Brain Cramp.....

Most people call them something else that starts with "brain" and ends with something that starts with the letter "f" but I don't like that f-word any more than I like the OTHER f-word, so I call them brain cramps.

So glad we got that out of the way.

Just for the record, I don't like the word "snot" either. It pained me just to type it.

My brain cramp was that I had put my iPhone and iPad to bed, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and was climbing into bed with a MARVELOUS FANTASTIC CAN'T-PUT-IT-DOWN book when I realized I hadn't written my blog post for tonight.

It's been a long time since I did that. I apologize for almost forgetting.

It's been an up-and-down week for me in the customer service department. We have been (mostly) pleased that we changed our cell phone provider from the one with an A and two T's in its name to the one that starts with a V and mercifully retired the commercials with that geeky-looking guy on them.

We've had ongoing problems with our bills, though. I won't go into the details, but suffice it to say that our bill has gone up every month, we have automatic billing, the monthly charges come out just as they should, and then we get nasty-grams and messages from the company saying our service has been discontinued due to an outstanding balance of $98.41. (Neither of our phones had been disconnected - shouldn't they KNOW that?)

It's been a very frustrating experience, but we went into our local store yesterday, and a very sweet, competent, patient representative said she WILL get it straightened out. She was apologetic and I didn't even have to rant and rave. Which is a good thing, because I need that energy for a different company.

I have ordered from an online company (whose name shall go unmentioned here for the time being) for several years, always with fairly good success. Their products aren't the best quality in the world, but the prices are good and service is acceptable. Or at least it has been in the past.

I ordered two sets of sheets for our bed, one white and one blue. I received a package about two weeks ago with a set of BLACK sheets (who USES those?) in a different size. When I looked online to see if perhaps I had clicked the wrong button (several times?), it said my order was still being processed. So I waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.

I finally emailed customer service (because their representatives don't get up at the crack of dawn like I do) and explained the problem. I even sent a screen shot of the web page telling me my order was still being processed.

Tonight I got an email giving me a tracking number. For the package I already got.

Yes, I'm aware that a package was sent. Hell, a package was RECEIVED. Did you even READ the email I sent? The problem wasn't knowing where the package was; the problem was that the package didn't include the right item(s).

So I will call tomorrow morning, and I will try to be nicer than the email I sent tonight, which said they might want to consider changing their name, since the current one has the word "smart" in it and I don't think they are. Smart, that is.

But I didn't use any bad language. Except for the word "damn." And I think that's allowed.

I really wanted those new sheets.

Customer Service People.......

One more blog post about blowing a tire on the RV on the interstate when I was all alone (there...does that invoke sympathy?), and then I'm done with that topic. I promise. And while some of this involves complaining (it IS me, after all), I am truly, truly grateful for the response and the assistance I received. Truly. But there were some iffy moments.

When I got the RV to the side of the interstate, the first person I called was Hubby. Oddly enough, I was NOT crying. I was actually pretty calm.

"I need some advice," I told him. I explained what had happened, then I provided my own advice. "I think our RV insurance policy includes roadside assistance. Shall I call them?"

Hubby's first question was whether or not the tire blowing caused me to lose control. I didn't point out that if that had been the case, I would have been telling him about an ACCIDENT rather than a flat tire. But that's neither here nor there.

Miraculously, I knew where the insurance card for the RV was because I had JUST PUT IT IN THERE THE DAY BEFORE I LEFT. I called the number on the card and proceeded to get A) the option to continue in Espanol; and B) a seemingly endless menu of choices of buttons to push. Keep in mind that my hands were shaking violently, and an iPhone doesn't respond well to sweaty fingers. It took several tries for each number.

When I finally got a real person on the phone, she said she would redirect me to roadside assistance. Then the line went dead.

I had to call back and repeat the entire process, but at least this time I knew to ask for roadside assistance. I got a very nice young woman on the phone and explained what had happened. I emphasized that I was alone, hoping that might create a sense of urgency for her that was at least a fraction of my own. (Here's a project for you: Next time you go on a trip of any length, note all the RVs out there. Count how many of them are driven by women.)

