Customer service? What's that?

I'm in the midst of THREE unbelievably annoying situations with folks I do business with, and I've now resorted to an emergency breathing tactic to calm down. "Breathe, BREATHE, everything is okay. These are small, small things." But that's not the point. Can you believe:

• I get this letter from my State Farm insurance agent of 16 years. It goes like this: "I'm retiring, you see, and although I really enjoyed taking care of you all this time, it's time for me to move on." Next day I hear on the news that State Farm is pulling out of home owners insurance in FL. Now, let's be honest, are you really "retiring?" Guess I have to go shopping...for something really boring and expensive. Probably won't be as expensive as State Farm though. (There IS good in the bad!)
  
• I renewed a membership with a local film-related nonprofit over a month ago. After an e-mail and three phone calls, they've finally agreed to mail the member benefits I never received. After an initial period of just ignoring my contacts, there was a lot of suggestion that the error was mine and also that I was trying to double dip; something I deeply resent. "I can't believe they didn't give you your benefits when you renewed" is an exact quotation. So your memberships are down? Hmmmm....I may know why. You'll have at least one less renewal next year.
  
• Inhabiting the first place on my doo doo list is Sprint. Oh how I want to tell you the whole story. But I'll leave out all of the excruciating details of the saga, which all of us have probably experienced at some time or another. The bare bones of the story amount to a string of interactions with incompetent staff and poor website directives, the likes of which even Ghandi wouldn't have patience for. The worst part is, it's not over. I now have to clean up the crap they created before I can pull out. You SO wouldn't believe what I am dealing with here.

For the love of Mike, will somebody just give me a bowl of chocolate chip ice cream?

Hi! I'm a psycho!

There a few people I know who operate like this:

Tuesday:
"I care so much about you, and also love everyone in the world--everyone! Each and every human being in the world is my very best friend. Truly. But you are my best friend. And...you are brilliant!"

Wednesday:
"You are completely out of line and everything you suggest is stupid (including what I told you was brilliant just yesterday). And that last idea of yours tops it all off. STUPID! The ENTIRE WORLD is stupid!"

Thursday:
"I am a deeply caring individual, with a sensitive heart of gold. Did I tell you how much I care?"


Note 1: No, these aren't friends or family members.
Note 2: I don't take any of this personally, but really, isn't life too short for this doo doo? Are there meds for this?

Figure Skating & The Big Mistake

Husband would tell me the only mistake about figure skating is having it on the tube in the first place, but hey, I like it. Here's the only thing: it makes me nervous as hell.

Yesterday I discovered the national figure skating championships on the idiot box and seized the remote while husband was getting his kayak ready for "the big trip."

I felt very proud and alert watching these ladies take the ice, after years of committed practicing and with the knowledge that their entire futures hinged on five minutes of intense pressure.

When one of the skaters prepares for a big jump, I literally feel myself hunkering down. "Will she make it?" I think. And sure as the planet is blue and green, the second I conjure this thought in my mind, there's a splat on the ice. I couldn't feel worse if I did it myself...granted, I would splat even attempting to stand in a pair of skates.

The spectacle reminds me of my football fan mocking--those nut cases who insist that the kind of sub they're eating, the jersey they're wearing, or whether or not they watch the play can affect the outcome of the game. See husband, we're not so different after all. At least when your peeps fall during the Superbowl next week, they won't be so...on the spot. They'll soon be covered up by seven or eight 300 pounders who are piling on top of each other.

Are you a veterinarian?

While hanging out in Greenville, NC last weekend the conversation turned to the discussion of food. We were talking briefly about where to get good meatless meals, and for the first time in many moons, someone in the room turned to me to ask if I was a veterinarian. I felt unprepared since it had been so long since I last received this response. I was proudly able to muster my inward laugh and there was no visible leakage of it to the outside world.

I guess I am a veterinarian. Just like everyday citizens are doctors because they aren't that in to cannibalism.

