As I packed a bag tonight in preparation for a few days out of town, it occurred to me that spontaneous, I’m not. That is so much of an understatement that anyone who knows me really well is probably doubled over with laughter with tears leaking out of their ducts.
Yeah, okay so I can admit it – I’m organized to a fault. I’ve been making lists for weeks and I even typed up a daily list of what outfit I’m going to wear down to and including footwear and jewelry. It’s kind of sick. But isn’t admitting it the first step?
I wish I were the kind of person who could suddenly at the last minute decide to take off for 10 days in Tahiti wearing only the clothes on their back and a duffel bag containing a spare pair of undies, a swimsuit and a toothbrush. I’ve even seen people in airports carrying duffel bags that have, like, spare room in them! This is a concept that I can’t really grasp. My “weekender” bag, on the other hand, is so jam-packed with clothes that I couldn’t possibly wear even if I were going away for a solid month, that it’s nearly impossible for me to load the thing in the overhead bin.
I remember when I was a kid and had absolutely no say in what clothes I got to wear and when I got to wear them. I vaguely recall Mom packing for vacations and me trying to load extra items in the paper bags that she used to pack her four children’s clothes in. Yes, paper bags – from the grocery store! There must be some sort of law against that, isn’t there? Geez. I was a “bag lady” at the tender age of six. And now I’m suddenly starting to see where the problem perhaps started…
The only time I “under-pack” is when I visit my parents at their cottage in Cape Cod, a place I’ve visited every year since I was in diapers. There is no need to get dressed up there and I can get by with a couple outfits and a swimsuit. Not that my weekender bag is any less full.
I remember one year loading up my suitcase with books, cassette tapes and a boombox (in the years before tiny little iPods made packing ever so much easier…). I realized the foolishness of putting a boombox in my suitcase when I saw the baggage handler pretty much drop kick my suitcase into the belly of the plane. When I reached my destination and unpacked, the antenna on the boombox was bent at a 90 degree angle, the cassette doors no longer stayed closed and I think a knob or two was even missing. Needless to say, that boombox went to boombox heaven and that signaled the end of my under-packing days. I figured I might as well load up the bag with soft clothes rather than hard boomboxes.
Anyway, I’m now sitting here after midnight typing away on the computer when I really should be fast asleep in bed. We’re getting up before the crack of dawn to take off and I really shouldn’t be puffy-eyed and cranky when I meet some of Vince’s relatives for the first time.
But my bag is packed…and I’m ready to go... Hahaha. I’m SO funny!! (See, if you young people ever listened to cassettes on boomboxes, you’d maybe know what song those lyrics came from.)
Anyway, I hope you all have a great week. I’m sure I will…as long as I don’t lose my official outfit wearing list. And I can fit my overstuffed weekender bag into that overhead bin.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar (or Yelp in Pain, as the case may be…)
Okay, so it’s not really that bad. I mean, I have a sweet husband who gives me foot massages and rubs lotion on them for moisturizing purposes. Personally, I think it’s self preservation that motivates him – he doesn’t want any dragon feet accidentally scraping against his shins in the middle of the night and jolting him awake.
I sometimes only reluctantly hand my feet over to Vince because he thinks that “massage” should be therapeutic, which basically means that one’s body is pummeled into submission. I frequently find myself yanking my feet out of his ministrations and yelping in pain. Sometimes I even yank my feet away and yelp in pain in anticipation, which makes him laugh evilly.
Why do I allow him to keep giving me massages? Because, interestingly, I feel better when he’s done. He usually jokes that it feels good only because he’s not digging into the knots anymore. But after that, I find that I feel better.
The first time he offered to give me a foot massage, I told him that I had really ticklish feet and I didn’t do well with foot massages and I’d never even had a pedicure because of it. His friend – who’d been on the receiving end of one of his foot massages – laughed uproariously as if I’d said the funniest thing in the world. I was a little annoyed – mostly because I don’t like inside jokes when I’m not one of the insiders. But then I quickly learned what the laughter was all about. Ow…ow…OW!
After that experience, I figured that my feet were forever desensitized and so I made my first ever pedicure appointment. And I’m happy to report that there were no yelps in pain, nor did I have to yank my feet out of the soothing foot bath because they were tickling my toes while they loofahed and scrubbed and buffed.
And then I had the prettiest shade of pink polished on my toes – without streaks and blobs and polish that dripped beyond the perimeter of the actual toenail. It was amazing!
So I’m treating myself tonight and I’m looking forward to it. I just hope that what happened after my last pedicure doesn’t happen this time.
My last pedicure occurred the day before our wedding last September, and I had this awesome red nail polish painted on my toes. I figured “Chick Flick Cherry” red on my fingernails might not be appropriately bride-y, but I wanted to let my inner wild child have her way. I thought it was a good compromise. The colors of the wedding, by the way, were apple red and purple.
Anyway, I arrived home all pleased with the results and started packing my bags so we could head over to the hotel for the pre-wedding festivities.
At the last minute, I decided I should bring along my massive Wedding Planning notebook, which was at least 3” thick and comes included with every engagement ring. In fact, it’s mandatory these days when wedding planning. Even though I knew I had all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed, I didn’t want to find myself without a critical phone number should some catastrophe like the photographer not show at precisely the time heretofore agreed upon per our contract. Or something. (Nothing like that happened, by the way. It went perfectly. Or perfectly enough.)
