I think I'm losing yet another friend and I don't know what to do about it.
When I was a kid, back before my family packed up and moved from Missouri to North Carolina, friendship was so easy. I had a few friends that were my "Best Friends Forever" necklace sharing, sleepover having, awesome friends. Then we moved. Amid all of the usual promises to write every day and always be best friends, we grew apart quickly.
In my new state, my family quickly became involved in a church where I would grow to learn that people move in and out of your life like people do checkout lines at the grocery store. I would have one friend for 6 months, a year maybe, and then something would happen (they'd move away, church disagreements, whatever) and we'd no longer see each other.
Rotating friendships are something I'm accustomed to. I play the same role in most relationships, the supportive, listening, always nodding in agreement friend that makes silly jokes and references that make people shake their head and roll their eyes. Eventually, I can't keep up the "always nodding in agreement" bit and then the problems come. It's not that I didn't agree with my friend up to that point and just bit my tongue. It's really that if you're friends with someone long enough, you will someday find some point of contention.
The last fallout was when I worked at the Credit Union. I quickly became friends with a new coworker, she was high-strung and passionate, and decided that we would be friends. We'll call her "Jenny." After spending a lot of time together, I found out that she was pretty unhappy in her relationship. She was contemplating moving out and was browsing for apartments. I took her out one night to cry into a burger because she didn't feel that her partner found her attractive. Didn't see her for 48 hours and she came back excitedly chatting about browsing engagement rings with her partner.
I should've kept my mouth shut.
Instead, I opened my mouth as wide as I could and put my foot, leg, ass, and everything else in. "Are you okay with this? Just a few days ago you were looking at apartments to move away from him."
An office war immediately broke out between the two of us. I wasn't spoken to by almost anyone for weeks and she quickly found a new bestie. Neither of us acted appropriately and I feel badly for it. I should've just apologized, but I couldn't fathom anyone just living for the "special day." Eventually people in the office started talking to me again and I didn't have to spend every spare moment reading to avoid glaring eyes. But the damage was done.
Fast forward to today, and I've opened my big mouth yet again. A friend, I've miraculously held onto for the last few years, is hardly speaking to me.
I've been nodding my head supportively and listening to "Marcy" struggle with an abusive relationship for nearly 3 years. We were close friends, something I hadn't been able to say since I was a kid. I was the only one to visit her during her miscarriages and more than once, she told me that I was the only one that understood a 1000 other heartbreaks.
But then, her husband hit her. She wasn't just left alongside the road in a pregnant state or kicked out of her house. Her kids weren't told that she didn't love them by someone trying to hurt her and the children she holds dear. All inexcusable things for anyone to put up with, but I didn't say anything all of the other times, because she asked me not to. Everything she has put up with has been wrong and I've tried to give her ideas on how to make herself more safe, how to prepare to get out. It's just not enough though. He hit her.
She finally left him and I was relieved.
But less than a day later, she went back to him and told me that she would kick him out when he was "in a good mood".
She asked if I was mad and I said, "No. I just don't understand." So she rapidly changed the conversation and then didn't speak to me for 10 days. I've texted her and now I get a one or two word response if I'm lucky.
I tried again today and nothing.
I'm tired of losing friends because I want to help.
Jenny and I were only friends for a few months. I thought we were at a point that I could question things, but I wasn't. That was my mistake. But to have someone cut you off after several years of friendship and blunt honesty without a word? Ouch.
I was in an abusive relationship once. It wasn't for long, because I figured it out pretty quickly, but I remember the isolation. It felt like I wasn't allowed to do anything on my own. The guy I was with had somehow gotten phone numbers for most everyone that I spent time with and would constantly text them to find out where I was. He didn't even want me hanging out alone with my brother by the end. The manipulation was intense and constant. I wouldn't have recognized it if it weren't for the fact that I'd take a women's studies class the previous semester and remembered my teacher reading a list of behaviours that aren't always considered abuse, but still are.
I was in shock when I figured it out; I broke it off and I had to deal with the consequences. He faked his suicide, tried to make it seem that it was my fault...I was mortified. Once that whole situation was resolved, I had to deal with the harassing text messages, voicemails, and emails for the next few months. He called me every name in the book while begging me to come back. I would never go back. In fact, I'd really love to run into him now so that I could have a few choice words.
Things aren't as simple for Marcy as they were for me; kids are involved, legal ties have been formed. I also understand that not every person that is abused sees it that way. It's not always easily recognizable and oftentimes the people that know you don't even see it. Or, maybe it's visible, but the abused person just doesn't understand how bad it really is. Either way, I've been holding out a hand this whole time and I've been waiting to help out. It hurts to have it slapped out of the way without a second thought.
I just want to be a friend. But what does that mean? Do I have to watch my friends’ compromise and pretend that it's okay with me? Even worse, do I have to compromise my own integrity and pretend that I agree with everything? I don't know, but I don't like it. I just hope that I’m not broken. I don’t seem to have the best track record on this whole friend-having business.
*sigh*
//End emo rant//
Monday, July 29, 2013
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
An Open Complaint to the PetSmart Banfield Hospital
If you haven't figured this out yet, my cat is my baby. I really believe that I couldn't love him more if I birthed him myself. Logan is crazy, dopey, angst-y, full of personality and he's all mine.
Just over 7 years ago my mom came home from the vet and said, "There are kittens. Let's go look at them." I told her, no. "If you look at them, you will want to keep 'em." Somehow she got me to the vet.
There were a bunch of orange and white striped kittens, each and every one of them just as adorable as the next. "Look at the kittens! Let's pet them!" Again, I said, "No, mom. If you pet them, you'll start coming up with names for them." She picked one out that as she would say "has character." She picked Logan out and let me tell you something, my mom is never wrong about character. Now, my mom tells me that I said something like, "I've never had a cat before." But I swear! I don't know what happened next or how she did it... I walked out with a kitten.
"Pumpkin" as he was called was crazy from the get go. The tiniest thing would scare him and that orange and white tail would fluff out just like a pipe cleaner. It still happens today and I love it.
No one was more upset than Logan when I moved to Germany for the summer of '08. He moped the whole summer and then punished me for the next several months. And no one is more upset than Logan when I'm gone for a few days or even just come home late from work. I can always rely on him to be sitting on the stairs when I walk in the door with the glare that can only mean, "Where have you been?" We're pretty co-dependent, him and I.
As he gets older, I have to start taking care of more things. A year ago he got a really bad UTI and now has to eat special food to keep those issues from resurfacing. And there's also the issue of dental hygiene. I brushed his teeth as a kitten. He insisted on chewing my hair in my sleep, so I insisted that he keep his teeth clean. Unfortunately, I didn't do it enough to save him from the need for dental cleanings. I wish I had.
He's gotten his teeth cleaned before. It wasn't too much of a big deal. They over-doped him the last time, so he slept for a few days in his "tent" (a big sheet that I hung in my window that was immediately adopted as a cool cat place). But the vet called in to check on him and addressed all my concerns right away. I was really impressed with the PetSmart Banfield hospital in Knightdale. But then I moved! It seemed so simple, Logan would go to a new vet, but still would be part of Banfield. I assumed that the quality of service and care would be comparable.
