated him like any other tenant I've had.My thinking was if I wouldn't say it to my tenant downstairs, I didn't say it to him.All of this meant that our only interaction was social, so we became good friends.It worked a treat. We get along great now.Your son is trying to be an adult, taking small steps. Let him. Make him a tenant, and treat him like any other tenant.Charge him $200 a month, which is low enough to keep him there, but high enough that he will have to budget to make sure he can pay it.Treat him the same way you would treat a tenant who is a stranger. Treat him like the adult he wants to be.Let him do his own laundry. Make up a schedule, if necessary. He gets the weekends, you get weekdays; he gets Wednesday and Sunday, you get the rest of the time.Hire someone to mow the grass. Do not expect “family chores" from him, just as you wouldn't from a tenant who is a stranger.Put a full size fridge, a microwave, and a hot plate in his suite if there isn't a kitchen. Then take him grocery shopping and show him how to shop, and cook, on a tight budget.Do not expect him at the family dinner table every night. You will find yourself chasing him to find out when he'll be home for dinner every day. Let him set his own schedule, cook for himself, eat what he wants. If he needs cooking lessons, teach him, or sign him up for a class. After he's settled, invite him for Sunday dinner, but not every week.If he needs to be driven when he drinks too much, pick him up. Ask no questions.Try very hard not to judge as he navigates the difficult time of young adulthood. Help him get through without any life altering issues — everyone alive, no one pregnant, no record.All of this will help him learn how to organize his life successfully in the adult world while he is in a safe place. It will also provide a foundation for your future relationship, and your respect for each other.He wants to be an independent adult. Let him, and help him.It has nothing to do with whether or not you need the rent money. It has everything to do with helping your son become an adult.My son stayed for 2.5 years. It was great having him here. When he left, he got in his car and drove, alone, across the country to live in Toronto, which he felt well prepared to do. I then offered his room to a young, aspiring musician who wanted to live semi-independently, with someone around. She pays market rent, I listen to beautiful music every day, and we both have someone to talk to.If you read my thread, you'll see some of my experiences with my son as he went through young adulthood, and how we navigated to what I now consider successful adulthood.

You have to fill out a form (will be available with the security guards of the hostel block) and then get it signed from your respective hostel wardens. This is for day out-pass. For night out-pass, you will need an email sent to warden from parents/guardians, in addition to above.

Missouri. First I have to drive to the gun shop about fifteen minutes away. Once I'm there, a certain very cool lieutenant on the local police force who works there part-time usually wants to have friendly conversation and grill me on how I'm liking the carbine he sold me last time or the full size 9mm the time before that. He might also want to know how my daughter's doing and any other of the people we both know.After being interrogated thusly, I examine a few items I might want to buy, but usually I know what I want when I go in. If they don't have it in stock, they are happy to order it for me.Once I make my selection, or when I return to pick up what I had them order, I have to fill out a form. Once I fill out the form, the staff runs it through the federal background system. They tell me to feel free to browse the store while it processes.Some five or ten minutes later, they summon me to the counter. They box up the weapon, and ring up the price. After I pay, they hand me the receipt or put it in the gun case. They ask me if I need any ammo or want to try it out on their range. I respond by saying that I want to take it home and give it a good clean and lube first.Another fifteen minute drive home, and I just used up an hour, hour and a half total to acquire my new gun.

In order for me to travel over a four day weekend outside a certain radius required:Three copies of a DA31 leave and pass form properly filled out and signed by three peopleA vehicle safety checklist that required an inspection of my car (regardless of whether I woukd be using it) and showing proof of license, registration and insurance.A printout of my planned route from Mapquest.A printout of the Drivers Safety Instruction and Training Web site showing that I answered questions correctly.A DA Form 4856 General Counseling form that informed me of my responsibilities and the impact failure to adhere to the regulations and limitations could have on my career.All of that, in order to go on a trip. This isn't for actual leave that would be credited agsinst my earned vacation days. This wasn't in order to excuse my absence from work for a day. This was in order for me to travel on my day off.This was something I had to do as a E7 Sergeant First Class with multiple combat deployments, nearly 20 years of service (at the time) and the responsibility of the health, training, welfare and discipline of 30 men and equipment in excess of $20 million. We're talking armored vehicles, complex communications systems, high security clearance, huge guns and optics to make the night turn into day.So, yeah, there's a bit of bureaucracy.

There had been a shooting in the small town over the weekend. A man stopped for gas, calmly shot his mother as she sat in the passenger's seat of the vehicle, then asked the gas station attendant to call the police.Many of my students knew this man and his mother, and the tragedy shook the town. Easter was coming, and the shooting drew a pall over what would otherwise have been a joyous week of hectic planning for the oncoming celebration.In my sixth grade class that day, two young men, best friends, suddenly flew at one another, knocking over chairs and sending their fellow students scattering. Quickly, other young men separated the two, dragging them to opposite corners of the room.I had no call button in my room, which was in an out building separated from the main building by a long, covered walkway. The principal had recently instituted a policy requiring that teachers fill out the referral paperwork before sending anyone to the office, no exceptions. The smaller of the two kept trying to break free and lunge at the other, now restrained by friends near the windows. Struggling to finish the blasted paperwork, I wound up having to literally sit on the student to keep him from attacking again. As I sat on a student, blood staining my new Easter blouse, filling out forms in triplicate, I thought how pointless and absurd this all was, and I vowed to start sending out resumes immediately.To our shock, in walked the principal. She was apparently traveling room to room to deliver some message so important that I cannot even remember what it was now. And her first observation?“Oh, Mrs. (surname), there are so many staples on your carpet!”That's it. No mention of the fact there had obviously been a fight just minutes before. Hell, I had sixth graders on my carpet, too, and they are much larger than staples.I found out that the bigger of the two had made an insensitive comment about the shooting to his friend (who was kin to both the shooter and the victim), and his friend just snapped. The two immediately reconciled and remained best friends.I quickly found another job in a neighboring town, starting immediately after summer break began. The principal, resentful that I was leaving, had tried nibbling me to death with a series of petty reprimands over nothing, but in the end, I was able to escape relatively unscathed. I can't say the same for the kids, as her mismanagement led the state to take over the school the following year.

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