So anyway, I went to pick up the notebook from the floor and – somehow – kicked it instead.
Oh. My. God. The pain was so intense it was akin to childbirth. Or passing a kidney stone. Not that I have ever experienced either of those things, but my shrieks of pain were surely similar. I hopped on one foot as tears streamed down my face and beads of sweat popped out of every pore, including my earlobes.
All the while I was trying desperately to keep from shrieking an incredibly creative string of curse words. To console myself, I just muttered them under my breath. I thought that maybe screaming invectives at the top of my lungs might scare Vince just a little bit and he’d wonder what kind of crazy woman he was marrying . Plus, I frankly didn't want to listen to a lecture from my mother on proper ladylike (and bride-y) behavior.
When I finally regained my composure, I looked down and the first thing I noticed was that the flippin’ polish on my second toenail had chipped off. But then equally horrifying was the fact that my toe was swelling and turning an impressive shade of purple.
The good news was that I was somehow able to walk in my wedding shoes, so I didn’t have to limp my way up and down the aisle. And even more fortunate was that I had the foresight to purchase a bottle of “Chick Flick Cherry” red nail polish, so I was able to fix the chip. Except that I’m pretty sure there were streaks, blobs and the polish extended beyond the perimeter of the nail. But it was so swollen and red and purple, who could possibly have noticed the difference?
One of my cousins helpfully pointed out that I had taken the color theme a little too literally by matching my toe to the colors of the wedding. But, hey, I’m that kinda chick. I like to match!
I am, by the way, convinced that I broke that toe since I couldn’t touch it without pain for about six months, which gave my right foot somewhat of a reprieve from Vince’s killer foot massages. I think the left foot, though, got the extra pummeling.
Anyway, I’m hoping there won’t be a repeat incident tonight. But just in case, my pre-pedicure preparations will include making sure that the massive wedding planning notebook is safely stored in the closet. And…I think I’ll steer clear of Chick Flick Cherry. Perhaps a pale pink color that matches my normal skin tone?
Monday, April 26, 2010
The Fear of Math
Do you ever have one of those days where you feel boring and blah? Even to yourself? Yeah, that’s me this morning. I’ve tried tackling a couple different subjects for blogs…and can’t come up with anything.
Oh, I have the “topics” – but as I’m composing, I about as interested in my own writing as I was taking Statistics in college.
Statistics. Yuck. The mere word gives me the heebie-jeebies. That was one class that I would have been better off not taking, but I needed it to graduate. So I dutifully showed up at every class. I listened. I tried doing the homework. I sucked at taking the exams. But I knew I wasn’t going to get out of there unscathed when the instructor came up to me before the Final and asked me if I ever intended to use Statistics in any job I currently had or might possibly have in the future. I assured him that I wouldn’t. I think he might have made me sign something, but I can’t really remember that part.
So he said I didn’t need to bother taking the final. (I think I was the only graduating senior in his class that trimester and he didn’t want to make up a separate exam for me. He especially didn’t want to grade it, probably because he didn’t want to have to consider himself a failure as a teacher.) I won’t tell you my final grade, but let’s just say it was the worst grade I earned in my college career at two different universities – and I think he even bumped it up a bit out of mercy because otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to graduate cum laude.
When friends threw a surprise graduation party for me, one of my writing instructors showed up with a hardbound book titled “Everything I Ever Learned in Statistics,” by Jane Domian. Inside the book? Nothin’. Every page was blank. Ha ha.
Yeah, I have funny friends, don’t I?!
I’ve never liked anything to do with numbers. Could be nature and could be nurture. I’m stickin’ with nurture for now and I’m willing to blame my second grade teacher, Sister Lucy. Don’t get me wrong – I loved Sister Lucy…that is, until the day she introduced us to the Multiplication Tables. Sadist.
I was quite happy having learned Addition. Subtraction was a little tougher, but I was seven years old and I figured I’d taken the whole math thing just about as far as I could go with it.
I can’t be sure about this because, well, that was a lot of years ago, but I think I was unwell the day she tried to get us to wrap our little minds around 2 x 3. After introducing the concept to us, I must have had a completely bewildered look on my face because she called on me for the answer. I tried to skirt the issue entirely and give her the answer to 2 + 3. The answer “5” didn’t make her happy. But did she move on to another victim, er, student? Nooo. If she had, it might have changed the entire direction of my life and I could, at this moment, be some Math Whiz earning big bucks in the Math Industry.
Clearly, I’m not.
But back to second grade and my mean teacher, Sister Lucy. Near panic, my next answer was “2.” Obviously wrong. (Wait a sec…let me get out my calculator. Okay, yes, that was wrong!)
I jest. I mean, now I know the answer.
Anyway, Sister Lucy was getting mad and I was near tears. So she gave me one final try – and I answered “3,” which earned me an immediate trip out to the hall to stand in the corner.
It was the only time in my entire life that I was ever sent out into the hall to stand in a corner and it probably scarred me for life. I was as pissed off and upset as any second grader you ever saw. When she finally let me back in the class, I wouldn’t look at her or talk to her for a long time. Probably 10 minutes in second grader time, which is a really long time.