I was wrong.
I had to drop Logan off to get his teeth cleaned. I let the tech know that my brother needed to pick up my baby and gave him the contact info for both of us. I let my cat go the back with the tech and went to work. I got a call in the afternoon and had to ask about his physical. The vet said that they hadn't done the comprehensive exam yet and kind of stumbled around on it. It was strange; I honestly wasn't convinced that they knew they were supposed to do that...even though I called the day before to confirm everything that they were supposed to do.
My brother picked up my cat at the appropriate time. My brother was never asked for any identification, literally just said that he was there to pick up Logan McNeill and that was that. Well, almost...The kid that brought Logan out asked my brother about his "dog....err....cat?" And the very same tech asked my brother if Logan was a boy or a girl because, "It's impossible to tell, you know?" Conclusion: The kid was high as a kite or extremely incompetent. Or both.
So Logan came home. He was completely alert and even more terrified. He acted like he'd never been put under – an idea terrifies me than anything. He ran out of his carrier and we found that both of his hind legs were bandaged up. Logan got to work on getting rid of them quickly and what was left behind were two very bloody bandages. One of his legs looked bedraggled like a homeless cat. I couldn't believe it.
I was in the dog house. Not only did I trick him into going to the vet by feeding his brothers and luring him into my trap, I let someone hurt him. He is only starting to forgive me. I'm apparently safe now, so long as I'm asleep. Poor thing is extra jumpy. He’s a jumpy cat in general, but this is a little ridiculous. I've never seen him in such a state. And every time I feed him and his brothers he goes to hide, certain that I'll trick him again.
It'd been 5 days since he went in and I'd heard nothing from the vet. So I decided to call and instead of getting solid answers about what happened to my pet, I got laughed at. "Oh, you know...it happens!" She tried to play everything off. The blood was from the IV, maybe it didn't take right the first time, lots of blood isn't a big deal, and everything is routine, etc. I wasn't getting anywhere with this person. I started to ask about his comprehensive exam and she replied with, "Why would you want to know about that? He's fine."
Who in their right mind asks why a pet owner or pet parent wants to know about the well-being of their baby? I pressed her further. She said, "Well, what do you want to know?" "Ummmm...how did it go? What are the results of the tests? Should I have any concerns?"
"Well, what kind of concerns would you have? He's fine."
"What was done do to my cat?"
"I wasn't there so I don't know!"
"Ummm...You should have detailed case notes."
This is how the entire conversation went. Ridiculous! She finally agreed to write down my number and have the vet call me back.
I really doubt I'm going to get a call...But I will be calling back until I get some real answers. I've already sent a complaint in to the Brier Creek Banfield and will keep sending complaints. This is my baby. The fact that he's so upset depresses me. The fact that I took him to a place with substandard care makes me even more upset! I expected better from a PetSmart hospital. My cat deserves better than this and I need to know what my pet care providers are doing behind the scenes.
After all, I decided a long time ago that Logan's going to live forever; and having a vet that doesn't give a care makes it hard for my baby to be his immortal, crazy, and fun-loving self.
Just over 7 years ago my mom came home from the vet and said, "There are kittens. Let's go look at them." I told her, no. "If you look at them, you will want to keep 'em." Somehow she got me to the vet.
There were a bunch of orange and white striped kittens, each and every one of them just as adorable as the next. "Look at the kittens! Let's pet them!" Again, I said, "No, mom. If you pet them, you'll start coming up with names for them." She picked one out that as she would say "has character." She picked Logan out and let me tell you something, my mom is never wrong about character. Now, my mom tells me that I said something like, "I've never had a cat before." But I swear! I don't know what happened next or how she did it... I walked out with a kitten.
"Pumpkin" as he was called was crazy from the get go. The tiniest thing would scare him and that orange and white tail would fluff out just like a pipe cleaner. It still happens today and I love it.
No one was more upset than Logan when I moved to Germany for the summer of '08. He moped the whole summer and then punished me for the next several months. And no one is more upset than Logan when I'm gone for a few days or even just come home late from work. I can always rely on him to be sitting on the stairs when I walk in the door with the glare that can only mean, "Where have you been?" We're pretty co-dependent, him and I.
As he gets older, I have to start taking care of more things. A year ago he got a really bad UTI and now has to eat special food to keep those issues from resurfacing. And there's also the issue of dental hygiene. I brushed his teeth as a kitten. He insisted on chewing my hair in my sleep, so I insisted that he keep his teeth clean. Unfortunately, I didn't do it enough to save him from the need for dental cleanings. I wish I had.
He's gotten his teeth cleaned before. It wasn't too much of a big deal. They over-doped him the last time, so he slept for a few days in his "tent" (a big sheet that I hung in my window that was immediately adopted as a cool cat place). But the vet called in to check on him and addressed all my concerns right away. I was really impressed with the PetSmart Banfield hospital in Knightdale. But then I moved! It seemed so simple, Logan would go to a new vet, but still would be part of Banfield. I assumed that the quality of service and care would be comparable.
I was wrong.
I had to drop Logan off to get his teeth cleaned. I let the tech know that my brother needed to pick up my baby and gave him the contact info for both of us. I let my cat go the back with the tech and went to work. I got a call in the afternoon and had to ask about his physical. The vet said that they hadn't done the comprehensive exam yet and kind of stumbled around on it. It was strange; I honestly wasn't convinced that they knew they were supposed to do that...even though I called the day before to confirm everything that they were supposed to do.
My brother picked up my cat at the appropriate time. My brother was never asked for any identification, literally just said that he was there to pick up Logan McNeill and that was that. Well, almost...The kid that brought Logan out asked my brother about his "dog....err....cat?" And the very same tech asked my brother if Logan was a boy or a girl because, "It's impossible to tell, you know?" Conclusion: The kid was high as a kite or extremely incompetent. Or both.
So Logan came home. He was completely alert and even more terrified. He acted like he'd never been put under – an idea terrifies me than anything. He ran out of his carrier and we found that both of his hind legs were bandaged up. Logan got to work on getting rid of them quickly and what was left behind were two very bloody bandages. One of his legs looked bedraggled like a homeless cat. I couldn't believe it.
I was in the dog house. Not only did I trick him into going to the vet by feeding his brothers and luring him into my trap, I let someone hurt him. He is only starting to forgive me. I'm apparently safe now, so long as I'm asleep. Poor thing is extra jumpy. He’s a jumpy cat in general, but this is a little ridiculous. I've never seen him in such a state. And every time I feed him and his brothers he goes to hide, certain that I'll trick him again.
It'd been 5 days since he went in and I'd heard nothing from the vet. So I decided to call and instead of getting solid answers about what happened to my pet, I got laughed at. "Oh, you know...it happens!" She tried to play everything off. The blood was from the IV, maybe it didn't take right the first time, lots of blood isn't a big deal, and everything is routine, etc. I wasn't getting anywhere with this person. I started to ask about his comprehensive exam and she replied with, "Why would you want to know about that? He's fine."
Who in their right mind asks why a pet owner or pet parent wants to know about the well-being of their baby? I pressed her further. She said, "Well, what do you want to know?" "Ummmm...how did it go? What are the results of the tests? Should I have any concerns?"
