So, last week I ordered a simple little cactus arrangement to put in the middle of our conference table for the visit from our corporate people.
I wanted to be sure it arrived in time, so I paid extra for it to get here the day before the visit..actually before noon the day before the visit.
At 11:00 a.m. I called the florist we use, “We’re Stupid Flowers and Plants”, because my cactus hadn’t arrived.
The very nice lady told me that the plant was, in fact, on its way.
At noon it still wasn’t here, so I called back and left a message this time.
Then this e-mail exchange happened:
Thank you for contacting We’re Stupid Flowers. Please accept our sincere apologies for the delay in delivery of your floral gift. We know how important prompt delivery is, and would like to rectify the situation to your satisfaction.
We have therefore issued a refund of $4.99 for the expedited service fee to help compensate for the delay. We want to ensure that your experience with We’re Stupid Flowers is a positive one, and we hope you will continue to utilize our services for all your gift-giving needs.
Again, please accept our apologies for the delay.
Okay, I’m the recipient by the way….so where is it?
Thank you for your recent email. We want to assure you that your order has been sent for delivery. We will contact you as soon as it is confirmed that the gift was received.
Thank you again and we look forward to speaking with you soon.
Are you even reading my responses?
I told you I’m the recipient.
You don’t need to contact me to tell me when I receive my ‘gift’. I’m pretty sure I’ll know.
Now, please contact whoever it is that is delivering my order and find out just where they are right now, and when will my order be delivered. I say this, because I am leaving here at 3:00 PM today. That is why I ordered the expedited delivery.
Thank you for your recent inquiry. We have notified our vendor of your request for delivery confirmation and as soon as we receive this information, it will be automatically forwarded to the email address provided on your order.
Thank you for your patience and please contact us if we can be of any further assistance. We are available for you 24 hours a day 7 days a week at xxx-xxx-xxxx.
Seriously? You’re not reading my e-mails are you?
I could write anything here..just blarglefarg and goobledocksin and you’ll say the same thing, won’t you?
I don’t need the delivery confirmation, I AM THE RECIPIENT.
I need to know WHEN THE DELIVERY WILL BE MADE.
Now, try again. Pick up the phone, call the local florist tasked with filling the order, and ask the friendly person on the other end just when they estimate my plant will get here. I don’t even need an exact time. Just approximately when will do.
And, I’m about done with We’re Stupid Flowers. If y’all cannot comprehend simple questions and give direct answers, I don’t think I can trust that my orders will be correct and delivered in a timely fashion. Shame, too. I’ve spent a lot of money over the past few years.
Thank you for your recent email. We apologize for the delay in response and thank you for your patience. We have contacted our local florist again and they have assured us that they will contact us as soon as they locate the delivery information for your order. Please rest assured, as soon as this information is received, we will contact you.
Thank you again for your patience and we look forward to speaking with you soon.
I gave up and left for the day, but when I came in the next morning I had no cactus plant delivered, but I was assured…..
Thank you for your recent purchase with We’re Stupid Flowers! Our records show that your order has been delivered to awesomesauciness on 10/07/2014.
If you have any questions regarding your order and would like to speak with a Customer Service Representative, please email us at welie@we’restupidflowers.com or dial (xxx) xxx-xxxx. We are here to assist you 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.
Thanks again for your business. We look forward to serving you again soon!
You know how some people walk around parking lots, malls, and the like giving out cards that say “I’m deaf and dumb, please help”? Sometimes those cards have little American flag pins attached to them, so if you give the person money you get something in exchange and the person doesn’t feel like a beggar, more like a street salesperson.
I think we, and by ‘we’ I mean all of us who suffer from a chronic pain condition, need to have pamphlets made up with all of this information on it:
That way whenever we meet someone new, or have to remind friends, coworkers, and family of our daily struggles we can just hand them a pamphlet.
No one feels guilty, no one has to make embarrassing excuses for why they can’t ____________________ (fill in the blank), no one has to say anything.
Just hand them a pamphlet.
In fact, I might just get a full-body tattoo…wait, that would be weird. “So, how are you?” would be met with me lifting my shirt and pointing…and then the asker might think I’m pregnant and pat my belly, or worse stand there reading my belly.