Anyway, I truly don’t know how I learned multiplication after that traumatic experience, but as the years passed by, whenever a new math concept was introduced I went into panic mode and started fearing corners.
So see? It’s no wonder that years later (decades, even) Statistics completely went over my head.
I don’t even really like talking about Math – so I guess it’s sort of appropriate when I’m having a blah and boring day.
And to my Statistics instructor, whose name I no longer remember? I haven’t used Statistics even once. You’re welcome.
Oh, I have the “topics” – but as I’m composing, I about as interested in my own writing as I was taking Statistics in college.
Statistics. Yuck. The mere word gives me the heebie-jeebies. That was one class that I would have been better off not taking, but I needed it to graduate. So I dutifully showed up at every class. I listened. I tried doing the homework. I sucked at taking the exams. But I knew I wasn’t going to get out of there unscathed when the instructor came up to me before the Final and asked me if I ever intended to use Statistics in any job I currently had or might possibly have in the future. I assured him that I wouldn’t. I think he might have made me sign something, but I can’t really remember that part.
So he said I didn’t need to bother taking the final. (I think I was the only graduating senior in his class that trimester and he didn’t want to make up a separate exam for me. He especially didn’t want to grade it, probably because he didn’t want to have to consider himself a failure as a teacher.) I won’t tell you my final grade, but let’s just say it was the worst grade I earned in my college career at two different universities – and I think he even bumped it up a bit out of mercy because otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to graduate cum laude.
When friends threw a surprise graduation party for me, one of my writing instructors showed up with a hardbound book titled “Everything I Ever Learned in Statistics,” by Jane Domian. Inside the book? Nothin’. Every page was blank. Ha ha.
Yeah, I have funny friends, don’t I?!
I’ve never liked anything to do with numbers. Could be nature and could be nurture. I’m stickin’ with nurture for now and I’m willing to blame my second grade teacher, Sister Lucy. Don’t get me wrong – I loved Sister Lucy…that is, until the day she introduced us to the Multiplication Tables. Sadist.
I was quite happy having learned Addition. Subtraction was a little tougher, but I was seven years old and I figured I’d taken the whole math thing just about as far as I could go with it.
I can’t be sure about this because, well, that was a lot of years ago, but I think I was unwell the day she tried to get us to wrap our little minds around 2 x 3. After introducing the concept to us, I must have had a completely bewildered look on my face because she called on me for the answer. I tried to skirt the issue entirely and give her the answer to 2 + 3. The answer “5” didn’t make her happy. But did she move on to another victim, er, student? Nooo. If she had, it might have changed the entire direction of my life and I could, at this moment, be some Math Whiz earning big bucks in the Math Industry.
Clearly, I’m not.
But back to second grade and my mean teacher, Sister Lucy. Near panic, my next answer was “2.” Obviously wrong. (Wait a sec…let me get out my calculator. Okay, yes, that was wrong!)
I jest. I mean, now I know the answer.
Anyway, Sister Lucy was getting mad and I was near tears. So she gave me one final try – and I answered “3,” which earned me an immediate trip out to the hall to stand in the corner.
It was the only time in my entire life that I was ever sent out into the hall to stand in a corner and it probably scarred me for life. I was as pissed off and upset as any second grader you ever saw. When she finally let me back in the class, I wouldn’t look at her or talk to her for a long time. Probably 10 minutes in second grader time, which is a really long time.
Anyway, I truly don’t know how I learned multiplication after that traumatic experience, but as the years passed by, whenever a new math concept was introduced I went into panic mode and started fearing corners.
So see? It’s no wonder that years later (decades, even) Statistics completely went over my head.
I don’t even really like talking about Math – so I guess it’s sort of appropriate when I’m having a blah and boring day.
And to my Statistics instructor, whose name I no longer remember? I haven’t used Statistics even once. You’re welcome.
Friday, April 23, 2010
The Great 2010 Clothes Reorganization Plan
So I had all these ambitious plans last weekend to get my spring cleaning/clothes swapping chores started and finished. Well, I got it started…but finished is another story. Now another weekend is looming and I’m truly hoping I can get things done since I’m great at procrastination, but also don’t like having Incompletes on my “To Do” list.
Plus, I hate wearing turtleneck sweaters in 68 degree weather.
Last Saturday I made up what I thought was a relatively short list for the downstairs so I could concentrate on the closet and dresser drawers. Downstairs chores included dusting, organizing the pantry and polishing the silver. And, yeah, so there were only 10 pieces of silver that needed to be polished, but since there was no actual silver showing on them, it took a little more polishing time than I’d estimated.
When I finally headed upstairs it was getting later in the day and my energy was ebbing, but I was still determined to make a dent in the Great 2010 Clothes Reorganization Plan.
I started on the laundry, swapped comforters (heavyweight to lightweight) and cleaned the bathroom before turning to the dresser and the closet. And sighed at the daunting task before me.