"Well, what kind of concerns would you have? He's fine."
"What was done do to my cat?"
"I wasn't there so I don't know!"
"Ummm...You should have detailed case notes."
This is how the entire conversation went. Ridiculous! She finally agreed to write down my number and have the vet call me back.
I really doubt I'm going to get a call...But I will be calling back until I get some real answers. I've already sent a complaint in to the Brier Creek Banfield and will keep sending complaints. This is my baby. The fact that he's so upset depresses me. The fact that I took him to a place with substandard care makes me even more upset! I expected better from a PetSmart hospital. My cat deserves better than this and I need to know what my pet care providers are doing behind the scenes.
After all, I decided a long time ago that Logan's going to live forever; and having a vet that doesn't give a care makes it hard for my baby to be his immortal, crazy, and fun-loving self.
Monday, July 1, 2013
My Misadventures with Republic Wireless
The lure of a cellphone bill at $19 a month was too much to resist. Republic Wireless and their $19/mo, no contract plan, that runs off of wi-fi (which I'm usually running on anyway)...was a wireless provider that I wanted to marry. I signed up while it was slowly opening up to more people with what it called the "Beta waves" and I was assigned to group O. I had been with Verizon and was paying about $68/mo and I didn't even get data! So when my wave opened up, I plunked down the $298.71 to get started within minutes of getting my invite. With a little hesitation at signing up for such a new provider, I kept my Verizon going just in case I took advantage of their 30 day guarantee.
Let me tell you something, that first 30 days was great! I was able to text in areas of my work building that I'd never been able to before. No more standing by a window! But here's the thing, I hardly made any phone calls. I didn't have the need to! Plus, everything else was working great...except for the fact that I couldn't surf the web away from my home wi-fi or the wi-fi connections that I built up, but whatever. I didn't want to be held hostage by the internet anyway, right?
The 30 days no risk period was getting close to an end and my only other complaints with Republic was that whoever owned my phone number before me was clearly running with the wrong crowd. I kept getting voicemails demanding that "Face" give up the money. Whoever the gentleman was that was leaving me these voicemails threatened to beat Face up several times if he didn't bring the money to specific locations and times—and I’m guessing Face regretted missing those messages. I talked to the angry caller a few times and told him that he had the wrong number. He told me I was wrong and that no, this was the right number.
These phone arguments got old fast so I decided it was time to take the plunge and port my number over from Verizon. What they don't warn you when you port your number over to Republic is that you could be unable to text for up to 72 hours. I was so confused. It had seemed so easy to port it over, why was nothing working right? I couldn't figure out what was going on at first. I emailed a few people and asked them to text me and send me a confirmation email. Finally, went to the "Community" where you are encouraged to get all your help from.
It’s a cost effective method for Republic to pawn people off on the Community and there's definitely nothing wrong with getting help from other users. I pose questions to Twitter sometimes and see other people doing the same. Other people are a great source of information and will generally be more honest about issues than the company ever would be. Republic's Community is no different. It's a place where I would go to find how people work around Republic because frankly it isn't working right. I loved the screaming rants that people would go on because I knew I wasn't the only one that says Arrested Development style, "I've made a huge mistake." Oh, I tried to make it work. The monthly bill was really nice, but the frustration....
So the community gave me my answer: porting your phone number means that texting is non-existent for a few days, but it cleared up just like they said it would. I figured things should be great from there, but then... I had to move to a new apartment. This meant making phone calls. Lots of them. Lots and lots and lots of phone calls.
It quickly became clear that automated systems could not handle my phone. Hearing "I'm-I'm-I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I'm Sor-ry!" was pretty standard for any call with an automated system. It was really funny the first dozen times. I'd put my phone on speaker for whoever was nearby to get a good laugh too. Not so funny now. And actually talking to real people was just as annoying. The line would cut in and out, which Republic explained away as being the result of going between Wi-Fi and Sprint's network. Unfortunately, that excuse didn't fly with me because I typically made calls from the comfort of my own home...while on my wireless.
Not only that, but the dropped calls were different too. I experienced what I called the "Silent dropped" call. The Silent dropped call results in a drop of all audio, while the seconds are still counting. Sometimes the other person would hang up, the seconds would keep rolling and they'd try to call me back. I wouldn't be able to switch to the other call because the screen would be flashing between off and on--this actually happened again...while I was trying to switch service providers away from Republic. It was good times. Naturally, the problem usually occurred when I was working from home and trying to assist a client. I sent more than one quick email, "I apologize, I seem to be experiencing technical difficulties with my phone. Here's the information you need."
Then the problems started growing like the McDonald's food chain. Republic's logo, the green rainbow shape, is supposed to display on your phone whenever you are connected to the wireless to signal that well... "You're connected!" Unfortunately, it stopped meaning that. Getting access to the internet would become next to impossible while on wi-fi (I spent more time switching to a laptop or my kindle than I'd care to admit). More than once I was in the process of tweeting something along the lines of, "Oh wow, Republic is so great that I can't even access the internet while on the wi-fi!" and twitter would fail to update over and over. Most of my complaint tweets would be sent a day later when I had access again. I couldn't even complain on a timely basis!
The texting issues after I ported my number never seemed to get better. My Fiancé got used to always contacting me via chat or email because texting didn't work 90% of the time. Now, I text a lot; when I was with Verizon my stats typically showed that I was texting roughly 2000 times a month. Take away my ability to text and I'm dead in the water. My main form of communication is gone. It was always devastating to me when my texting capabilities became non-existent. Plus, I rarely got all of the texts that I mixed after texting finally returned. Then there were all the times that my phone would send out my texts over and over. A friend told me that she got 16 copies of the same text before she gave up keeping track. Her phone wouldn't shut up for a long time as the notifications came in. Again, this is funny the first time, but not so much after several occurrences.
So I griped about the issues again on Twitter and Republic finally took notice. They tweeted me and said that they had improved since then. I was curious how they'd improved since the day before and said as much. They proceeded to try to get me to talk to their helpbot (who never once responded to any of my tweets, by the way). Another follower of mine joined in on the conversation and Republic got really snippy and told her that she obviously didn't read their tweet. She let them know that the internet is forever and they backed down, but I still grabbed screen shots of everything. (Click the image below for full view)
Fed up, I tried to go through their help service and proceed to re-open my ticket every time I had the issues that I frequently had to deal with. I ended up with quite a few messages between me and them over the course of a few days. Me: It's broke. Them: Do this. Me: It's fixed! Me again: It's broke again. Them: ...
They did try everything from making me delete all of my messages to factory resetting my phone, but there's only so much of that you can take. I just stopped letting them know when it broke. It wasn't worth the trouble when the issues would come back in a few hours and I had already decided it was time to go ahead and break up with them. After all, a relationship between a wireless provider and its users is all about usability. I loved the little bill. But the trouble of trying to get it to work consistently wasn't worth the $22 and some change after tax. It was a rip-off. The $19/mo advertised was way too expensive for all the trouble I went through.