I still held my insurance card in my hand like it was a lifeline. So I knew the answers to most of her questions.

"Year?" 2003
"Make?" Four Winds
"Model?" 5000
"Color?" White

I realize she was just filling out information on a computer, but if she had my policy in front of her (shouldn't she have?), should she not also have that information readily available? And WHAT COLOR? Is that really pertinent to whether or not I get my tire changed?

"Length?" 30 feet (It's actually 29, but I rounded up just in case that was as important as the color white.)

I don't remember exactly when, but sometime in the middle of these questions, she asked, "Is this a motorcycle?"

Sure, it's a motorcycle 30 feet long. And that bad boy is a bitch when it comes to cornering.

"NO, IT'S A MOTOR HOME."

Then she asked me, "How tall is it?"

I should have known that one, since I knew we couldn't drive it through a covered bridge at one of the state parks. But I couldn't pull the information off the hard drive that is my brain.

"I don't know, I'm sorry," I said.

"Can you just give me an estimate?" she persisted.

Again, I realize that asking those questions is part of her job. But if the answer is "I don't know," then asking the question another way isn't going to help.

"Is it taller than 20 feet?" she asked.

HELL NO it isn't taller than 20 feet. Does she realize that's roughly the equivalent of a two-story building?

It was getting hotter and hotter in the RV, and my hands were still shaking. Hell, the RV itself was shaking every time a tractor-trailer went by. And I was well off the road.

She knew I was getting frustrated, but she still asked, "How much does it weigh?"

"I don't know."

"Can you just give me an estimate? Is it 20,000 pounds?" (Personally I think she has a thing for the number 20.)

I can almost forgive her for the question, because at that point we thought I didn't have a spare (I crawled underneath the RV on the side of the interstate while we were conversing and discovered to my great relief that we DID have a spare), and she thought she was going to have to send a tow truck.

At that point, however, she had access to every single piece of information that I had. And she had the Internet at her fingertips. Why didn't she Google how much a 30-foot 2003 Four Winds 5000 RV weighs?

I was still patting myself vigorously on the back for knowing that I was three miles north of Exit 47, which I gleaned from the "Where Am I?" feature on my GPS. (Rozmo had asked me what was the last exit I passed, and I had no clue. Does anyone keep track of that?) But I failed the pop quiz because I didn't know the weight of my RV. That was the only time I cried, I swear. She also asked if I knew the rim size of the tires, at which point I almost burst into maniacal gales of laughter.

Okay, I'm finished complaining, and I really shouldn't be nitpicking at all. I got the help I needed, and life as we know it has not been compromised at all. I do, however, have a couple of suggestions. And I would offer them to the insurance company itself, if not for the fact that they called me WHILE THE MAN WAS STILL CHANGING MY TIRE and wanted my feedback on my service call. I didn't even blame them for the fact that I had to wait about an hour and a half, NOR for their mistake when they told the service guy that I was on I-85 NORTH.

If I DID have the chance to give them some feedback, though, I think I would make the following suggestions:

• If someone is calling because of an accident or needs assistance, have a way for that person to go straight to a living, breathing human being. Choosing from one of the following six menu options is not how I handle a crisis.
• In this computer age, have access to some of the generic information like how much a certain RV weighs. Or at least allow an "I don't know" answer and proceed to the next question. Whose answer I probably won't know either.
• Give it a day or two before you ask for my feedback. If the crisis is STILL IN PROGRESS, it's likely you don't want to hear my comments.

There. I'm done. I'll shelve this one. Cheer up - it's only 78 days until the college gymnastics season begins.

Amazing Customer Service.....

I promise I'm going to write some individual blog posts about our recent cruise, writing about each port stop individually. Complete with pictures. I know, right?