To enhance my Clothes Reorganization Plan experience, I decided that I needed some music to make the chore seem a little more palatable. So I powered up my computer to get to my iTunes library. Naturally, iTunes had to be updated, which took what seemed like 2.3 hours to load. I wasn’t ambitiously working during this process because I was sort of “waiting” for music. So I fiddled around checking e-mail, updating Facebook and playing computer solitaire. All the while knowing, of course, how much work I still had left to do.
Finally, the system was updated, but then I had to decide which type of music would be most suitable for Clothes Reorganization. After much internal debate, I finally selected some classic Motown. It was now about 4PM. (Yes, I am very, very good at procrastinating.)
So I started with the dresser. I folded sweaters and other assorted winter pieces into nice neat piles ready to be put into the storage bins and swapped with the summer clothes…but that’s about as far as I got. I know! All that prep work and careful music selection for nothin’!
But I had (what I thought was) a good excuse – the bins were in the garage hidden underneath boxes of high school yearbooks and miscellaneous Christmas decorations. (Hey, I never said we were good at logistical planning!) Plus, I would’ve needed to move my car out of the garage to even get close to them. But before that I would’ve had to move Vince’s car out of the driveway. That was just too much to contemplate that late in the afternoon. Besides, there was no Motown music playing in the garage.
I’m sure Vince would’ve been happy to help with this logistical nightmare, but he was in the middle of deep cleaning the downstairs carpeting. I started to ask him for assistance, but the absolutely horrified expression on his face at how filthy the carpeting was stopped me and I didn’t think it was a good idea to interrupt his progress. (The downstairs carpet, by the way, looks 1000% better!)
So all week, my dresser drawers have been relatively empty and I haven’t had any warm weather clothes to wear.
Fortunately, we have had a couple mornings when it was only 30-something degrees when I got up, so I was able to grab one of the sweaters from the pile. It was a little toasty in the afternoons when it warmed up to 68 degrees, but at least I didn’t break any indecent exposure laws. I don’t think the cops would’ve cared that I ran out of weekend and that the bins in the garage had to be excavated first.
Anyway, Friday is here once again and I really, truly plan to get this Plan finished before the end of the weekend. Except we have dinner plans with friends tonight, and I have a baby shower to attend tomorrow. And call me crazy, but I’m kind of thinking that re-organizing the dresser drawers is not really a Saturday night activity.
Ah well, there is always Sunday. Maybe we’ll manage to get up early enough to attend the crack o’ dawn service at St. Andrew’s, which would give us the rest of the day to accomplish something. The good news is that I don’t have silver to polish this week, which should free up a little extra time. And, to the best of my recollection, we have not rolled around in mud and tracked it in, so Vince won’t be deep cleaning the carpet. Perhaps I can persuade him to help with the bin excavation.
If not, maybe we’ll just have to turn the spare bedroom into Jane’s Closet. We can build racks to hang all four seasons of clothes and shelving units where I can store turtlenecks right next to the tank tops. And then we can build shoe shelves for flip flops and boots alike.
Yeah. We’ll get right on that. But first let me pick out some shelf-building music...
Plus, I hate wearing turtleneck sweaters in 68 degree weather.
Last Saturday I made up what I thought was a relatively short list for the downstairs so I could concentrate on the closet and dresser drawers. Downstairs chores included dusting, organizing the pantry and polishing the silver. And, yeah, so there were only 10 pieces of silver that needed to be polished, but since there was no actual silver showing on them, it took a little more polishing time than I’d estimated.
When I finally headed upstairs it was getting later in the day and my energy was ebbing, but I was still determined to make a dent in the Great 2010 Clothes Reorganization Plan.
I started on the laundry, swapped comforters (heavyweight to lightweight) and cleaned the bathroom before turning to the dresser and the closet. And sighed at the daunting task before me.
To enhance my Clothes Reorganization Plan experience, I decided that I needed some music to make the chore seem a little more palatable. So I powered up my computer to get to my iTunes library. Naturally, iTunes had to be updated, which took what seemed like 2.3 hours to load. I wasn’t ambitiously working during this process because I was sort of “waiting” for music. So I fiddled around checking e-mail, updating Facebook and playing computer solitaire. All the while knowing, of course, how much work I still had left to do.
Finally, the system was updated, but then I had to decide which type of music would be most suitable for Clothes Reorganization. After much internal debate, I finally selected some classic Motown. It was now about 4PM. (Yes, I am very, very good at procrastinating.)
So I started with the dresser. I folded sweaters and other assorted winter pieces into nice neat piles ready to be put into the storage bins and swapped with the summer clothes…but that’s about as far as I got. I know! All that prep work and careful music selection for nothin’!
But I had (what I thought was) a good excuse – the bins were in the garage hidden underneath boxes of high school yearbooks and miscellaneous Christmas decorations. (Hey, I never said we were good at logistical planning!) Plus, I would’ve needed to move my car out of the garage to even get close to them. But before that I would’ve had to move Vince’s car out of the driveway. That was just too much to contemplate that late in the afternoon. Besides, there was no Motown music playing in the garage.
I’m sure Vince would’ve been happy to help with this logistical nightmare, but he was in the middle of deep cleaning the downstairs carpeting. I started to ask him for assistance, but the absolutely horrified expression on his face at how filthy the carpeting was stopped me and I didn’t think it was a good idea to interrupt his progress. (The downstairs carpet, by the way, looks 1000% better!)
