Have you ever seen the movie "Funny Farm"? It's the one with Chevy Chase where he and his girlfriend move out to the country in the hopes of living in peace and quiet. One of the highlights of the film is the mailman. He drives this bomb of a car and doesn't stop to put Chevy's mail in the mailbox. Instead, he guns it as he approaches Chevy's driveway and then throws the mail out of the passenger side window. The mail ends up caked with mud and scattered everywhere. Needless to say, Chevy's not happy. Now I'm convinced that my new mail man is the understudy for the one in "Funny Farm".
Up until recently we've had a nice older gentleman named John deliver our mail. John was a sweet guy, loved to small talk, but wouldn't chew your ear off. He was never offended that my dog barked at him incessantly and would even go so far as to say Violet's just "doing her job, protecting the house from strangers" when her obnoxious yapping would pierce his eardrums. When I asked John to leave my mail between our storm door and front door during the holidays so photocards wouldn't get damaged he had no problem doing this (our mail is usually folded and slid through a tiny slot in our front door). Life was great. Then, one day John disappeared. At first I thought John took a vacation, then I thought he was sick, now I've resigned myself to the fact that he was relocated or retired. Regardless, we're stuck with a sub-par mailman.
This new guy who delivers our mail does not take pride in his work. For instance, he jams too many papers through our mail slot at once, resulting in letters getting ripped open from the edge of the slot. When it's raining, all of our mail is practically paper-maiched together. There's no excuse for this because our front door is covered by four feet of porch overhang. I have this visual of our mailman skipping down the street, waving our stack of mail in the rain blocks before he reaches our street, just to tick us off.
Today I opened my front door to find two packages, one on its side and the other upside down, shoved in the corner of my porch. It was like the mailman was too lazy to walk up the stairs to drop them off so he just chucked them from the street, like he was partaking in that carnival game, the ring-toss. Another thing that irks me about this guy is that I used to be able to leave a letter to be mailed under our "If You're Ann Curry-- Don't Bother" doormat and John would take care of it. This new guy won't pick up any letters I leave out to be mailed. Dude, that's your job!
"Why don't you call and complain?" my husband asked when I vented to him one day about this mailman from hell.
"And get a U.S. Postal Worker on my bad side? No thank you," I replied.
The other day I took my dog for a walk and thought I glimpsed John driving up the street in his little mail cart. I smiled and thought back to those happy days of mail delivery. As the truck got closer I saw it wasn't John and my heart sank.
Oh, Lord, why do you play such tricks on me?
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
I'm Obsessed with J.Lo's Twins
Yes, I need a life because I've been checking people.com at least four times a day for the past week to see if J.Lo has given birth to her babies. Why the fascination? I'm dying to know what she names her kids.
Hollywood baby names have always interested me. It all started with River Phoenix back in the 80s when I read in my Teen Beat magazine that his whole family had unique names: Rain, Summer, Liberty, Joaquin. He even has a half-sister changed her name to "Trust". How wacky is that?
Since then I've been on the lookout for star babies' unique monikers and learned that, when it comes to names, Hollywood parents' choices usually fall into one of three categories: last names as first names (ex: Cindy Crawford's son, Presley or Russell Crowe's son, Tennyson), preppy, trendy first names (ex: Tom Cruise's son Connor or John Travolta's daughter, Ella) or the exotic (ex: Marcia Cross' twins, Eden and Savannah) which can be fun, if the last name is simple enough to balance an over-the-top first name.
The big question is which route will J.Lo and her skeletor husband Marc Anthony choose? Or, I suppose the bigger question is why do I care about this couple I'm not even a fan of? Perhaps it's because a baby's name reflects a side of person you might not normally see. I was surprised that the ostentatious Christina Aguilera chose a simple name like Max for her son born earlier this month. By selecting a traditional name, the public got a "behind closed doors" sense that Xtina's not about putting on airs (although my theory went right out the window when I saw her on the cover of People magazine this week with her newborn). In the same manner, was anyone surprised Nicole Richie chose a unique name like Harlow Winter for her kid?
I could wax on and on about stars and their baby's names but I have to run. People.com is waiting.