I hung in with Republic Wireless for about 6 months, 7 tops. I couldn’t handle it any more. So I switched to Boost. My brother had been using them for a month or so longer than I used Republic and had no issues with them. And I really didn’t feel like jumping into yet another contract like Verizon, so I figured why no go with one that I knew people with firsthand experience could vouch for? I made one little mistake though. I wanted to keep my phone number.
I don’t have a lot of experience with porting phone numbers. I usually just opt for the new one. But I wasn’t keen on repeating the “Face” man incident. The thought of dealing with calls at all hours of the day for what was probably drug money did not appeal to me. There was just one tiny problem with this; Boost was convinced that my phone number was a landline. I had my number originally with Verizon, so I knew that it was definitely not a landline number. I talked to person after person over the course of two days; mainly because my RW phone kept dropping the calls. They kept referring me to the landline department and I kept asking, “How is this a landline? I’m holding a cellphone in my hand. Do you see why this is hard for me to understand?”
Those poor people probably hated me, but I really just wanted to understand.
So after a little digging and once again going to the RW Community, I found that the service is basically a VOIP service and that other carriers do consider it to be a landline service. This was bizarre news to me, but I won’t pretend to have the most technical acumen. After finally getting a hold of the mysterious landline department with Boost and their random hours, I was able to get things sorted. It took just a few minutes with them and I was set. Despite the annoyance, it was still easier than porting to RW! And with that, I was finally free of them! Or so I thought…
After you port your number, you have to cancel with RW and hope that they actually cancel it. There were lots of complaints in the Community that RW continued to charge them and I was a little concerned that I wouldn’t notice the $22 leaving until a bill got declined for the lack of money. But I needed to end things, so I sent the message requesting deactivation and received a letter back asking me to confirm.
The interesting bit about this letter was one sentence, “Please be aware that once we cancel your service the phone will be shut off instantly.” Now I spent a lot of money on that phone and they were telling me that my phone would be shut off instantly? I *own* my silly Motorola Defy XT! How come I’m being denied the use of my phone? Not that it’s worth trying to use beyond my service with them… It’s a horrible phone after all! But the principle of making people pay full price for a phone and then shutting it off when they don’t approve of your service is just wrong**.
But…it’s finally over! I left the Republic 3 months ago and couldn’t be happier. Things aren’t perfect with Boost and honestly, there’s never going to be a perfect provider. But, I at least feel like I’m getting *something* for the money I’m putting into this carrier!
Honestly, Republic has a great idea that just wasn't being done well. The idea of paying for what you get is phenomenal, I just didn't like not getting *anything* for what I was paying. After all, any idea or company that lets you nix the big cell phone companies can't be all bad. But as I've been hearing lately, this service is probably best left to an app rather than a full blown wireless provider. I just don't think Republic will back up and try again. So if it's going to be done on the level that they're going for, Republic needs to make some big changes, provide real customer service, and lasting solutions to problems.
In the end, they said they were sad to see me go. And ironically, I felt they were being truly honest about that. If they weren't sad to see me go, they were a little jealous of me. As I used my RW phone for one last phone call to my new wireless provider...my call dropped. How poetic is that!
**I still have the phone and keep meaning to test it to see if they were really right about the whole, “YOUR PHONE IS DEAD TO US” thing but haven’t done so yet. So there’s still the possibility that they weren’t being honest on that front. I may remember to check one day and make an update, hah!
Let me tell you something, that first 30 days was great! I was able to text in areas of my work building that I'd never been able to before. No more standing by a window! But here's the thing, I hardly made any phone calls. I didn't have the need to! Plus, everything else was working great...except for the fact that I couldn't surf the web away from my home wi-fi or the wi-fi connections that I built up, but whatever. I didn't want to be held hostage by the internet anyway, right?
The 30 days no risk period was getting close to an end and my only other complaints with Republic was that whoever owned my phone number before me was clearly running with the wrong crowd. I kept getting voicemails demanding that "Face" give up the money. Whoever the gentleman was that was leaving me these voicemails threatened to beat Face up several times if he didn't bring the money to specific locations and times—and I’m guessing Face regretted missing those messages. I talked to the angry caller a few times and told him that he had the wrong number. He told me I was wrong and that no, this was the right number.
These phone arguments got old fast so I decided it was time to take the plunge and port my number over from Verizon. What they don't warn you when you port your number over to Republic is that you could be unable to text for up to 72 hours. I was so confused. It had seemed so easy to port it over, why was nothing working right? I couldn't figure out what was going on at first. I emailed a few people and asked them to text me and send me a confirmation email. Finally, went to the "Community" where you are encouraged to get all your help from.
It’s a cost effective method for Republic to pawn people off on the Community and there's definitely nothing wrong with getting help from other users. I pose questions to Twitter sometimes and see other people doing the same. Other people are a great source of information and will generally be more honest about issues than the company ever would be. Republic's Community is no different. It's a place where I would go to find how people work around Republic because frankly it isn't working right. I loved the screaming rants that people would go on because I knew I wasn't the only one that says Arrested Development style, "I've made a huge mistake." Oh, I tried to make it work. The monthly bill was really nice, but the frustration....
So the community gave me my answer: porting your phone number means that texting is non-existent for a few days, but it cleared up just like they said it would. I figured things should be great from there, but then... I had to move to a new apartment. This meant making phone calls. Lots of them. Lots and lots and lots of phone calls.
It quickly became clear that automated systems could not handle my phone. Hearing "I'm-I'm-I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I'm Sor-ry!" was pretty standard for any call with an automated system. It was really funny the first dozen times. I'd put my phone on speaker for whoever was nearby to get a good laugh too. Not so funny now. And actually talking to real people was just as annoying. The line would cut in and out, which Republic explained away as being the result of going between Wi-Fi and Sprint's network. Unfortunately, that excuse didn't fly with me because I typically made calls from the comfort of my own home...while on my wireless.
Not only that, but the dropped calls were different too. I experienced what I called the "Silent dropped" call. The Silent dropped call results in a drop of all audio, while the seconds are still counting. Sometimes the other person would hang up, the seconds would keep rolling and they'd try to call me back. I wouldn't be able to switch to the other call because the screen would be flashing between off and on--this actually happened again...while I was trying to switch service providers away from Republic. It was good times. Naturally, the problem usually occurred when I was working from home and trying to assist a client. I sent more than one quick email, "I apologize, I seem to be experiencing technical difficulties with my phone. Here's the information you need."
Then the problems started growing like the McDonald's food chain. Republic's logo, the green rainbow shape, is supposed to display on your phone whenever you are connected to the wireless to signal that well... "You're connected!" Unfortunately, it stopped meaning that. Getting access to the internet would become next to impossible while on wi-fi (I spent more time switching to a laptop or my kindle than I'd care to admit). More than once I was in the process of tweeting something along the lines of, "Oh wow, Republic is so great that I can't even access the internet while on the wi-fi!" and twitter would fail to update over and over. Most of my complaint tweets would be sent a day later when I had access again. I couldn't even complain on a timely basis!