First, though, I want to talk about the cruise industry in general and their amazing customer service. I don't want to tout the services of one particular cruise line as being better than the others, because we don't have that much experience with different cruise lines. As far as service goes, we haven't had a bad experience with cruising. We did have a particularly crappy ship once (our friends went on the same ship two weeks later, and it sort of blew up), but this is about service.

One thing I noticed about the cruise this time is that there appears to have been a shift toward healthier choices at dinner. Our menus had little symbols to indicate lighter fare as well as foods that were gluten-free. There was an entire page called the "Vitality" section, from which diners could order an appetizer, an entree, and a dessert that were all lower in calories and healthier. They even printed the calories beside each item. I think people on cruises aren't typically trying to watch their calories (even if they SHOULD be, ahem), but I liked the fact that the choice was there.

Just a couple of examples about what I consider exemplary service.

On the first night at dinner, Hubby asked for unsweetened ice tea. (Yes, he's from the South, but since he's also diabetic, he has to get it unsweetened.) His tea came with a lemon in it, which he doesn't like, so I took the wedge and put it in my water. I love me some lemon in my water. Starting the next night and every night thereafter, the waiter brought his tea without the lemon wedge, and he brought me a small plate of my very own lemons. It may seem like a very minor detail, but that's what makes it so significant to me. No one asked him, we didn't make a production of trading the lemons, he simply noticed and made sure he brought the lemons (and lemonless tea) every single time after that. I appreciate that sort of gesture.

On another night, Hubby and Luis ordered the same thing, a steak. Hubby wanted medium rare, Luis wanted medium well. Hubby isn't picky at all, so he proceeded to eat his steak even though it was cooked more than he prefers it. I think Luis was the one to realize the two entrees had been mixed up, so they just traded steaks. No big deal; they had each eaten about half the steak, so they swapped and laughed about it. Our waiter, Rolando, however, was furious. Or as furious as waiters on cruise ships are allowed to be. He went to the kitchen and (apparently) chewed them out about mixing up the steaks, and he brought each of them a new one. They were too full to eat them, so they were wasted, and we all wished Rolando hadn't done that. But he wasn't just apologetic; he was apoplectic that two of his guests didn't get the meals they requested.

Our stateroom was a nice size, with a queen bed, a sofa, a little desk, a private balcony, and of course a bathroom. The only thing was there was no plug-in near the bed for my CPAP machine. (Man, I hate that thing. I hate even talking about it.) So I had to plug it in on the desk and pull the nightstand out from the wall to allow the cord to reach. That meant the cord was about thigh-high directly in Hubby's pathway if he should (inevitably) need to get up and go to the bathroom during the night. But it worked, and he remembered every single time to step over the cord. The next morning, I unplugged the machine and moved the table back next to the bed. We didn't point it out to our stateroom attendant or request an extension cord, because as long as we can make something work, we generally don't like to put anybody to extra trouble. Our attendant, Susan, however, apparently noticed the machine and knew I needed it to be beside the bed. Because when we came back from breakfast the next morning, there was an extension cord on the sofa. We didn't have to ask, she didn't mention it, she simply noticed a need and took care of it.

Several times while we were eating breakfast, some of the "bosses" (not just waiters or assistant waiters) would stop by and chat. They didn't just ask routine questions (although they did seem to mention an end-of-cruise satisfaction survey with great frequency), but they appeared to be genuinely interested in our answers. They also answered OUR questions about cruise life, their homes, etc. They were very friendly, and not in a fake-I-gotta-do-this-or-my-boss-will-kill-me kind of way.

I would never ask anyone how much he or she earns, but Luis had no such qualms. (Apparently it's socially acceptable if you're A) male; and B) from Puerto Rico.) He asked a bartender about his income, and the bartender said he couldn't tell him specifics, but what he made was "good." The same guy also told Luis that some of the guys lower down the ladder, the maintenance workers and general cleaning folks, made $600 a month. A MONTH! That seems paltry, but if you consider the fact that they have no food, transportation, or living expenses, it's not quite as bad as it seems. Still, bad enough.

