All Hail Wasp Slayer

It was a beautiful creature. I admitted that to myself as I flushed the corpse down the toilet. Wasps have this armored aesthetic that probably plays to the sci-fi nerd in me. Sad, I realize.

Typically, I try to shoo pests out a door or window. My apartment layout and this poor wasp's timing sentenced it to death.

A piece of junk mail was my weapon. I slew the wasp with a thick, brown envelope from the National Arbor Day Foundation.

When Pigs Fly

It had rained all day. Actually, it had rained all week. The rain was a steady, penetrating rain. But, as often happens during the Spring in the river valley, the changing temperatures of the late afternoon provided a window of sunlight. To the west dark clouds were looming again, but there would be a few dry hours.

I was enjoying the breeze and staring into nothing while refueling my car. I hadn't paid much notice to the man on the opposite side of the pump. He spoke loudly on the phone, but my mind was far away. Suddenly his words smashed through my peaceful East Tennessee moment.

"I always said we'd have a black man as president only when pigs fly, and now we got this swine flu." He chuckled to the person on the other end of the phone call. He seemed very proud of his wit.

Well, I thought, that's progress, I suppose. At least he said "black man."

Slowly

In real life I move slowly.

In my career, I work hard and quickly. I am a fast editor. My mind solves problems and implements solutions with reasonably fast speed. I remain more ahead of schedule than behind it.

But in real life, I move slowly.

I am slow to make friends. I dawdle about that weird pain in my side. The recycling piles up for a few too many days. Great plans never get any further than the planning stage.

When I was in grade school—I was probably only eight or nine years old—the classroom had these binders of illustrated stories. They were comic book style, only a few pages long. I fixated on one of these stories reading it over and over. I remember it being monochromatic, brown-and-white.

Astronauts explored a distant world. They discovered two giant, humanoid statues. (Or, were they archaeologists in some distant corner of our world? The details are a bit fuzzy.) They chiseled a chunk of stone from the foot of one statue for testing. They left the planet and returned home with their specimen.

Many years later, they returned to find the statues had moved! One reached toward its foot. Its face showed pain. The other comforted its friend.

I read that story countless times. How different must the lives of the statue-people be from lives of the astronauts? Probably not very different, until forced to interact.

Lesson in Humility

I awoke late after snoozing the alarm too many times. I rushed to eat breakfast while listening to Radio Paradise. Steely Dan. I hate Steely Dan.

It was one of those mornings: late to work, fumble fingers, bad attitude.

I quickly ate my lunch and rushed to complete an errand within my allotted time. I noticed the middle-aged, unkempt woman when I entered the store. She was mumbling too loudly to herself. She was deciding between greeting cards. Crazy lady. I sped down the aisles of the store and found what I was looking for, naturally after looking in three different places.

I was late again. My time was up. I still had to check-out and drive ten minutes back to work. The employers do not pressure about this, but I dislike taking advantage.

Two lines were open. Both had a number of customers. I sized up the other line, mentally jockeying for position. That's when I realized that mumbling lady was in front of me. Great.

There were still two people in front of her, but she began preemptively haggling. "Those aren't marked, but they are supposed to be half off," she told the manager as he walked by apologizing to everyone for the wait. A few minutes later she would repeated that to the cashier. My jaw clenched. One of those…

Ten minutes had passed before she was at the cashier. She had a slight unbathed odor. Her hair was uncombed, her clothes unwashed.

The haggling continued. "How much is that? I don't want it then. Did that ring up half-off?" The cashier finally presented the total: twenty-some-odd bucks. Hand in pocket, her demeanor changed. "Where's my money? I can't find my money!"

What con job is this? Is she going to claim someone stole it? For the third time, I thought about leaving and returning after work. But, I was so close now. What was a minute more? Man, I hate people. What a crappy day.

"I can't find my money!" She frantically searched her purse. She felt through the pockets of her coat that was flung over the shopping cart. The cashier was looking annoyed. "I just went to the bank, and I can't find my money!" She was shaking. She was scarred.

A voice came from just behind me in line. "Now, honey, calm down. There ain't no use getting excited. Take a breath and look for it. If you get all worked up, you'll never find it."

"I'm sorry for holdin' up the line. I just know I put it in my purse." Her quakes had intensified. Her entire body showed real fear.

"It's fine, honey. Just calm down. Ain't none of use got nowhere to be. Just take your time." While their words ping-ponged past me I stared straightforward. The woman's kindness was slacking my jaw a bit, but I was still aware of how late I was.

