Friday, November 27, 2009

"...When the Bee Stings, When I'm Feeling Bad..."

These are a few of my least favorite things:

1. Receiving a "Thanks for being our new customer" email, from a company I just placed a first-time order with less than 24 hours ago, offering me free shipping and $10 off on my NEXT order when I just paid $6.99 for shipping and full price for the product. News flash: the REAL thank-you would be to simply deduct the $6.99 for shipping and the $10 off the order I JUST PLACED and send me an email telling me so.

2. Calling any company that loops gosh-awful music while I'm on hold and inserts a message like "Our representatives are busy helping other customers. Thank you for your continued patience." I'm not sure they realize, but by the time I've heard the song fourteen times and the message about thirty, I have NO PATIENCE and I hate anything remotely related to music.

3. Being in public during this phone call and "talking back" to the message. But not realizing I'm saying "I'm sure they're helping other people but I've been on hold since the Reagan administration and I have NO PATIENCE LEFT" in front of someone I don't know, who doesn't understand sarcasm or lack of patience, and has their thumb on the emergency, call-911 button on their cell phone because they think I'm about to go postal.

4. The same phone call, when I finally win the "waiting lottery", and, during the transfer process, my calls gets dropped and I hear "beep, beep, beep, beep, beep". There should be an option when I call back to press #7 and be immediately connected. They should refer to this as "Press #7 if our transfer process just screwed you".

5. Chicks who are anything less than a size 2 who have the audacity to complain about their butt size. If I scooped someone in a size 2 pair of jeans, I could get both cheeks in one hand. Please complain about something else. Those of us in sizes above 8 are easily frustrated and often turn to food in our time of need. You aren't helping.

6. People who enter the back of a church, after the service has started, talking into their cell phone, completing a conversation about lunch after the service. People! With the only prospect of food in our immediate future being a tiny wafer and a tablespoon of wine, your phone call just reminds us we were woefully late getting out of bed and had an inadequate breakfast. Double whammies on you if I hear you are going some place that doesn't have a $1 menu.

7. Cell phones going off at a funeral. I will let you pass ONCE at the movie theater, a restaurant (as long as I'm not paying over $30/plate), or as we taxi in on the red-eye flight. But, a FUNERAL? Have you ever heard of respect for the dead? The vibrate button? There just isn't enough stink-eye for you.

What I learned from this exercise, is that I don't much like phones or email. Or really skinny, whining girls.

I'm more of an "in-your-face" kind of gal. Old-fashioned, you might say. I like my conversations in person and girls who have a little curve and meat to them. When they complain, we share a Twinkie to take the edge off. I like that in a gal.

Maybe I'm just being pulled, by my hair, into the age of technology.

All I know is that I am going, kicking and screaming, like a fifty-something man going in for his first colonoscopy.

It isn't pretty.

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