I asked Juan, our assistant waiter, if he ever got a day off. He grinned and said, "No, we work seven days a week." As soon as our cruise ended, another group boarded and the whole process started over. He said his contract was for seven months, and at the end of that he could go home for two months. He works on the same cruise ship week in and week out, visiting the same ports each week until the route changes (I guess). He said after five years with the cruise line he could apply for a transfer to another ship if he wanted to.

I am fascinated by the prospect of working on a cruise ship. (No, I'm NOT considering another career.) I knew a lady whose daughter worked as a singer on a ship, and I would love to talk to her about her experience.

Funny story: I once heard a motivational speech in which this guy was talking about a childhood friend of his who taught himself to juggle. Day after day, this kid juggled any time he had a spare moment. I won't subject you to his whole story, but the crux of it was this kid's mother told him time after time, "You have to concentrate on something else. You can't juggle twenty four hours a day and expect to make a living at it." The next time the guy saw his friend, he was an entertainer on a cruise ship, juggling for one of the nightly shows. The moral of the story was that the kid's mother was right: he COULDN'T juggle twenty four hours a day and expect to make a living at it. Actually, he could juggle twice a week for forty-five minutes, make a living, and see the world all at the same time.

Hmph.

Customer Service Part Deux (or whatever).......

First of all, I apologize for my absence yesterday. Actually, BLOGGER should be apologizing for my absence. The site was in "read-only" mode last night, and I didn't know how long that would last, so I went to bed. Apparently it lasted until this morning, so it's a good thing I didn't sit up all night waiting for it to come back online. Does this mean I should look for a different blog host? Hmmmm.... And then my post from Wednesday disappeared for most of today, but now it's back. Strange behavior for a blog, I must say.

And this is really what I was going to write about last night anyway.

Hubby and I went out to dinner, almost unheard of during the week, but we had to go buy a part for the swimming pool pump, so Hubby suggested we just eat out. He had no difficulty talking me into it, and I realize you don't need ANY of that information.

As soon as the hostess seated us, I had a feeling we weren't going to like where we were sitting. There was a family seated next to us, and while nothing they said was particularly offensive or annoying, it was just that they were so.... vocal. We aren't the kind of people, though, to ask to be seated somewhere else, so we ignored them to the best of our ability.

When I went to the salad bar (one of my favorite things about this particular chain of restaurant with the second day of the work week in its name), the woman from the next table was returning for her second trip. I heard her muttering to one of her children (I assume) that the salad bar hadn't been replenished. Sure there were a couple of empty condiment bowls, but I managed to make a pretty significant salad from what was there. It was fresh, there was a good variety, and I didn't need crackers anyway.

When the waitress returned to the table next to us, the woman began her diatribe about the poor quality of the salad bar. She didn't just complain; she went on and on and on and on. The waitress was pleasant and eventually said she would send her manager over, which she did.

The manager explained to the family that some changes had been made that very day that affected the salad bar, and she proceeded to explain the changes. The woman wasn't satisfied and continued to rant and rave about her unhappiness with the salad bar. The manager offered to get her something else, but the woman said she was "too upset to eat." By the way..... she was a VERY large woman.

I won't bore you with ALL the details, just in case you're still reading at this moment, but it became apparent that the woman intended to complain until the manager agreed to give them their meal for free. I'm not sure that ever happened, but the manager and waitress couldn't have been nicer or more professional in the way they handled this family.

I realize some people make a career out of getting free food at restaurants by complaining. Don't get me wrong - if service is abysmal or if the quality of the food is sincerely lacking, I believe the restaurant should compensate the consumer in some way. I don't think that woman's entire meal should have been comped, though, when she had already eaten ONE plate of salad. She was very specific in her complaints, too: "No cranberries," and she had to request someone go get her some balsamic vinegar dressing. Apparently that was just so much of a hassle, to have to ASK someone for salad dressing as opposed to being able to get it herself.

Puhlease.