So all week, my dresser drawers have been relatively empty and I haven’t had any warm weather clothes to wear.
Fortunately, we have had a couple mornings when it was only 30-something degrees when I got up, so I was able to grab one of the sweaters from the pile. It was a little toasty in the afternoons when it warmed up to 68 degrees, but at least I didn’t break any indecent exposure laws. I don’t think the cops would’ve cared that I ran out of weekend and that the bins in the garage had to be excavated first.
Anyway, Friday is here once again and I really, truly plan to get this Plan finished before the end of the weekend. Except we have dinner plans with friends tonight, and I have a baby shower to attend tomorrow. And call me crazy, but I’m kind of thinking that re-organizing the dresser drawers is not really a Saturday night activity.
Ah well, there is always Sunday. Maybe we’ll manage to get up early enough to attend the crack o’ dawn service at St. Andrew’s, which would give us the rest of the day to accomplish something. The good news is that I don’t have silver to polish this week, which should free up a little extra time. And, to the best of my recollection, we have not rolled around in mud and tracked it in, so Vince won’t be deep cleaning the carpet. Perhaps I can persuade him to help with the bin excavation.
If not, maybe we’ll just have to turn the spare bedroom into Jane’s Closet. We can build racks to hang all four seasons of clothes and shelving units where I can store turtlenecks right next to the tank tops. And then we can build shoe shelves for flip flops and boots alike.
Yeah. We’ll get right on that. But first let me pick out some shelf-building music...
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Tourist Traps. Agree or Disagree?
A friend sent me a link to an article on the 10 world’s worst tourist traps. The link, if you're interested in reading more, is at the bottom of this blog.
However, if you don’t feel like going to yet another link, the 10 worst tourist traps, according to the article, are:
1. Kissing the Blarney Stone
2. Riding in a Venice Gondola
3. The Leaning Tower of Pisa
4. The Empire State Building
5. Niagara Falls
6. Stonehenge
7. Walt Disney World
8. Sears (Willis) Tower
9. Salem Witch Museum
10. Graceland
I have no idea if those were listed in some sort of order of importance, but I must say it was a little disconcerting to realize that I’d been to six of the 10 of them. In my defense, three of them were from when I was a kid and I didn’t have a say in where we went on vacation.
On the other hand, visiting some of these places probably wasn’t all that bad because it was a lot of years ago and (a) they weren’t as “tourist-y” as they are now and (b) there probably weren’t as many people walking the earth, so they weren’t as crowded. Oh, and (c) they were probably way cheaper!
I was astounded to learn that it costs $79 per person per day to get into Disney World. That’s before you buy your kid the first ice cream cone or soft drink or one of those goofy Mouse Ears Hats. Or Goofy Ears Hat. Whatever.
I have some friends who just took their kids to Disney World – there were three adults and four children. That’s…well, I don’t have my calculator handy at the moment, but that’s a lotta money! Paying for food for seven people plus hotel accommodations might necessitate taking out a second mortgage on a person’s home.
I remember when I was a kid and we went to the Empire State building – it was amazing to be 86 stories in the air and looking out over New York City. It was probably more memorable to a kid who grew up in the small town of Alliance, Ohio, where the highest building was probably 4 stories high and elevators were not required. (I jest – I really have no idea what the tallest building in Alliance is. But I don’t really recall encountering too many elevators.)
I will say that I completely concur with the #1 choice – “Kissing the Blarney Stone” in Ireland. I totally hated the Blarney Stone! My dad, sister and I made the trek up the old stone steps to kiss it. I had no idea there was a gap between the wall and the floor. You had to lie down on your back, hold onto metal poles on either side of the wall, tip your head back at an unnatural and uncomfortable angle and kiss the wall behind you while someone held onto you so you didn’t tumble down through the gap backwards and headfirst. Plus, the wall was all wet – whether from the weather or from other folks’ lips – I don’t know, but…bleccchh! All I knew for sure was I didn’t want to get anywhere near that nasty thing! Instead, I did an “air kiss” so my actual lips didn’t touch the actual wall.
I think the guy hanging on to me suggested I give it another try, but I said I was good and I had plenty of “gab” thank you very much. I got up, dusted myself off and thought, if I’d had any idea this was the deal, I would’ve stayed down on the ground with mom. I guess I really should read a tour guide once in a while before heading to some of these places.
I’ve been to the Leaning Tower of Pisa and, yep, it’s leaning. And I think we went to Niagara Falls when I was a kid. I remember a lot of water and a lot of mist. I’ve seen the Sears Tower (now Willis Tower) in Chicago, and, yeah, it’s a tall building. Didn’t go up in it, but looked up at it – does that count?! And I’ve been to Venice, though I didn’t take a gondola ride. We were there in February and it was spitting snow and icy rain – they couldn’t have paid me enough Euros to get in one of those things that day!
I have not been to Stonehenge, but I’ve seen photos. According to the article, you’d probably get a better view looking at pictures since these days they keep tourists pretty far away or something. Nor have I been to the Salem Witch Museum, even though my parents are from Massachusetts. Guess my folks figured they should take us to Plymouth Rock instead for a little Mayflower history, which is a tourist attraction I’d have to add to the list. It’s just a roped-off rock with a little plaque! But at least it’s not overrun with tourists and you can get up close and personal – provided you have an interest in seeing a big rock up close.
