Just…it can’t be.
I can’t even….
Please tell me it’s not necessary for someone to post this:
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 you’re driving down the road, and the sensor for the seat belt in the passenger seat goes off to tell you that the passenger should buckle their belt right now, and there’s no one in the seat so you wonder if a ghost has hitched a ride or if your new car has some kind of computer glitch that starts with a seemingly innocuous warning but farther down the road will turn into the vehicle’s entire computer system crashing and causing the car to fail at 70 mph, but then you realize it’s your purse that’s making the sensor go off and you think ‘no wonder my shoulder hurts all the time’ and you also wonder how much shit you must be carrying to have a seat sensor think your purse is a person and then you debate over cleaning out your purse or just saying feck it and fastening the seat belt around it?
“…I just had the most TERRIFYING experience of my ENTIRE LIFE!!”
This is not how you want to start a conversation, any conversation, with one of your grown children.
Unfortunately, you don’t always get to choose how these things go. In fact, let me just say that you never get to choose how these random phone calls go.
And now, the rest of the story…
ME: WHERE ARE YOU???
BABY GIRL: Everything is fine….now
ME: What happened?
BABY GIRL: I locked Cutie-Pie in the car!
(It’s in the 80’s here, and the interior of a car gets really hot..really fecking fast)
BABY GIRL: I was leaving Crossfit, and I put her in her car seat and then laid the keys on the driver’s seat, and then put the backpack on the seat, and I don’t know…
(she starts crying)
ME: Is Cutie-Pie okay?
BABY GIRL: Yes, she’s fine.
ME: How long was she in there?
BABY GIRL: Ten minutes! Ten minutes, Mom!
ME: So tell me the rest.
BABY GIRL: Well, after I realized what I’d done, I ran to get “K” (K is her older sister and they Crossfit together), and then when we couldn’t find an open door we ran across the street to the Police station that happens to be there – thank God! – and they called the fire department.
ME: And how did the firemen get inside?
BABY GIRL: They took this thing that looks like a tire pump or something and put it in the door frame and pumped it up, then took a wire thing and popped the lock. It didn’t damage the mini-van at all.
ME: Luckily…but you can replace a vehicle.
BABY GIRL: I know…
(she starts crying again)
ME: And how was Cutie-Pie?
BABY GIRL: Very hot and sweaty, but she was just grinning at everyone. Probably wondered what all the fuss was about.
ME: Did the firemen check her over?
BABY GIRL: You know, Mom, I didn’t even let them. The minute the door was unlocked I slammed it open and grabbed her and hugged her and she kept saying, “You okay, Mommy?”
ME: Awwwwwww…so sweet. And she’s okay now.
BABY GIRL: Yes, now…but I’m still shaking.
ME: I can imagine, but remember some things. You didn’t panic. You acted fast, you knew what to do, you kept your head and Cutie-Pie is fine.
BABY GIRL: You’re right..you’re right.
ME: And what have we learned?
BABY GIRL: NEVER put the keys ANYWHERE, except in my bra.
And that was my Wednesday.
How was yours?
My Easter began with the traditional pre-Easter chewing of the door frame by our suddenly can’t-be-without-us rescue GSD on Saturday night, and proceeded to the traditional splish-splort-what-the-feck-is-going-on foray into the flooded bathroom and sewage back-up into both tubs/showers, followed by the now traditional monsoon minutes after the kids finished the Easter egg hunt. In between, there was one seriously wounded knee (mine, it met the enemy – the dishwasher door – and was soundly defeated) multiple loads of laundry as every towel in the house was called into service, mops, bleach, gloves, more bleach, paper towels, more bleach, one $320 plumber bill (snaked the sewer line, no roots found so he thinks we are okay), one black eye (granddaughter, meet plastic car in your brother’s running at full speed hands), one spilled soda all over the floor, table, rugs, and one collapsed table – one side decided to call it a night long before we were ready, and that’s when the drink got dumped on the floor, and it ended with hubby and I collapsing into a totally exhausted and so sore we could barely move heap. I need a vacation from my holiday…stat.
Most every time I go out in public, I end up with a story.
Earlier this week I went to a local Sprawl Mart to get a few things for the office.
It was a simple shopping trip.
But, we are a talking about me here.
I got to the self-checkout lane and rung up my purchases. I swiped my credit card, and that’s when things went horribly awry.
The screen read “Processing…Please Wait”, and it stuck there.
The helpful cashier monitoring the self-checkout lanes came over and tried to cancel, tried to suspend, tried…everything.
It didn’t work.
Instead, it got worse.
Slowly, I noticed cashiers and customers alike up and down the checkout lanes mashing buttons and cursing the gods of shopping as purchases were stuck in limbo.
Apparently, I’d broken Sprawl Mart.
Finally, after many minutes, one manager with long false eyelashes and nails started mashing on buttons at her console and the gods of shopping released their death grip on the machines.
I finished my transaction and booked it out of there.
I got in my car and noticed I needed gas, so I stopped at the nearest place and as the gas was pumping I decided I needed a vat of soda from their vast fountain selections.
I filled the vat with ice and diet soda, went to sit it on the counter so I could pay, and my miscalculations as to the height of said counter led to soda-launching as if from a trebuchet.
The now-drenched clerk waiting to ring me up stood there blinking at me, pieces of ice and rivers of soda running down her hair, face, shirt.
“Well, at least it’s diet…so…umm…you…uh…won’t….be…you know, sticky…” I mumbled as I backed away, intent on
reloading refilling my vat…because, dammit, destroying the world is thirsty business.
When I came back to the counter, I had a new
victim clerk waiting to take my money.
I paid, and got the hell out of there.
And this is why we can’t have nice things, and why I shouldn’t be allowed out without a chaperone.
I don’t think so, and neither will you after this….
Seriously, though, every female in the world should see this video.
And, every male for that matter.
I joined Angie’s List recently, and was looking over some recommendations for pain management doctors.
Not that I’m unhappy with my current doctor, but one must keep their options open.
Most were chiropractors or rheumatologists, with a sprinkling of anesthesiologists (yes, please just put me to sleep so I don’t feel the pain), and so on.
That’s all well and good, and please don’t think I’m down on which doctor anyone chooses. If it works for you, great. Go for it.
It’s just that, for me, I need an MD or DO who understands my pain issues and how to manage them – preferably with a combination of chemicals and massage or physical therapy. A glass of wine helps too.
Which is why I don’t think I’ll be going to Dr. Wacky* anytime soon.
One of his patient reviews included this:
“I just love Dr. Wacky! I especially loved his advice to ‘forgive’ my tumor. I did and it worked! My pain level has significantly decreased! I’ll definitely be going back!”
This person was not being sarcastic.
He/she was also not the only one who referred to forgiveness as part of Dr. Wacky’s pain management protocol.
*I may have changed that name, to protect the
whack-job doctor in question.
On Friday I scheduled a tire rotation for the hubster’s TRUCK, and I volunteered to take the TRUCK in and let him sleep in a little later.
What can I say? I’m a nice guy.
Anyway, imagine my surprise, when halfway to the tire place for the rotation of the TRUCK tires, I look around the cab of the vehicle and realize…
…I was in my car.
And, I have no idea how I got there.