The texting issues after I ported my number never seemed to get better. My Fiancé got used to always contacting me via chat or email because texting didn't work 90% of the time. Now, I text a lot; when I was with Verizon my stats typically showed that I was texting roughly 2000 times a month. Take away my ability to text and I'm dead in the water. My main form of communication is gone. It was always devastating to me when my texting capabilities became non-existent. Plus, I rarely got all of the texts that I mixed after texting finally returned. Then there were all the times that my phone would send out my texts over and over. A friend told me that she got 16 copies of the same text before she gave up keeping track. Her phone wouldn't shut up for a long time as the notifications came in. Again, this is funny the first time, but not so much after several occurrences.
So I griped about the issues again on Twitter and Republic finally took notice. They tweeted me and said that they had improved since then. I was curious how they'd improved since the day before and said as much. They proceeded to try to get me to talk to their helpbot (who never once responded to any of my tweets, by the way). Another follower of mine joined in on the conversation and Republic got really snippy and told her that she obviously didn't read their tweet. She let them know that the internet is forever and they backed down, but I still grabbed screen shots of everything. (Click the image below for full view)
They did try everything from making me delete all of my messages to factory resetting my phone, but there's only so much of that you can take. I just stopped letting them know when it broke. It wasn't worth the trouble when the issues would come back in a few hours and I had already decided it was time to go ahead and break up with them. After all, a relationship between a wireless provider and its users is all about usability. I loved the little bill. But the trouble of trying to get it to work consistently wasn't worth the $22 and some change after tax. It was a rip-off. The $19/mo advertised was way too expensive for all the trouble I went through.
I hung in with Republic Wireless for about 6 months, 7 tops. I couldn’t handle it any more. So I switched to Boost. My brother had been using them for a month or so longer than I used Republic and had no issues with them. And I really didn’t feel like jumping into yet another contract like Verizon, so I figured why no go with one that I knew people with firsthand experience could vouch for? I made one little mistake though. I wanted to keep my phone number.
I don’t have a lot of experience with porting phone numbers. I usually just opt for the new one. But I wasn’t keen on repeating the “Face” man incident. The thought of dealing with calls at all hours of the day for what was probably drug money did not appeal to me. There was just one tiny problem with this; Boost was convinced that my phone number was a landline. I had my number originally with Verizon, so I knew that it was definitely not a landline number. I talked to person after person over the course of two days; mainly because my RW phone kept dropping the calls. They kept referring me to the landline department and I kept asking, “How is this a landline? I’m holding a cellphone in my hand. Do you see why this is hard for me to understand?”
Those poor people probably hated me, but I really just wanted to understand.
So after a little digging and once again going to the RW Community, I found that the service is basically a VOIP service and that other carriers do consider it to be a landline service. This was bizarre news to me, but I won’t pretend to have the most technical acumen. After finally getting a hold of the mysterious landline department with Boost and their random hours, I was able to get things sorted. It took just a few minutes with them and I was set. Despite the annoyance, it was still easier than porting to RW! And with that, I was finally free of them! Or so I thought…
After you port your number, you have to cancel with RW and hope that they actually cancel it. There were lots of complaints in the Community that RW continued to charge them and I was a little concerned that I wouldn’t notice the $22 leaving until a bill got declined for the lack of money. But I needed to end things, so I sent the message requesting deactivation and received a letter back asking me to confirm.
The interesting bit about this letter was one sentence, “Please be aware that once we cancel your service the phone will be shut off instantly.” Now I spent a lot of money on that phone and they were telling me that my phone would be shut off instantly? I *own* my silly Motorola Defy XT! How come I’m being denied the use of my phone? Not that it’s worth trying to use beyond my service with them… It’s a horrible phone after all! But the principle of making people pay full price for a phone and then shutting it off when they don’t approve of your service is just wrong**.
But…it’s finally over! I left the Republic 3 months ago and couldn’t be happier. Things aren’t perfect with Boost and honestly, there’s never going to be a perfect provider. But, I at least feel like I’m getting *something* for the money I’m putting into this carrier!
Honestly, Republic has a great idea that just wasn't being done well. The idea of paying for what you get is phenomenal, I just didn't like not getting *anything* for what I was paying. After all, any idea or company that lets you nix the big cell phone companies can't be all bad. But as I've been hearing lately, this service is probably best left to an app rather than a full blown wireless provider. I just don't think Republic will back up and try again. So if it's going to be done on the level that they're going for, Republic needs to make some big changes, provide real customer service, and lasting solutions to problems.
In the end, they said they were sad to see me go. And ironically, I felt they were being truly honest about that. If they weren't sad to see me go, they were a little jealous of me. As I used my RW phone for one last phone call to my new wireless provider...my call dropped. How poetic is that!
**I still have the phone and keep meaning to test it to see if they were really right about the whole, “YOUR PHONE IS DEAD TO US” thing but haven’t done so yet. So there’s still the possibility that they weren’t being honest on that front. I may remember to check one day and make an update, hah!
Friday, June 28, 2013
Slice of Life: A Sausage Pizza for the Vegetarian
I try not to eat out very often when I'm at work, but some weeks just don't go very smoothly. This week was one of those crazy ones. Between spending two days at home dealing with the almost-end to my struggle with the apartment complex and the trip to the vet for my cat's dental cleaning, lunches weren't being made as usual. So in times like these, I usually go to one of my fallback places.
Today's choice was Randy's Pizza.
I love Randy's Pizza. They have the least pretentious salad in the area. Seriously. Most places these days feature salads with cranberries, feta, and slivers of whatever they felt like toasting today. And most of the time, I just don't want that crap. Please, just give me a hearty salad with a lot of tomatoes, cucumbers, onions! Randy's Pizza delivers on that, plus they add banana peppers and a lot of mozzarella. It just can't be beat.
So I went in and ordered the usual salad with the one-topping slice of pizza. I always ask for mushroom cause I can't think of anything tastier than fresh mushrooms. They're always so pleasant in there and today they were especially so. Usually they just holler at me and I come grab my food. They didn't even give me the chance. My salad showed up right away and I went to happily munching on it like a bunny.
Then my pizza showed up. It was fresh out of the oven and steaming, so I hardly noticed that there was something amiss. I was busy reading through the tweets I'd miss while at work. Came across an article about why eBooks can't be bought in English out of the US and was trying to remind myself to read it later (Putting that in here so that I still remember to read it later...hah!) Realized I had finished more than half of my salad, it was time for a bite of pizza.
I was so excited about how many mushrooms they threw on top. So amazing! But it looked strange..."What is that on my pizza? Is that...sausage?"
It's pretty sad that I wasn't quite sure what sausage on pizza looked like. I haven't been a vegetarian** for *that* long!
So I got up from my seat and walked back up to the counter with the slice, "Excuse me...I hate to do this to you...but is this sausage?" The guy looks at the pizza and says, "Yes Ma'am, it is." I wish I knew what my face looked like in that moment, probably was red with embarrassment. I've turned away food one time. I don't care if my order is wrong 98% of the time, I eat it and move on. The anxiety of thinking about turning away food is enough to keep me from doing it. But...it's a little harder to do that since I made the switch to veg.
"I'm really sorry, I asked for just the mushroom slice. You see, I'm a vegetarian."