Hollywood baby names have always interested me. It all started with River Phoenix back in the 80s when I read in my Teen Beat magazine that his whole family had unique names: Rain, Summer, Liberty, Joaquin. He even has a half-sister changed her name to "Trust". How wacky is that?
Since then I've been on the lookout for star babies' unique monikers and learned that, when it comes to names, Hollywood parents' choices usually fall into one of three categories: last names as first names (ex: Cindy Crawford's son, Presley or Russell Crowe's son, Tennyson), preppy, trendy first names (ex: Tom Cruise's son Connor or John Travolta's daughter, Ella) or the exotic (ex: Marcia Cross' twins, Eden and Savannah) which can be fun, if the last name is simple enough to balance an over-the-top first name.
The big question is which route will J.Lo and her skeletor husband Marc Anthony choose? Or, I suppose the bigger question is why do I care about this couple I'm not even a fan of? Perhaps it's because a baby's name reflects a side of person you might not normally see. I was surprised that the ostentatious Christina Aguilera chose a simple name like Max for her son born earlier this month. By selecting a traditional name, the public got a "behind closed doors" sense that Xtina's not about putting on airs (although my theory went right out the window when I saw her on the cover of People magazine this week with her newborn). In the same manner, was anyone surprised Nicole Richie chose a unique name like Harlow Winter for her kid?
I could wax on and on about stars and their baby's names but I have to run. People.com is waiting.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Customer Disservice
I was shopping at Banana Republic today to stock up on some t-shirts and a salesgirl was helping me sort through some piles to find what I needed. When she realized there weren't any white tees on the floor in a medium she checked the stockroom. I was disappointed when, after a good deal of time left on the floor to pretend I was interested in their collection of overpriced socks, she returned empty handed. "Sorry," she said and proceeded to reorganize a stack of cashmere sweaters.
Now, the last time I worked in retail (at GapKids) the Counting Crows were a hot new band and wearing oversized plaid flannel shirts were in style, so perhaps things have changed, but I was trained to do whatever it takes to make a customer happy. If we didn't have something they wanted, I would jump on the phone and call every GapKids store within 20 miles to track down an item.
I was very surprised when this salesperson didn't go the distance to help me find what I wanted. I asked her if there were other stores in the area we could call to see if they had the t-shirt and she said the closest store was Boston (too much of a nuisance for me). There was no "would you like me to call them?" or anything like that.
On my way to the registers I silently chided myself for supporting this Banana Republic with its poor customer service but I couldn't say no to their 30% off sale. The cashier asked me if I found everything I was looking for. I was about to utter my automatic "yes" when I realized, no!, I hadn't found everything I wanted. "Actually," I began, "there was something I didn't find." I must have caught the cashier off guard because she looked worried. I suppose most people smile and nod when answering her generic question. "I wanted another t-shirt but you didn't have anymore in my size," I explained.
The cashier gave me a curt smile and tried to reassure me I did have what I wanted. "But you found these t-shirts here," she said. The woman nervously pointed to my pile and I got the feeling this 50 year old lady was scared to pick up the phone and call other stores. I told her yes, I did like the t-shirts I had but I wanted one in white. "Oh, sorry about that," she said apologetically and proceeded to ring up my purchase.
I left Banana feeling a bit vexed; what is the point of asking a customer if they've found everything they're looking for if you don't offer to help a customer if they haven't found what they need? I'd rather the cashier didn't ask me her hollow question, than remind me that customer service was lacking at this store.
On my way to my car I rememberd that my experience at Banana Republic was identical to a grocery shopping excursion I had with my mom recently. The checkout girl asked my mom if she found everything she was looking for. My mom said she didn't couldn't find a brand of soup she loved.
Without looking up at my mother, the saleswoman continued to slide the groceries over the scanner and replied, "That's too bad."
Now, the last time I worked in retail (at GapKids) the Counting Crows were a hot new band and wearing oversized plaid flannel shirts were in style, so perhaps things have changed, but I was trained to do whatever it takes to make a customer happy. If we didn't have something they wanted, I would jump on the phone and call every GapKids store within 20 miles to track down an item.
I was very surprised when this salesperson didn't go the distance to help me find what I wanted. I asked her if there were other stores in the area we could call to see if they had the t-shirt and she said the closest store was Boston (too much of a nuisance for me). There was no "would you like me to call them?" or anything like that.