Not to mention how painful a tattoo of that size would be, and I already have enough pain in my life. Honestly, that’s why I wanted to get the pamphlets made in the first place.
Nevermind on the tat.
But someone get on the pamphlet project, will you?
So, after a week of mounting stress – at work we have VIPs visiting so we were cleaning like the EPA had declared this place a hazardous waste site, and at home – where years of arguments between the front of my house and the back of my house resulted in their actively trying to move away from one another (honestly, I don’t know what started it, but I suspect the front bedroom hated the color green it was painted and wanted the green the master got but it didn’t warrant that level of green, because…Master Bedroom) in opposite directions, causing what we lovingly referred to as “living on a fault line”, but what is in truth called “foundation settling” caused the sewage piping under the house to sag and no longer do its job, unless its job was now depositing sewage in showers, sinks, toilets, etc. resulting in a frighteningly expensive repair and huge mess of my yard – I suddenly developed the motha of all fibro flares.
This one was complete with the worst case of fibro fog I have ever had.
In one day, I…..put the dog outside and forgot about her for two hours, spent about 5 minutes looking all over the house for her (she’s a GSD, so kinda hard to misplace if you are not me), panicked because I couldn’t find her, finally opened the back door where she stood waiting to come in, hot and thirsty….asked the boss the same question, three times in a row (yeah, try to explain that without sounding like you’ve been drinking at lunch), put my keys inside the bag of cat food – and I wasn’t even feeding him at the time, nearly left the house shoeless, did leave the house without my breakfast smoothie, and completely forgot when I last took my meds so went hours in agony because I was afraid I’d OD if I took any more, slept three hours after work and then when I woke up I could not put two words together coherently, finally fell into bed at 8:30 (this after a three hour nap, mind you), and prayed the next day would be better.
And, it was.
Except….anyone seen my keys? Oh, right, check the cat food.
I admire this brave woman, but more so I admire her brave family and friends.
Tell you something else, after watching friends and family die horrid, lingering deaths I believe a move to Oregon (unless Texas allows it) might just be in my future should I face the same fate.
I do know one thing, even if I got a case of the scaredy-cats after finding out I had some terminal illness, I will not subject myself or my family to endless rounds of therapies with little chance of success. Just keep me as pain-free as possible and let me go.
And, you’d be surprised how many in the medical profession say the same. Some go so far as to say they’d refuse all medical interventions for terminal illnesses should one strike them. These people are faced with patients and families, long past the point of no return, dealing with painful, emotional, endless goodbyes and they say, no way..not me…
I agree. How about you?
I read blogs, I mean I check on and read probably 20+ blogs a day.
I may have a problem.
But, I digress.
I have noticed something, and formed a hypothesis.
The most popular bloggers aren’t that because they are particularly entertaining – although I gotta admit, The Bloggess makes me ’bout pee my pants on a regular basis.
No, the popular blogs are that because they stick to it. Day after day, year after year.
So, yeah, come see me in about 5 years and we’ll see just how full of shit I really am.
Just watch, and if you don’t catch the giggles there’s something seriously wrong with you.
So, been having like the solar flare of fibromyalgia flares in the last…oh, I don’t know, month? Two months?
I lose all track of time sometimes.
Anyway, it builds like anticipation before a big date, only less fun and with lots more pain, and then the crash arrives and the waves of pain knock my ass down.
That’s where I’ve been.
Where I am.
Even my hair hurts.
But the worst part is the rib pain. My rib joints get inflamed, and then it hurts to breathe so I decide feck it I’m just not going to breathe anymore and that lasts about thirty seconds before my brain kicks my ass and tells me what a dumbshit I am, and of course we are going to breathe so I take a deep breath and shriek/cry from the pain.
It’s exhausting, and I really think my brain should stop arguing with me and let me run the show, but does she listen? Hells no.
She insists I do things like breathe.
So nothing seems funny, nothing seems interesting, and everything makes me stabbity. This is not a good time to piss me off.
So, say something to make me laugh…wait, scratch that…say/do something to make me smile so I can forget this shit for a minute.
I promise I’ll be back as soon as my body stops trying to murder me in my sleep (and in my awake for that matter).