The tackiest tourist trap on the list, I suppose, would have to be Graceland. One of these days I might have to go – just to say I’ve been.
And, to the writer of this article for making me feel like one of those unsophisticated tourists who go to all the tacky tourist attractions, I say in my best Elvis impersonation, “Thank you…thank you very much!”
Smarter Travel link: http://www.smartertravel.com/travel-advice/photos/the-world-top-10-worst-tourist-traps.html?id=4669842&source=dealalert&value=2010-04-18+00:00:00&u=3F02EED0B9
(Photo: brosner via Flickr. Type of CC Attribution. http://www.flickr.com/photos/brosner/)
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
The Complaint Department (See Next Window...)
I ordered eyeglasses a while ago from Costco and I finally picked them up the other day. The wait seemed interminable and was actually twice the timeframe promised, so I was getting a little cranky about the delay.
Like many people, I’ve become used to instant gratification. As soon as the charge clears my account (and you know that’s pretty instantaneous these days), I want the stuff. Like, now!
I used to buy all my eyeglasses from Lenscrafters because I wanted them in an hour. Once I graduated beyond single vision lenses, however, I realized how pricey those specs were getting. So I moved on to less expensive places that forced me to wait a week or more for my new glasses, which I suppose has been a good lesson in patience.
So this was my first experience buying glasses from Costco. When they said the wait was “10-14 days” I figured they were under-promising like they do in restaurants when they tell you the wait will be 45 minutes and so you’re happy when they call you in 20 minutes to tell you your table is ready.
I guess I was wrong about Costco. (That thud you just heard was Vince hitting the floor.)
I patiently waited until Day 10 when I called. They weren’t in. Day 13 and…nothing. On Day 17 I was told that there might be a problem; that possibly they had broken in production and they were being redone. This was not, as you might expect, what I wanted to hear.
On Day 19 I enlisted the aid of “The Enforcer,” er, Vince. He called the manager and firmly expressed our displeasure with the situation. The manager gave him all sorts of excuses and apologies. Finally, on Day 21 they called to say that my glasses were (finally) in. We live near Costco so we were prepared to drive right over – only to be told that the store had already closed for the day. Grrr.
When we went in to pick them up, the technician was all apologetic about the delay. I wasn’t happy, but wasn’t sure what could be done to rectify the situation. After all, I’d already paid for them and I wasn’t sure how much “waiting impatiently” would be worth in dollars. Vince, who is a stickler for good customer service, kept his cool, but stated our disappointment with the experience. That if someone had only called us to give us a status update, we’d have been more patient. But we had heard nothing from them.
I will say that Costco didn’t slough off our complaint. Actually, we were given a fairly decent refund, which was way more than I was expecting. I’m not much of a complainer, so I probably would’ve been happy with a free bottle of eyeglass cleaner or one of those polishing cloths.
But the refund was enough to pick up a ginormous bottle of ibuprofen, 3-pack of soy milk, and a multi-pack of paper towels that took up the entire trunk of the car and will probably last us through the end of the year. So complaining isn’t always a bad thing.
But I have also learned that there are “rules” to complaining.
The first is: don’t lose your cool. Screaming at the person to whom you’re directing your complaint doesn’t accomplish much. Usually that person hasn’t caused the problem, but is probably at that moment wishing they’d gone in a less stressful direction with their career. Like maybe “Bomb Squad Technician.” Also, refrain from finger pointing unless you want the confrontation to become physical. And just know that most bystanders would be rooting for the clerk you’re abusing.
Be selective. Don’t complain about every little thing – life is full of disappointments and, believe it or not, the world isn’t out to make your life perfect. If you send back every burger you order because it’s not cooked to your exacting standards, the problem might not be with the cook, but with the complainer. Besides, you don’t want to piss off the kitchen help. You don’t know what they’ve done to that burger before returning it to you.
And, finally, understand that most businesses do want to hear about the problem you’re having so they can make it right or can learn better ways to satisfy their customers.
Oh, and one other thing. Consider offering kudos when you get great customer service. I’ve become better at this from watching Vince. He will give compliments when we’ve had a great experience at a restaurant or retail establishment, even going so far as to talk to the manager. It’s very cool to see their faces light up when they realize someone isn’t out to complain, but to compliment.
So now I’m wearing my new eyeglasses. I like them and Vince likes them, too. But the bifocal is stronger than I’m used to and I’m beginning to get a bit of a headache from holding my head at the precise angle with which to clearly see the computer.
Good thing we got that ginormous bottle of ibuprofen, huh? Let’s just hope that I don’t need to send these eyeglasses back to be adjusted. I don’t think I could stand the wait!
Like many people, I’ve become used to instant gratification. As soon as the charge clears my account (and you know that’s pretty instantaneous these days), I want the stuff. Like, now!
I used to buy all my eyeglasses from Lenscrafters because I wanted them in an hour. Once I graduated beyond single vision lenses, however, I realized how pricey those specs were getting. So I moved on to less expensive places that forced me to wait a week or more for my new glasses, which I suppose has been a good lesson in patience.