The guy was so nice about it. He found my order and was trying to figure out what happened. They put in another slice for me and apologized profusely. I could hear them talking through the back like they offended my religion or something. "She's a *vegetarian* and you gave her *sausage*!"
It sounded like the person that took my order had simply written down the wrong thing and tried to scribble it out, but the next person didn't catch the scribbley-ness. Really no big deal. But they seemed genuinely upset about it, like I would never come back because of the error. Trust me, I'd go there every day if it wasn't for the fact that I try to be gluten free most days. One day I'll kick the stuff, but for now...gluten is going to happen every so often.
Also, they're just so nice in there and they seem to get to know their regulars pretty well - A sign of a great small business if you ask me. Every time I go in, there's someone coming in for "the usual" and some quick conversation about sports. I love that kind of atmosphere. There's no fuss; it's just laid back and honest.
Anyway, I really can't stress how good the employees' of Randy's were to me. Some places act like you've ruined their life by turning back food and I understand that. But when I'm trying to be as nice as possible about any issues, I don't want to deal with angry employees. I'd really rather not eat food that I have to worry about whether someone spit in it out of spite.
So in my head I keep thinking, when can I go back? I want to go back soon enough that they still remember me. I really just want them to know I'm not running around spreading meanness about a mistake. Plus, I really want another salad...Seriously, they're delicious.
**Heck, I'm technically a pescatarian...but there's an awful lot of people in my area that think vegetarians eat chicken so I keep it simple.
Today's choice was Randy's Pizza.
I love Randy's Pizza. They have the least pretentious salad in the area. Seriously. Most places these days feature salads with cranberries, feta, and slivers of whatever they felt like toasting today. And most of the time, I just don't want that crap. Please, just give me a hearty salad with a lot of tomatoes, cucumbers, onions! Randy's Pizza delivers on that, plus they add banana peppers and a lot of mozzarella. It just can't be beat.
So I went in and ordered the usual salad with the one-topping slice of pizza. I always ask for mushroom cause I can't think of anything tastier than fresh mushrooms. They're always so pleasant in there and today they were especially so. Usually they just holler at me and I come grab my food. They didn't even give me the chance. My salad showed up right away and I went to happily munching on it like a bunny.
Then my pizza showed up. It was fresh out of the oven and steaming, so I hardly noticed that there was something amiss. I was busy reading through the tweets I'd miss while at work. Came across an article about why eBooks can't be bought in English out of the US and was trying to remind myself to read it later (Putting that in here so that I still remember to read it later...hah!) Realized I had finished more than half of my salad, it was time for a bite of pizza.
I was so excited about how many mushrooms they threw on top. So amazing! But it looked strange..."What is that on my pizza? Is that...sausage?"
It's pretty sad that I wasn't quite sure what sausage on pizza looked like. I haven't been a vegetarian** for *that* long!
So I got up from my seat and walked back up to the counter with the slice, "Excuse me...I hate to do this to you...but is this sausage?" The guy looks at the pizza and says, "Yes Ma'am, it is." I wish I knew what my face looked like in that moment, probably was red with embarrassment. I've turned away food one time. I don't care if my order is wrong 98% of the time, I eat it and move on. The anxiety of thinking about turning away food is enough to keep me from doing it. But...it's a little harder to do that since I made the switch to veg.
"I'm really sorry, I asked for just the mushroom slice. You see, I'm a vegetarian."
The guy was so nice about it. He found my order and was trying to figure out what happened. They put in another slice for me and apologized profusely. I could hear them talking through the back like they offended my religion or something. "She's a *vegetarian* and you gave her *sausage*!"
It sounded like the person that took my order had simply written down the wrong thing and tried to scribble it out, but the next person didn't catch the scribbley-ness. Really no big deal. But they seemed genuinely upset about it, like I would never come back because of the error. Trust me, I'd go there every day if it wasn't for the fact that I try to be gluten free most days. One day I'll kick the stuff, but for now...gluten is going to happen every so often.
Also, they're just so nice in there and they seem to get to know their regulars pretty well - A sign of a great small business if you ask me. Every time I go in, there's someone coming in for "the usual" and some quick conversation about sports. I love that kind of atmosphere. There's no fuss; it's just laid back and honest.
Anyway, I really can't stress how good the employees' of Randy's were to me. Some places act like you've ruined their life by turning back food and I understand that. But when I'm trying to be as nice as possible about any issues, I don't want to deal with angry employees. I'd really rather not eat food that I have to worry about whether someone spit in it out of spite.
So in my head I keep thinking, when can I go back? I want to go back soon enough that they still remember me. I really just want them to know I'm not running around spreading meanness about a mistake. Plus, I really want another salad...Seriously, they're delicious.
**Heck, I'm technically a pescatarian...but there's an awful lot of people in my area that think vegetarians eat chicken so I keep it simple.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
That One Time Where I Talked a Lot About Peeing
If you've heard one thing about the healthcare in the US, you've probably heard the most important thing: healthcare here sucks. A month ago, I went in for my yearly pap--also, known as the most cold and boring dildo session ever-- and because of my insurance...I had to go back to get an actual physical. Even though the difference between the pap and physical is about...oh checking my temperature and listening to my heart, I have to make the drive twice and potentially pay two co-pays--waiting for the bill to magically appear in the mail. Hurray!
I have two big fears about going to the doctor. The first is that they will want me to pee in a cup and I won't have had enough to drink to even think about such a task. And the second fear is that they will want to draw blood and…again, I won't have had enough to drink to get blood out of my teeny tiny veins. The way I combat this fear is to drink at least 30 oz. of water before I go in to the doc's and to not go to the bathroom all morning long; because if I don't plan to do this, I will inevitably be asked to do both.
So this morning I got up and started drinking...and drinking...and...I went to the office and naturally they didn't ask me to do either at first. They got my weight and for once didn't tell me I was fat. Then they told me that I am 5’ 6”. Now, I'm not the tallest person in the world, but I am definitely not 5' 6”! My response was akin to, "Are you sure about that? I did not shrink that much in a month! I'm typically 5’ 7” on a bad day" So the nurse measures again and sure enough, I turned out to be 5’ 9.5”!? My conclusion: the nurse has no clue how to measure height...Pretty sure I'm the average of 5’ 6” & 5’ 9.5”. But there was no convincing her that she was wrong a second time!
After that embarrassing fiasco, they put me in a waiting room and left me there for at least 30 minutes. I hadn't asked to use the bathroom when I walked in because it wasn't an issue at the time. I was still happily gulping my water... And then the water hit. I never feel like it's kosher to run around the doc's office and try to find the bathroom because the doc will magically appear at the exact moment I step away. So I tried to wait it out.
I tried to hold it as long as I could, I really did. I stared at all four tiny walls with the typical doctor torture devices, re-adjusted in the most uncomfortable waiting room chair possible and stared at the "bed" thinking that would probably be even more uncomfortable than my chair. Dammit! Why didn't they ask me to give them the damn sample at the beginning? They used to always ask at the beginning!
I started to stare at the sink in the corner.
"If only I had a penis... I could pee in the sink and the doc would be none the wiser, unless of course she walked in while I was giving it a final shake. But still, I'm pretty confident that I could have played it off somehow. That sink is way too small and it'd be way too obvious if I tried anything like that."