How do those people live with themselves? I didn't get a glimpse of how her children were handling the situation (they were teenagers), but I got the impression that this was fairly normal for a family outing. Maybe that's how the family manages to eat out so often. She implied to the waitress and manager that her family of six spent enough money in this particular restaurant, eating there at least once a week, that they should be grateful for her business or something. She also complained that she hadn't been NOTIFIED of the changes to the salad bar. Funny, I didn't get that email either. But I found enough to eat.

After they were gone and we were waiting for our check, Hubby couldn't resist messing with the waitress. He said he needed to talk to her about the salad bar. After a split second's hesitation, she realized he was kidding and she started laughing.

There are a gazillion reasons I couldn't work in the food service industry, but people like this woman are probably right up there at the top of the list. I would be fired (or arrested) the first time someone tried to pull a stunt like that on me.

Letters to Customer Service......

Does anyone else out there feel compelled to write to Customer Service departments of companies? I have done it a few times, with mixed results. I don't mean I make a CAREER out of it, although I have been tempted to do a cultural experiment to see just how much free stuff I could get just by writing emails and letters. Just an experiment, you understand, not just to get free stuff. Hmmmmm.....

What started this train of thought (and really, you can get off the train any time you want. I wouldn't blame you.) was hamburger buns. Hubby and I had sloppy joes for dinner tonight. He had two; I had one. That leaves five buns leftover. Why do they only sell those in packages of eight? Do they think every family in the world has 4.2 members or whatever the figure is these days? I was considering (still am) writing a letter to the bread company suggesting that they sell buns in smaller packages. I usually put the leftover ones in the freezer, forget they're there next time we have hamburgers/sloppy joes/barbecue sandwiches, buy a new pack, throw the old ones out, repeat as necessary. It is so wasteful to have hamburger and hot dog buns only in packages of eight. Or twelve, if you're feeling really wasteful.

One time I wrote about my dissatisfaction with some saltine crackers. We bought two boxes of them, used them well before the expiration date stamped on the box (although WHO can figure THOSE out sometimes?), and they were both stale. The company responded by sending me two vouchers for their products, and I felt equal parts sneaky and smug that I chose the most expensive products I could find in their brand. When the cashier was ringing up my groceries and got to the vouchers, she looked up in triumph and said, "You wrote a letter, didn't you!" She said her mom wrote letters like those ALL THE TIME. Maybe her mom DID make a career out of it.

Once I wrote to an airline, not because I wanted something free, but what I REALLY wanted was an explanation. On a flight back from the Dominican Republic, we tried to land in Miami in a thunderstorm. It was better than any roller coaster I've ever been on. We tried a few times, then the pilot decided it was too dangerous, and oh by the way we appear to be out of fuel, so we'll just hop over to the Bahamas and top off the tank. When we finally got to Miami, every connecting flight in the free world was gone. We landed about 10:30, and our baggage finally came off the conveyor belt at 2:00 AM. We were trapped in the basement of the Miami airport, and because we hadn't been through customs, we couldn't leave without our luggage. It was a nightmare. All I really wanted was an explanation of WHY that happened. Diabetic Hubby had no food, and it was hours and hours and hours before he got any. The airline sent me a $200 voucher (that you almost had to be a contortionist to use, by the way), and nothing by means of explanation. I had almost rather they kept their lousy $200 and tell me what happened. Fat chance.

I had a rather strange experience just a couple of weeks ago. For my birthday, Hubby bought me a bag to go on the sissybar of my motorcycle. NOT the one I asked for, but a different one. Oh, and it didn't have any straps to affix it to the sissybar, rendering it a useless gift. Oh, but he got a discount on it because it didn't have the required straps. Terrific. So I looked up the company name on the Internet, found the product number, and sent an email asking if it would be possible to buy just the strap. No response. No response. No response. Bastards. Fine example of customer service YOU are. Then about a week and a half later, I get a padded envelope in the mail, and in it are the straps for my bag. No explanation, no reply to my email, just the necessary straps. Uh.....thanks? (Oh, and the bag doesn't fit my bike. Hubby's bag does, which is the one I asked for in the first place, so we traded.)