So this was my first experience buying glasses from Costco. When they said the wait was “10-14 days” I figured they were under-promising like they do in restaurants when they tell you the wait will be 45 minutes and so you’re happy when they call you in 20 minutes to tell you your table is ready.
I guess I was wrong about Costco. (That thud you just heard was Vince hitting the floor.)
I patiently waited until Day 10 when I called. They weren’t in. Day 13 and…nothing. On Day 17 I was told that there might be a problem; that possibly they had broken in production and they were being redone. This was not, as you might expect, what I wanted to hear.
On Day 19 I enlisted the aid of “The Enforcer,” er, Vince. He called the manager and firmly expressed our displeasure with the situation. The manager gave him all sorts of excuses and apologies. Finally, on Day 21 they called to say that my glasses were (finally) in. We live near Costco so we were prepared to drive right over – only to be told that the store had already closed for the day. Grrr.
When we went in to pick them up, the technician was all apologetic about the delay. I wasn’t happy, but wasn’t sure what could be done to rectify the situation. After all, I’d already paid for them and I wasn’t sure how much “waiting impatiently” would be worth in dollars. Vince, who is a stickler for good customer service, kept his cool, but stated our disappointment with the experience. That if someone had only called us to give us a status update, we’d have been more patient. But we had heard nothing from them.
I will say that Costco didn’t slough off our complaint. Actually, we were given a fairly decent refund, which was way more than I was expecting. I’m not much of a complainer, so I probably would’ve been happy with a free bottle of eyeglass cleaner or one of those polishing cloths.
But the refund was enough to pick up a ginormous bottle of ibuprofen, 3-pack of soy milk, and a multi-pack of paper towels that took up the entire trunk of the car and will probably last us through the end of the year. So complaining isn’t always a bad thing.
But I have also learned that there are “rules” to complaining.
The first is: don’t lose your cool. Screaming at the person to whom you’re directing your complaint doesn’t accomplish much. Usually that person hasn’t caused the problem, but is probably at that moment wishing they’d gone in a less stressful direction with their career. Like maybe “Bomb Squad Technician.” Also, refrain from finger pointing unless you want the confrontation to become physical. And just know that most bystanders would be rooting for the clerk you’re abusing.
Be selective. Don’t complain about every little thing – life is full of disappointments and, believe it or not, the world isn’t out to make your life perfect. If you send back every burger you order because it’s not cooked to your exacting standards, the problem might not be with the cook, but with the complainer. Besides, you don’t want to piss off the kitchen help. You don’t know what they’ve done to that burger before returning it to you.
And, finally, understand that most businesses do want to hear about the problem you’re having so they can make it right or can learn better ways to satisfy their customers.
Oh, and one other thing. Consider offering kudos when you get great customer service. I’ve become better at this from watching Vince. He will give compliments when we’ve had a great experience at a restaurant or retail establishment, even going so far as to talk to the manager. It’s very cool to see their faces light up when they realize someone isn’t out to complain, but to compliment.
So now I’m wearing my new eyeglasses. I like them and Vince likes them, too. But the bifocal is stronger than I’m used to and I’m beginning to get a bit of a headache from holding my head at the precise angle with which to clearly see the computer.
Good thing we got that ginormous bottle of ibuprofen, huh? Let’s just hope that I don’t need to send these eyeglasses back to be adjusted. I don’t think I could stand the wait!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Lucky!
We had our end-of-the-season CSC bowling banquet the other night and, as expected, I didn’t walk away with any big ol’ bowling trophy. I guess bowling 7 games with scores under 100 isn’t quite good enough to garner a trophy.
How do I know I did so dismally? Well, because they provided each bowler with a final stats sheet. Nice of ‘em, huh? Mine was a little discouraging, but I’m guessing I wasn’t the worst bowler either. Fortunately, they don’t write on anyone’s stat sheet “Worst bowler ever!” or “You suck!” or anything like that. Now that would be discouraging!
On the bright side, I did bowl 10 games between 125-150 and 2 games over 150. And we got a steak dinner out of the deal, too. Plus, we had a chance to hang out with friends and even got to meet a few new folks – so it was a pretty good evening all around.
Two of the bowlers at our table won a cash award for being the highest over their average on the last night of bowling. And then they started calling ticket numbers for door prizes. And they called my number! It was a $10 gift card to GetGo so I’m thinking I can’t plan my retirement quite yet… but $10 of free gas is, well, $10 worth of free gas. I’ll take it!
Another bowler at our table won the final door prize, too, so our table was rather lucky.
All in all, I think I’m a pretty lucky person. I’ve had my ticket number drawn quite a bit over the years for various prizes. When I was in my 20s, I used to call radio stations to win prizes – and frequently I was lucky enough to be the correct caller. I’d win tickets to movie premiers, concert tickets, CDs, GCs and other assorted prizes. I even won a free haircut once.
The first time I ever remember winning anything was in 5th grade when I guessed closest to the number of jelly beans in a jar and won an Easter Bunny cake from some sort of fundraising thing at school. (I had to carry that cake all the way home from school that day and I remember thinking I’d probably have preferred winning the jar of jelly beans – it would have been a lot easier to transport anyway. But I remember being excited that I could provide my family with dessert that night!)