On my way to the registers I silently chided myself for supporting this Banana Republic with its poor customer service but I couldn't say no to their 30% off sale. The cashier asked me if I found everything I was looking for. I was about to utter my automatic "yes" when I realized, no!, I hadn't found everything I wanted. "Actually," I began, "there was something I didn't find." I must have caught the cashier off guard because she looked worried. I suppose most people smile and nod when answering her generic question. "I wanted another t-shirt but you didn't have anymore in my size," I explained.
The cashier gave me a curt smile and tried to reassure me I did have what I wanted. "But you found these t-shirts here," she said. The woman nervously pointed to my pile and I got the feeling this 50 year old lady was scared to pick up the phone and call other stores. I told her yes, I did like the t-shirts I had but I wanted one in white. "Oh, sorry about that," she said apologetically and proceeded to ring up my purchase.
I left Banana feeling a bit vexed; what is the point of asking a customer if they've found everything they're looking for if you don't offer to help a customer if they haven't found what they need? I'd rather the cashier didn't ask me her hollow question, than remind me that customer service was lacking at this store.
On my way to my car I rememberd that my experience at Banana Republic was identical to a grocery shopping excursion I had with my mom recently. The checkout girl asked my mom if she found everything she was looking for. My mom said she didn't couldn't find a brand of soup she loved.
Without looking up at my mother, the saleswoman continued to slide the groceries over the scanner and replied, "That's too bad."
Monday, February 4, 2008
The Meek Shall Inherit the Wrong History of Sports
Like many people, I stayed up way too late last night watching the Super Bowl. As always, the winners had their new "Superbowl Champions" paraphernalia on-hand for celebrating. I've always been intrigued by the fact that whether it be the World Series, the NBA Championship, or the Super Bowl, both sports teams come prepared to the big game with their hats and t-shirts announcing they're the winners. Of course, one team will always win and it would be silly not to have the celebratory gear to advertise their win, but I wonder what happens to the losing team's "We've Just Won the Big Game!!" gear.
I suppose the Patriots want those Super Bowl Champion t-shirts emblazoned with "19-0" incinerated as soon as possible but it seems like such a waste--especially when you think about the homeless people in our country barely owning one day's worth of clothes. Woudn't it be better to donate this gear to homeless shelters than toss them in the trash?
I have this weird fantasy that one day the meek will inherit the earth, just like god said. And they'll be running around in t-shirts celebrating the Buffalo Bills' four straight Super Bowl wins back in the 90s, or the Sox's triumphs after they traded Babe Ruth. Then, aliens will land on earth and see all of these sports championship t-shirts and hats and record the history of US sports incorrectly. It's a stupid fantasy, I know. But it's one that I continue to think of each time I watch a championship game.
I suppose the Patriots want those Super Bowl Champion t-shirts emblazoned with "19-0" incinerated as soon as possible but it seems like such a waste--especially when you think about the homeless people in our country barely owning one day's worth of clothes. Woudn't it be better to donate this gear to homeless shelters than toss them in the trash?
I have this weird fantasy that one day the meek will inherit the earth, just like god said. And they'll be running around in t-shirts celebrating the Buffalo Bills' four straight Super Bowl wins back in the 90s, or the Sox's triumphs after they traded Babe Ruth. Then, aliens will land on earth and see all of these sports championship t-shirts and hats and record the history of US sports incorrectly. It's a stupid fantasy, I know. But it's one that I continue to think of each time I watch a championship game.
Friday, February 1, 2008
I want to be an undercover cop
Everyone has dream jobs that aren't even real that they'd love to have. One of my fantasy jobs would be an undercover driver's ed cop. Let me explain.
For anyone who does a lot of in-town driving, you're bound to come across many really, really bad drivers. The other day I was behind a clueless one. She was the kind that notified you she's on the verge of taking a right hand turn...in about a half a mile. She drove past every major intersection with her ticker flashing. At first I hit the brakes and prepared for her upcoming turn, but when I saw her continuing to drive I got frustrated. Does this old bag know she has her ticker on? When is she going to get out of my way? When she finally decided to turn off the road, she made an ever-so-slowly and exaggerant wide turn into her driveway (which took a good three minutes). In the meantime, I'd given up hope she would ever turn, so I hit the brakes hard when she finally did and my teeth left an imprint in my dashboard.