I missed a perfect opportunity to write a letter years ago, and I have regretted it ever since. I had the perfect letter, the perfect medium, the perfect idea. That almost never happens, and I let it slip by. In a previous wifetime, I bought a box of Raisin Bran that DID. NOT. HAVE. THE. FIRST. RAISIN. IN. IT. I kid you not. No raisins. Not two scoops, not two teaspoonfuls, not two raisins to rub together. Nothing. I kept the boxtop for the longest time, and I composed the letter in my head. I decided that when I got around to it, I was going to type the letter, only I was going to leave out every single "e". What a great idea! I let too much time go by, though, and eventually the boxtop disappeared, and a wonderful opportunity passed me by. If only I had followed through, it might be called "Bragger's Raisin Bran" to this very day.

Any other tales of customer service - good or bad - out there?

Now THAT'S Customer Service.....

Because I am always ready to complain anytime I don't get the kind of service I think I deserve, it's only right that I should give credit where credit is due when customer service goes above and beyond my expectations.

In typical fashion (that's my phrase of the week, evidently), last week I went on a flurry of buying in anticipation of BRAG. I know for a solid year the exact dates of BRAG, yet I wait until the last minute to buy things that I ABSOLUTELY POSITIVELY NEED for the week-long bicycle ride.

It's how I roll.

I needed a couple additional pairs of cycling shorts, so I ordered them online, probably Monday. I knew they had plenty of time to get here.

They were waiting on the front porch for me when we got home from the lake on Thursday.

Because it was too logical to order a new GPS in the same order from the exact same company, I ordered it on Tuesday morning before we left for the lake.

It was also waiting on the front porch when we got home from the lake on Thursday. It was delivered Wednesday.

I opened the package with the shorts in it as soon as we got home, and I knew immediately they wouldn't do. I had made the mistake of ordering "tri shorts," which have a shorter inseam than I like, AND they advertise "minimalist padding." Yeah......no. I need "maximalist padding" for a week-long bicycle ride, thank you very much.

I packaged them back up and returned them, then I came home and ordered some replacements. They were much more expensive (too much for me to put here, because then the ridiculous amount of money I spent will be all too real) than the original ones, but they had a much longer inseam and had sufficient padding. Well, not sufficient for this derriere, but the most they offer.

The shorts were waiting on the porch for me today when I returned from getting my pedicure.

I'm talking they were delivered less than 24 hours after I ordered them online. No, I didn't pay for expedited shipping. In fact, shipping was **free** because I am a member of the online buying club.

Is that awesome or what?

I love good customer service.

I Would Hate to Have Me for a Customer......

I don't know about anyone else, but I hate calling customer service folks.

I hate it so badly that when I have to call them, I go into the whole situation with a chip on my shoulder, and I get mad at them even before I tell them my problem.

I so hate being like my mother.

It's even worse when I have to call customer service for a product that is not mine, therefore the problem is not mine, but I have to do the calling, the waiting, the listening to crappy music, and the clicking, because "You know what to tell them."

Hubby has a GPS that he uses for golfing. I can't complain, since A) I have a GPS on my bicycle, for Pete's sake; and B) I bought it for him. When we first got it, I was happy to download the courses he plays most frequently, install the software, register the system, yada yada yada. But then I was done.

When it came time to renew his subscription, because heaven forbid they should offer anything that lasts for, say, the life of the device, I was annoyed. It's his damn toy, so why do I have to renew it?

We downloaded and paid, and then Hubby started getting messages on the device that he needed to renew. Grrrrrr.......

Naturally it fell to me to call the toll-free number and talk to the customer service rep on the other end. It also fell to me to perform this onerous chore on a Monday afternoon when I am still tired from the weekend and line dancing was canceled and I haven't been to the grocery store yet and someone who is RETIRED didn't think it was important enough for him to do and I didn't know what I was going to do about dinner.