I’ve won weird prizes like fire extinguishers and I’ve won cool prizes like $450 designer purses. I can tell you one time I was glad my ticket number wasn’t drawn – the prize was a free tattoo. I don’t have a tattoo and I don’t want a tattoo, but it would’ve been hard to throw away the prize. So I was a little relieved that someone else won that one!
I’ve never been lucky enough to win really big prizes – like a trip anywhere or, say, the lottery. Now that would be lucky and, provided the jackpot was large enough, I probably could start planning my retirement. I did win $20 from a scratch-off ticket once, but it wasn’t enough that I caught the “bug” and started faithfully buying lottery tickets every week.
I’ve been to Las Vegas twice and I can’t say I came home a big winner either time. The last time I was there, I was given a complimentary $10 gambling voucher – so I used it in a Poker machine and got a Royal Flush in my second spin, so I walked away $70 ahead. That was pretty cool.
But otherwise I wasn’t that lucky in Vegas. Like one day, I sat next to a friend who was feeding quarters into the Poker machine and she was steadily winning. I, on the other hand, kept donating my quarters. Very quickly I realized I’d soon be out of quarters and my daily ‘allotment’ of gambling money, so I moved right on over to the nickel machines. I didn’t come out very far ahead, but at least I was able to keep myself entertained for a couple hours.
The luckiest thing that happened on that trip was when a friend and I went to see a Vegas show. Afterwards we grabbed a cab to head back to our hotel…and we found a $100 bill on the seat! Pretty lucky, wouldn’t you say?!
So, while I don’t expect to find a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow, every once in a while I get a fleeting glimpse of that ol’ leprechaun.
Hmmm…maybe I should stop on the way home and buy one of those new Powerball lottery tickets. You never know…
How do I know I did so dismally? Well, because they provided each bowler with a final stats sheet. Nice of ‘em, huh? Mine was a little discouraging, but I’m guessing I wasn’t the worst bowler either. Fortunately, they don’t write on anyone’s stat sheet “Worst bowler ever!” or “You suck!” or anything like that. Now that would be discouraging!
On the bright side, I did bowl 10 games between 125-150 and 2 games over 150. And we got a steak dinner out of the deal, too. Plus, we had a chance to hang out with friends and even got to meet a few new folks – so it was a pretty good evening all around.
Two of the bowlers at our table won a cash award for being the highest over their average on the last night of bowling. And then they started calling ticket numbers for door prizes. And they called my number! It was a $10 gift card to GetGo so I’m thinking I can’t plan my retirement quite yet… but $10 of free gas is, well, $10 worth of free gas. I’ll take it!
Another bowler at our table won the final door prize, too, so our table was rather lucky.
All in all, I think I’m a pretty lucky person. I’ve had my ticket number drawn quite a bit over the years for various prizes. When I was in my 20s, I used to call radio stations to win prizes – and frequently I was lucky enough to be the correct caller. I’d win tickets to movie premiers, concert tickets, CDs, GCs and other assorted prizes. I even won a free haircut once.
The first time I ever remember winning anything was in 5th grade when I guessed closest to the number of jelly beans in a jar and won an Easter Bunny cake from some sort of fundraising thing at school. (I had to carry that cake all the way home from school that day and I remember thinking I’d probably have preferred winning the jar of jelly beans – it would have been a lot easier to transport anyway. But I remember being excited that I could provide my family with dessert that night!)
I’ve won weird prizes like fire extinguishers and I’ve won cool prizes like $450 designer purses. I can tell you one time I was glad my ticket number wasn’t drawn – the prize was a free tattoo. I don’t have a tattoo and I don’t want a tattoo, but it would’ve been hard to throw away the prize. So I was a little relieved that someone else won that one!
I’ve never been lucky enough to win really big prizes – like a trip anywhere or, say, the lottery. Now that would be lucky and, provided the jackpot was large enough, I probably could start planning my retirement. I did win $20 from a scratch-off ticket once, but it wasn’t enough that I caught the “bug” and started faithfully buying lottery tickets every week.
I’ve been to Las Vegas twice and I can’t say I came home a big winner either time. The last time I was there, I was given a complimentary $10 gambling voucher – so I used it in a Poker machine and got a Royal Flush in my second spin, so I walked away $70 ahead. That was pretty cool.
But otherwise I wasn’t that lucky in Vegas. Like one day, I sat next to a friend who was feeding quarters into the Poker machine and she was steadily winning. I, on the other hand, kept donating my quarters. Very quickly I realized I’d soon be out of quarters and my daily ‘allotment’ of gambling money, so I moved right on over to the nickel machines. I didn’t come out very far ahead, but at least I was able to keep myself entertained for a couple hours.
The luckiest thing that happened on that trip was when a friend and I went to see a Vegas show. Afterwards we grabbed a cab to head back to our hotel…and we found a $100 bill on the seat! Pretty lucky, wouldn’t you say?!
So, while I don’t expect to find a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow, every once in a while I get a fleeting glimpse of that ol’ leprechaun.
Hmmm…maybe I should stop on the way home and buy one of those new Powerball lottery tickets. You never know…
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