I finally gave up and snuck out. Ran around the corner and debated for about two seconds, "Do I just leave them the freaking sample and pretend like I got asked to do it? Nah, that might be weird. 'Here's some pee! I made it just for you and I hope you like it!!'" So I just went and it was the most glorious moment of my whole day. But it didn't last long.
I opened the bathroom door, annoyed that I had to sneak around and more annoyed that my doctor was waiting outside my room.
After only a few minutes she asks, "Did you leave a sample?"
"Ummm, no. I got stuck waiting for over 30 minutes. What happened to the whole, always asking people to do that...at the beginning? My bladder cannot take that kinda pressure" She ignored me. And then about 5 minutes into our conversation, she decided she really wanted that sample. "Are you sure you can't pee? You could come back later, but why don't you try before you go..."
Really?
Really??
I drank all that water, wasted it and you want to both draw blood and expect me to perform on command after finally getting to go to the bathroom!
Not cool.
But I still had half a glass of water, so I said I'd give it a try. After acquiescing that "Perhaps, I could try again..." I was escorted to the blood taker person's station and sat down, trying to chug the last few gulps of water in my glass and convincing myself that I could go again before leaving. The person taking care of this immediately started thanking Jesus. It was weird.
"You've got tiny veins like me! Thank you Jesus, be good to us and give us blood!" She starts trying to find the veins again; my arm feels like it's going to fall off from the rubber band she used to constrict my blood flow. "Jesus, you're going to give us the blood. I can feel it!" I laughed awkwardly in an attempt to not offend her, but I think I only encouraged it. She stuck me with the needle several times and then came out with a loud, "Jesus, oh you are good to us! Sweet Jesus!" She pulled two vials out of me and let me know that we wouldn't ask Jesus for anymore, he'd done enough today.
I guess my veins are named "Jesus"?
The doctor came back and the blood taker person says, "Oh, we got the blood already and she's going to go pee for you now."
No pressure. Am I right?
So my worst fears about the doctor visit came true. My whole appointment revolved around everyone cheering me, Jesus, and my bladder on. Thankfully, I made short work of the job and ran out of there as quickly as possible. Pretty sure I left my last shred of dignity in that little sterile yellow cup. I just wish I'd written on the side of the cup, "I made it just for you and I hope you really like it!"
I have two big fears about going to the doctor. The first is that they will want me to pee in a cup and I won't have had enough to drink to even think about such a task. And the second fear is that they will want to draw blood and…again, I won't have had enough to drink to get blood out of my teeny tiny veins. The way I combat this fear is to drink at least 30 oz. of water before I go in to the doc's and to not go to the bathroom all morning long; because if I don't plan to do this, I will inevitably be asked to do both.
So this morning I got up and started drinking...and drinking...and...I went to the office and naturally they didn't ask me to do either at first. They got my weight and for once didn't tell me I was fat. Then they told me that I am 5’ 6”. Now, I'm not the tallest person in the world, but I am definitely not 5' 6”! My response was akin to, "Are you sure about that? I did not shrink that much in a month! I'm typically 5’ 7” on a bad day" So the nurse measures again and sure enough, I turned out to be 5’ 9.5”!? My conclusion: the nurse has no clue how to measure height...Pretty sure I'm the average of 5’ 6” & 5’ 9.5”. But there was no convincing her that she was wrong a second time!
After that embarrassing fiasco, they put me in a waiting room and left me there for at least 30 minutes. I hadn't asked to use the bathroom when I walked in because it wasn't an issue at the time. I was still happily gulping my water... And then the water hit. I never feel like it's kosher to run around the doc's office and try to find the bathroom because the doc will magically appear at the exact moment I step away. So I tried to wait it out.
I tried to hold it as long as I could, I really did. I stared at all four tiny walls with the typical doctor torture devices, re-adjusted in the most uncomfortable waiting room chair possible and stared at the "bed" thinking that would probably be even more uncomfortable than my chair. Dammit! Why didn't they ask me to give them the damn sample at the beginning? They used to always ask at the beginning!
I started to stare at the sink in the corner.
"If only I had a penis... I could pee in the sink and the doc would be none the wiser, unless of course she walked in while I was giving it a final shake. But still, I'm pretty confident that I could have played it off somehow. That sink is way too small and it'd be way too obvious if I tried anything like that."
I finally gave up and snuck out. Ran around the corner and debated for about two seconds, "Do I just leave them the freaking sample and pretend like I got asked to do it? Nah, that might be weird. 'Here's some pee! I made it just for you and I hope you like it!!'" So I just went and it was the most glorious moment of my whole day. But it didn't last long.
I opened the bathroom door, annoyed that I had to sneak around and more annoyed that my doctor was waiting outside my room.
After only a few minutes she asks, "Did you leave a sample?"
"Ummm, no. I got stuck waiting for over 30 minutes. What happened to the whole, always asking people to do that...at the beginning? My bladder cannot take that kinda pressure" She ignored me. And then about 5 minutes into our conversation, she decided she really wanted that sample. "Are you sure you can't pee? You could come back later, but why don't you try before you go..."
Really?
Really??
I drank all that water, wasted it and you want to both draw blood and expect me to perform on command after finally getting to go to the bathroom!
Not cool.
But I still had half a glass of water, so I said I'd give it a try. After acquiescing that "Perhaps, I could try again..." I was escorted to the blood taker person's station and sat down, trying to chug the last few gulps of water in my glass and convincing myself that I could go again before leaving. The person taking care of this immediately started thanking Jesus. It was weird.
"You've got tiny veins like me! Thank you Jesus, be good to us and give us blood!" She starts trying to find the veins again; my arm feels like it's going to fall off from the rubber band she used to constrict my blood flow. "Jesus, you're going to give us the blood. I can feel it!" I laughed awkwardly in an attempt to not offend her, but I think I only encouraged it. She stuck me with the needle several times and then came out with a loud, "Jesus, oh you are good to us! Sweet Jesus!" She pulled two vials out of me and let me know that we wouldn't ask Jesus for anymore, he'd done enough today.
I guess my veins are named "Jesus"?
The doctor came back and the blood taker person says, "Oh, we got the blood already and she's going to go pee for you now."
No pressure. Am I right?
So my worst fears about the doctor visit came true. My whole appointment revolved around everyone cheering me, Jesus, and my bladder on. Thankfully, I made short work of the job and ran out of there as quickly as possible. Pretty sure I left my last shred of dignity in that little sterile yellow cup. I just wish I'd written on the side of the cup, "I made it just for you and I hope you really like it!"
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Hello Again!
Disclaimer: So I've neglected this blog...a lot. But here I am, back again!
I feel like I have so much to say, but not enough to say about it all at the same time. At this moment in time, I'm dealing with one of the most frustrating experiences that I have ever faced. But for my own good, I can't say a word about it. Nothing would be more cathartic than to let every single instance of this day pour out into internet. But to grant the things that I know such immortality could be my own undoing.
Hubris.