"You got the patience of Job." She was triple checking her coat, her purse, her pockets. She was nearing tears, probably hysteria.

"Did they put it in one of those envelopes? Usually, they put it in one of those little white envelopes."

"You got the patience of Job." She searched the purse again and pulled out a fresh bank envelope. "Here it is. Thank the Lord! I just knew I'd put it in my purse. I'd just gone to the bank and took out two-hundred dollars, and I just knew I'd put it in my purse."

Two-hundred dollars. There have been nights in my life that I've pissed away that much. I've throw that much away in a frivolous click on a website. Two-hundred bucks.

Ashamed at my impatience, my cynical thoughts, I drove slowly back to work. "It's okay, honey, take your time." Those could have been my words. I could have shown kindness to that less-fortunate stranger. I was embarrassed and I felt penitence.

I mashed a preset. The same Steely Dan song was on the radio. Accepting my punishment, I turned up the volume.

Lessons Learned: 3/23/09

Lesson #1:
After two hours searching in the dark, a lost cell phone will not be found on the two miles of greenway near your apartment. It will be found in your couch.

Lesson #2:
Sprint's "parents can spy on the kids" cell phone tracker is worth the $5 if you haven't yet learned Lesson #1.

Customer Service Gladness

Later that night…

The tiny pocket of Hilltopper alumni within the sea of UT Orange all met up to watch the 14-seeded Toppers and pray for upset. Surprisingly, for a bunch of heathens, the prayers were answered. (We just busted your bracket, Mr. President!)

Since Buck Buck^* and I had already suffered a miserable experience earlier, we chose to meet up at what had been our second choice at lunchtime. For all my lamenting on the poor service at Restaurant #1, Restaurant #2 was a customer service redeemer. We asked if they would mind to put one of their many TVs on the WKU game. The manager came to our table and put every monitor within earshot on the game and gave us some volume (a big deal in the din of a sports bar). Then, he tuned a few monitors to the other game feeds for us, too. He was everything a professional in retail should be. He earned a big tip for his server, and a few loyal customers.

So, yes, the power is with the consumer after all. Restaurant #1 just got the boycott, and guess where we will watch Round Two on Saturday? Restaurant #2 gets to watch Gonzaga go down.


^*Name changed to protect his bracket embarrassment.

Customer Service Madness

My co-worker, Buck Buck^*, is a huge sports fan. I am a moderate sports fan, but the NCAA Tournament is fun to watch. So, I am willing to be a team player and head out for a long lunch and watch a game. After all, the daytime tournament games only happen on two days per year.

So, we left the office in search of a place that would have all of the games on via satellite. We settled on a spacious, non-smoking restaurant I had been to a few times. I recalled it having a zillion TVs in the bar-area.

"Oh yes, of course, we are showing all the tournament games," said our server as we followed her to an empty table. "What can I get you to drink?"

Looking up, sure enough, there were a zillion TVs gleaming in brilliant high-definition. And, all of them were tuned to a version of ESPN: ESPN 2, ESPN U, ESPN News, ESPN Kitchen Sink! (For the uninitiated, CBS has covered the NCAA Tournament since 1982.)

"So, are you guys going to switch these?" Buck Buck asked when she returned with his Diet Coke. "Because the LSU game is already three minutes in," he said looking at his iPhone "and the Memphis game is starting." (Did I mention that he's a huge sports fan?)

"I'll check on that. I don't know what's going on."

While we waited on her return we perused the menu, knowing that we'd pay for the sodas and head to the next restaurant down the street if the TVs weren't switched soon. I could have saved the cash and used the office microwave; watching a game was the whole point.

I glanced around the place. A number of other customers were getting antsy. Fifteen minutes go by (and much apologizing from the server) and one television in a corner finally switched channels. Very few customers could see it from their tables. "I asked the manager what was going on and he kicked me out of the office," the waitress explained.

Politely getting up, we deduced that the manager was experiencing some technical difficulties. I understand; it happens. Still, if you have a zillion expensive TVs and your restaurant is in a bustling shopping district and you hang a giant banner reading "Watch All 64 Tournament Games Here!" shouldn't you be checking your technology a hour earlier?

I know it's not surgery. I know it's not life or death. But, it's customer service, dagnabit! And it seems epidemic. When did we consumers lose all of our power? Or am I just being cranky?

(Oh, and don't get me started on my duels with the cable company!)


^*As always, for the sake of privacy, real names are substituted.