The Toothpaste on My Sweater

I've been contemplating the things that really matter (and don't matter) today. The half dozen times I've instinctively reached up to cover my mouth as I think of some very pressing matters, I have felt something sticky on my sweater. It took me all day to look down and realize it was the remnants of toothpaste from this morning.

Several very important people in my life are close to cancer--it's either in their bodies or about to destroy someone they are deeply connected to. Two stories of this have come suddenly this week. And not one of the involved parties is "old" by the standards of our current life expectancy in this country.

I'm left with an incredible impression of how brave my friends are, of how stoically they are enduring the unknown. Even if death is imminent, there are questions of when it will happen, who will take care of those who remain, and how accommodations will be made or paid for. I am truly reminded tonight that I am grateful for good health, for a support network of family around me, and for the chance to serve by helping friends even in small ways. I'm hoping to do it justice and continue to ask myself, "What would I want and need from those around me?"

I'm also really, really sure that the toothpaste on my sweater doesn't matter, along with the tons of unimportant details I obsess about each day. Hopefully, with the full impact of so many who are being courageous in their challenges, it will firmly stick that I need to remain appreciative for the big moments and the small ones, hopeful in all things, and less concerned with the silliness I often fret over. You should too.

Baffling Fast Food Shorts

I'm not a huge fan of fast food as a 17 year vegetarian. But I occasionally go there with my eating habits since my time is spread pretty thin. There are some strange habits out there, and I'm guilty of many.

I always get a kick out of going to Chick-fil-A ordering a chicken wrap with no chicken. The fact is, the wrap has lots of lettuce, tomatoes & other healthy stuff. It's just fine without the chicken. But, by virtue of the item's name, it always freaks out the drive-thru people. They go through this whole ordeal, insisting that I answer the question of whether I want the charbroiled chicken, Caesar chicken or cool chicken wrap. They just don't get it that it doesn't matter...I don't want ANY chicken. For some reason, we always reach a mutual agreement that I want the charbroiled chicken (but without the chicken).

Today they told me it wasn't possible. "The wraps are made in advance," said the smooth drive-thru talker who can't deviate by one square millimeter from her programmed responses. But a little trip inside rectified the situation, and I found myself enjoying a nice, healthy wrap on the way to my next gig.

A co-worker has been telling me that she knows the location of every single Sonic in southwest Florida. Finally, I asked her what she likes to get there. "Dr. Pepper" was the reply. Hmmm....

What are your strange fast food habits? And don't tell me you NEVER eat it.

Really U.S. Airways, REALLY

The new tag line for today's air travel: Fly the Friendly Skies. At least we get you there.

I know it's been several years since I've flown, and things have to change every once in a while. But really, U.S. Airways, REALLY.

Do you HAVE to charge for one lousy carry-on bag? Is it really necessary to hit me up for two bucks just for a can of coke? And if you're going to be that cheap, for Pete's sake, make your flight attendants wear something decent. The Ugly Sweaters brigade just didn't cut it for me, U.S. Airways. I can recall nicely groomed uniforms and attendants who smiled like they meant it.

Would it kill you, Under Serviced U.S. Airways, to at least remember where we're going so when you recite your speech and add "Greenville" to the end, you can do it without a fumbling glance at your cheat sheet? When you have the nerve to tell me to calmly carry my seat to an exit and use it as a floatation device, I expect you to know where the hell we're going. And by the way, we're not going anywhere near water.

When I'm sandwiched between two screaming children, one of whom is violently kicking the back of my seat while parents do nothing to abate it, U.S. Airways, it would be totally cool with me if you said something on my behalf. Really, U Stink Airways, REALLY.

I guess I shouldn't complain. My flight back from Greenville, NC didn't plunge into the Tar River. (Okay, I guess that's one small water body we were near.) But now that I have a taste of today's "new" flying experience, I'll remember not to have high expectations again.