My dream is to have one of those portable cop lights, you know the kind cops from TV shows in the 70s would pull out of their car and tack to the top of their roof? I'd flash my little light and then nail this driver with a fat ticket (a portion payable to me as I work on commission). Being an undercover driver's ed cop would come in handy for so many bad-driver incidents. I would truly make the word a safer place.
I'd also like to bust the "should I, shouldn't I?" drivers. I saw one the other day idling on a side street, waiting for a spot to open to join traffic on a major road. The guy jerked his car forward, thinking he should merge into traffic, but then realized he shouldn't and stopped himself. The guy got anxious, thinking he'd never have an opportunity to get onto the road so he found the hutzpah he never knew he had and gunned his Ford Festiva out into the street right before I passed by him. I screamed an expletive and had to rely on the defensive driving skills Mr. Farina taught me in driver's ed fourteen years ago. Hey, we've all been there, but etiquette demands that if you're the Festiva you gas your car to full throttle to catch up to the speed of the car you just cut off, not put your car in Sunday drive mode like this guy did. Cue my portable cop light.
I think the greatest satisfaction of my dream job would be to bust fellow cops. How many times have I wished I had my little light (and the proper credentials) to nail an officer for cruising through a right on red? The worst is when I see a cop stuck in traffic and he turns his siren on to clear the intersection because he doesn't feel like waiting for the light to turn. At least if a cop is going to do that, he should respect the driving peons he just blew off and keep his lights on and pretend he really was needed for an emergency until he's out of site. It's a true dis when you see cops turn their lights off 50 feet from the intersection they just cleared and then proceed to roll into a Dunkin' Donuts.
Book 'em, Dano.
For anyone who does a lot of in-town driving, you're bound to come across many really, really bad drivers. The other day I was behind a clueless one. She was the kind that notified you she's on the verge of taking a right hand turn...in about a half a mile. She drove past every major intersection with her ticker flashing. At first I hit the brakes and prepared for her upcoming turn, but when I saw her continuing to drive I got frustrated. Does this old bag know she has her ticker on? When is she going to get out of my way? When she finally decided to turn off the road, she made an ever-so-slowly and exaggerant wide turn into her driveway (which took a good three minutes). In the meantime, I'd given up hope she would ever turn, so I hit the brakes hard when she finally did and my teeth left an imprint in my dashboard.
My dream is to have one of those portable cop lights, you know the kind cops from TV shows in the 70s would pull out of their car and tack to the top of their roof? I'd flash my little light and then nail this driver with a fat ticket (a portion payable to me as I work on commission). Being an undercover driver's ed cop would come in handy for so many bad-driver incidents. I would truly make the word a safer place.
I'd also like to bust the "should I, shouldn't I?" drivers. I saw one the other day idling on a side street, waiting for a spot to open to join traffic on a major road. The guy jerked his car forward, thinking he should merge into traffic, but then realized he shouldn't and stopped himself. The guy got anxious, thinking he'd never have an opportunity to get onto the road so he found the hutzpah he never knew he had and gunned his Ford Festiva out into the street right before I passed by him. I screamed an expletive and had to rely on the defensive driving skills Mr. Farina taught me in driver's ed fourteen years ago. Hey, we've all been there, but etiquette demands that if you're the Festiva you gas your car to full throttle to catch up to the speed of the car you just cut off, not put your car in Sunday drive mode like this guy did. Cue my portable cop light.
I think the greatest satisfaction of my dream job would be to bust fellow cops. How many times have I wished I had my little light (and the proper credentials) to nail an officer for cruising through a right on red? The worst is when I see a cop stuck in traffic and he turns his siren on to clear the intersection because he doesn't feel like waiting for the light to turn. At least if a cop is going to do that, he should respect the driving peons he just blew off and keep his lights on and pretend he really was needed for an emergency until he's out of site. It's a true dis when you see cops turn their lights off 50 feet from the intersection they just cleared and then proceed to roll into a Dunkin' Donuts.
Book 'em, Dano.
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