I was so annoyed that I was the one having to call that I got testy with him. And he hadn't done a thing. Well, except for talking to me like I was just a little bit dumb, which I felt like in the first place, and maybe, just maybe, that is my problem. I don't like having to admit that I don't know how to fix something.

It is a little scary that they can just take over my computer and fix things remotely.

I want to call the nice man back and apologize for being annoyed with him. Instead I guess I'll just feel icky about it all night.

More Customer Not-Service......

I took my SUV in to have the oil changed today, mainly because it was time for it, and partly in preparation for my road trip to Nashville this weekend with my two sisters. I won't tell you the purpose of our trip, because it might be all I can think of to blog about tomorrow night. Or Saturday night, when I hope to have wonderful news to post. Not that many of you will care.

But I digress.

I mentioned on Sunday that I had a technological close call with the code for the keypad on my SUV. I like to leave the keys in the car, and it's an aggravation -- okay, so a minor one -- that I can't do that now because the keypad won't work.

So when I went to get the oil changed today, I asked the technician to check the keypad. He said it would cost $50 to find out what was wrong with it and looked at me as if to ask if that were okay. "It doesn't work," I said. Implying that I'm curious enough to spend $50 to find out what the hell is wrong with it.

I waited in the customer lounge and played numerous games of BrickBreaker on my Blackberry, because I cannot seem to achieve the same level of mastery as my friend Wanda the Warrior Princess. Henceforward known simply as WWP. When they called my name to say my vehicle was ready and that the oil change I had a coupon for would only cost me $91, I asked about the keypad problem.

"Oh yes," the cashier replied, "he pulled your code for you. It's written right here."

"I know the code," I said, trying to smile and NOT to talk through my teeth. "It just doesn't work."

"Oh. Let me check on that."

Apparently the words "Keypad inop" written on the work order indicated to the service technician that I was too stupid to know my own code that I've been using for 4 years. So he "pulled" it for me. For which they charge $40.

Back to the customer lounge and more BrickBreaker. And college basketball, for which I have zero interest. Possibly even negative interest.

After finally going in search of the right PROBLEM, the technician came and told me that a wire is broken down in the door panel, and it will cost approximately $300 to get it fixed.

For $300 I can buy some pants with pockets to carry a key in.

Customer "Service".........

I usually try not to be too hard on people who work in the retail business. I know with the economy the way it is that a lot of people are grateful for any job they can get, and they may not be in what they consider their life's work.

And I usually try NOT to say exactly what is on my mind, even when I'm frustrated. I usually smile politely and make faces behind their backs when they can't help me.

This evening Hubby and I were at a large home improvement store where the dominant color is orange, the product of the weather having been too cold for hubby to play golf today. He sat at home and A) thought of things WE could do to the house; and B) thought of ways to keep me from sitting down and having a nap when I came home from school today.

It is dangerous for me to go to the big orange home improvement store, because I want a new everything. I don't really want to make improvements; what I really want is a new house. But every time I mention a new house, Hubby asks either "Will you write?" or "Will you come visit?" and I give up in frustration.

Tonight's quest was for new faux wood blinds for our bedroom. We have them in the living room, and I love the way they look. So much better than the cheap vinyl ones that have been in our house probably since Jimmy Carter was in office.

Hubby being Hubby, he found some blinds just like what we wanted on the Clearance rack. There was nothing wrong with them; they had been cut to a customer's specifications and therefore were discounted.

But we couldn't figure out what "Clearance" or "Discounted" meant in real dollars. We could find the regular priced blinds, but we had no idea just how much the Clearance ones were.

So we called over a helpful lady in her orange apron. In response to our question, she said, "I don't work in this department, so I don't know. But if they're marked, I can figure it out."

I couldn't help it. The words were out before I could stop them. I didn't mean to be mean or sarcastic, although both come somewhat naturally to me at times. Particularly the sarcasm.

"If they were marked," I replied, "we could figure it out ourselves."