Hubris feels like a guy that you meet on the corner of the street near that little deli that can't seem to bring itself to put enough vegetables on your sandwich. Always there. Always annoying. Hubris has this way of luring you into a false sense of security, waiting for that one perfect moment...And knocks you down.
They say that pride goes before the fall. Sometimes it's your own pride and other times it's someone else' pride.
There's an old episode of Due South where an elderly person in an insane asylum says something like, "Never let your feet leave the ground or they'll get you. They'll take you to the blue room."
Always shuffle. Never let your feet leave the ground.
I refuse to be taken to the blue room. My feet may have gotten knocked out from under me, but it's not over. It's a setback. I'd say it's nothing more than a setback, but the truth is this: it hurts. It hurts like hell and it's going to hurt like hell for awhile.
But I'm still going back for another sandwich. And this time, there had better be some damn vegetables on it.
I feel like I have so much to say, but not enough to say about it all at the same time. At this moment in time, I'm dealing with one of the most frustrating experiences that I have ever faced. But for my own good, I can't say a word about it. Nothing would be more cathartic than to let every single instance of this day pour out into internet. But to grant the things that I know such immortality could be my own undoing.
Hubris.
Hubris feels like a guy that you meet on the corner of the street near that little deli that can't seem to bring itself to put enough vegetables on your sandwich. Always there. Always annoying. Hubris has this way of luring you into a false sense of security, waiting for that one perfect moment...And knocks you down.
They say that pride goes before the fall. Sometimes it's your own pride and other times it's someone else' pride.
There's an old episode of Due South where an elderly person in an insane asylum says something like, "Never let your feet leave the ground or they'll get you. They'll take you to the blue room."
Always shuffle. Never let your feet leave the ground.
I refuse to be taken to the blue room. My feet may have gotten knocked out from under me, but it's not over. It's a setback. I'd say it's nothing more than a setback, but the truth is this: it hurts. It hurts like hell and it's going to hurt like hell for awhile.
But I'm still going back for another sandwich. And this time, there had better be some damn vegetables on it.
Monday, February 28, 2011
A Message to the Management
To the managers:
There is nothing more foolish than racial discrimination...especially within the workplace. After all, we are all human beings. Underneath our skin lies bones and muscle working together to form a framework for beating hearts. In our society, we consider the heart the very centre of our emotions. And my emotions are boiling right now.
Originally it was my intent to finish out my two weeks notice with JCPenney's, but it has come to my attention that I have been discriminated against because of race. Not my own race, but that of the person most dear to me.
I have witnessed time and time again within this store discrimination and in poor taste...I held my tongue through much of it. I kept my mouth closed when a manager referred to one of the girls under my supervision as “that dyke.” I held my tongue when certain employees and managers made my Hispanic fitting room attendants feel like they were “cleaning ladies.”
But then it was brought to my attention that management was making comments regarding the interracial nature of my relationship with my significant other. Faces were made behind my back, groans and comments like, “How weird is that” came out of the mouths of people that I respected and thought better of.
I should have known better, having heard tales from certain managers of tricking Hispanic customers into signing up for credit cards or watched as people expected me to translate the rough English of one of my fitting room attendants without trying to understand.
A few months ago, I started hearing comments claiming that I am “a bum” or that I don't “do any work.” There can be no question of my work ethic. When I came to JCP I was tasked with revitalizing a failed recovery program. With my small team, that recovery team was made a success. And when I first started working with the fitting room associates, our scores were abysmal...we brought them to above company standards.
With the time that I have been here I have learned many functions of the store. I
can fill in for pricing, shipment, re-ticketing, cashiers, fitting rooms, markdowns, training, visuals, etc. With only a few minutes of training, I can do anything and I will do it well.
When I was informed of the reaction to my significant other, I came to the realization that the attacks on my character and on my work ethic started when my partner started taking me to lunch on the weekends. And I will not have this. I kept quiet before—a mistake that I regret—but no more.
My character can be attacked and yes, it will bother me. But I remember the words of my mother to me when I was a child, “Remember who you are.” I know who I am and I know that my record has stood above the rest at every single school and at every single place that I have worked.
In the grand scheme of things, it does not matter if I am called a bum, because the record shows otherwise. But I will not stand for discrimination against my partner and I. He is a better person than I am. He feels sorry for you in your ignorance. But I can't feel sorry for you.
I will not be coming back to JCPenney's after today, the 28th of February 2011 to work or to shop. And you can be sure that you have lost the business of my family, his family, and any of the number of people who have showed such loyalty to us.
Now I'm asking you to remember who you are...human beings. There is no hierarchy for race, sexual orientation, religion or lack thereof. Acting as though there is a difference makes a person less than human.
There is nothing more foolish than racial discrimination...especially within the workplace. After all, we are all human beings. Underneath our skin lies bones and muscle working together to form a framework for beating hearts. In our society, we consider the heart the very centre of our emotions. And my emotions are boiling right now.
Originally it was my intent to finish out my two weeks notice with JCPenney's, but it has come to my attention that I have been discriminated against because of race. Not my own race, but that of the person most dear to me.
I have witnessed time and time again within this store discrimination and in poor taste...I held my tongue through much of it. I kept my mouth closed when a manager referred to one of the girls under my supervision as “that dyke.” I held my tongue when certain employees and managers made my Hispanic fitting room attendants feel like they were “cleaning ladies.”
But then it was brought to my attention that management was making comments regarding the interracial nature of my relationship with my significant other. Faces were made behind my back, groans and comments like, “How weird is that” came out of the mouths of people that I respected and thought better of.
I should have known better, having heard tales from certain managers of tricking Hispanic customers into signing up for credit cards or watched as people expected me to translate the rough English of one of my fitting room attendants without trying to understand.
A few months ago, I started hearing comments claiming that I am “a bum” or that I don't “do any work.” There can be no question of my work ethic. When I came to JCP I was tasked with revitalizing a failed recovery program. With my small team, that recovery team was made a success. And when I first started working with the fitting room associates, our scores were abysmal...we brought them to above company standards.
With the time that I have been here I have learned many functions of the store. I
can fill in for pricing, shipment, re-ticketing, cashiers, fitting rooms, markdowns, training, visuals, etc. With only a few minutes of training, I can do anything and I will do it well.
When I was informed of the reaction to my significant other, I came to the realization that the attacks on my character and on my work ethic started when my partner started taking me to lunch on the weekends. And I will not have this. I kept quiet before—a mistake that I regret—but no more.
My character can be attacked and yes, it will bother me. But I remember the words of my mother to me when I was a child, “Remember who you are.” I know who I am and I know that my record has stood above the rest at every single school and at every single place that I have worked.
In the grand scheme of things, it does not matter if I am called a bum, because the record shows otherwise. But I will not stand for discrimination against my partner and I. He is a better person than I am. He feels sorry for you in your ignorance. But I can't feel sorry for you.
I will not be coming back to JCPenney's after today, the 28th of February 2011 to work or to shop. And you can be sure that you have lost the business of my family, his family, and any of the number of people who have showed such loyalty to us.
Now I'm asking you to remember who you are...human beings. There is no hierarchy for race, sexual orientation, religion or lack thereof. Acting as though there is a difference makes a person less than human.
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