Retooling my schedule can be a tax on the brain. So can a less-than-pleasurable trip to New York City, which I will discuss when I post later on this week. The normal Saturday schedule will resume on November 5.
Retooling my schedule can be a tax on the brain. So can a less-than-pleasurable trip to New York City, which I will discuss when I post later on this week. The normal Saturday schedule will resume on November 5.
When you work in customer service, you will regularly come across a person with a bad attitude they are anxious to pass on to you. I just had one, and for the purposes of this post, I will call him Mr. Pompous. He sent us an email to express his overwhelming discontent with us. We don’t like people to be unhappy with us, but notes such as his are more worthy of a laugh than concern. We are concerned anyway.
From the content of his complaint, it was obvious right away that Mr. Pompous is well read and possesses considerable intelligence. Customers such as he can, therefore, be stubborn when they encounter a problem, sometimes they see themselves as overly worthy of VIP attention. He had received a piece of correspondence and, upon looking at the signature and title of the signer, envisioned some corporate hall of grandeur which he had to infiltrate to get to the source of the problem: in other words, whoever wrote the letter deserved a piece of his mind. In person.
Naturally customer letters are not really royal decrees, and any company worth their weight in salt empowers their service associates to answer any questions about paperwork going into customers’ hands, but Mr. Pompous was not having any of it. He complained instead that we served as a circle of bodyguards to protect our superiors and were shoving spears in his face to prevent his access.
He didn’t tell us what the problem was, so we sent a general response offering him help for the most common situations we encounter from our customers. He wrote back and thanked us for what he termed, in so many words, a “duh” moment, since he did obviously need help, but he still did not specify the problem. All that was in the email was line after line of well-crafted pompous prose with verbiage worthy of a PhD. It told us absolutely nothing.
I wrote back and offered help again, stressing that we needed to know what letter he received and what questions he had. I hit “Send” and waited for what I expected to be another pompous reply.
He did not disappoint. By the end of the day, he replied and said that we were beating around the bush, and that if we emailed him again it would go into his unwanted email file of shame. What a pity, since he would never get his answers, because he never gave us his question.
I mentioned Mr. Pompous to a co-worker who is experienced in looking into the finer details of a customer record, and we figured out that Mr. Pompous had simply forgotten to pay his bill, and apparently a letter inviting him to get back on track irked him for reasons unknown. So the corporate guru in the hall of grandeur and we will never know what was on the mind of poor Mr. Pompous.
Folks, don’t be Mr. Pompous. If you have a question or concern from a business that serves you, call and ask your questions in a focused and polite manner. We will help you. And we promise not to laugh.
Sometimes when I have to tinker or do some messy work, I put on one of my father’s old work shirts. It’s roomy, it breathes and is sturdy and, just like my father did, it protects me. Of course he has been gone for a long time, but I keep it as a memento. I wonder what he would think about how some fathers’ daughters are being treated during this political campaign.
Sometimes it seems Donald Trump forgets that he has a daughter. I would be remiss to not mention his marriages as well, but it is about fathers I’m talking. So here is Mr. Trump, a father, discussing prowess with somebody while a live microphone picks up on it. He probably forgot the first rule of being a celebrity: live your life as if there is a live mic nearby. Otherwise why would he say something his own daughter might hear?
The influence of the opposite sex parent on a child is one of the most pivotal in the developmental years. As children we idolize our parents, then we reach the pivotal point at which we discover their true good points and flaws and we start to branch out and become who we will be in adult life. We also develop our own good points and flaws, but we should all try to nurture the former and hold back on the latter. We forget at times, and Trump’s banter with Billy Bush of Access Hollywood is certainly proof of how extremely vulgar one can get when dropping the filter we’re supposed to take on as grownups.
He made references to a woman’s recent breast enhancements. Isn’t it strange that men seem to like to see large-chested women, but condemn them in the same breath. This type of genderist hypocrisy (yes, I just invented that word) is what ruins both genders at the same time. We are dependent upon each other for the survival of the human race, yet we are always at odds just because of a few chromosomes and body parts which differentiate us. Trump apparently thought it was okay to also talk about grabbing women in private areas. I can’t recall once in my lifetime talking about a man like that around other women.
Back to the shirt. It’s a pedestrian plaid that I’m sure many men wear at some time in their lives. When I wear it, I remember the values my father taught me. I think about his good points and forgive his flaws, and I remember that I will always be his daughter.
I think it would be a great idea if every daughter out there broke out one of their father’s shirts and put it on. Take a selfie. Post to Facebook and Twitter with the hashtag DadShirt. Show that we hold them to task to be good human beings first and men second. Let’s remember that fathers have a responsibility to protect their daughters, and it starts with keeping that filter tightly over our slipping lips in the locker room and everyplace else.
We have plenty of markets in our area, yet not enough in the right places. Another one near me is shutting down, which means its location has been home to at least three department stores (including Clover), a Super Fresh and now a Thriftway.
So much for a recovering economy.
I found out by accident, because I had been on the way to get a hoagie, which their deli made fresh daily. I saw a chalkboard sign out front: “Store Closing: 50% Off.” Inside, the deli and bakery had already shut down, and the strains of old 50s and 60s music were warbling sadly to empty shelves and few patrons.
This means the nearest place for me to get fresh radishes is about 12 miles away, my favorite margarine is no longer to be found anywhere, and the shopping center is again going to be like a doughnut with a side eaten away. One leg of the two-sided center has two stores open on its right and three open on its left. A tanning salon closed recently, and a JoAnn Fabrics, Game Stop and a party store moved away over the past three years. We still have one Acme nearby, but one must endure the highways to get to ShopRite, Wegman’s or WalMart.
If the improvement of our neighborhoods means no neighborhood markets, it will be a truly lifeless environment. I’ll miss that store.
This morning I saw a program segment featuring dung beetles. It immediately reminded me of the typical office environment. Of course, in the office we don’t carry up to 250 times our own weight in dung, though psychologically it may feel like that at times. The guide for the clip, along with the voice of trusted zoo expert Jack Hanna, told us that dung beetles roll their own round spheres of dung from a pile of poop, then roll it to their destination. They appear to do this with their hind legs, backwards, head down.
If you’ve gone through a work day like that, you can relate.
The beetles will usually follow a straight line, even through obstacles. That’s like an office action plan.
By burying the dung, the soil gets fertilized. A dung beetle couple will mate and have their young inside the dung. I just made a poem, and a bell has rung.
Sorry, it was just getting kind of silly.
After a particularly busy week, I was running around like a headless chicken preparing to go out, when the wildlife program came on just after the morning news, to tell us about dung beetles. Thinking about it, they have a purpose to fulfill, like the typical office worker. We roll along with a singular purpose, and it does some good.
So be proud, even if you are a dung beetle.
 | Eden on Getting the Message |
| Eden on The Unasked Questions |
| Eden on And Her Shoes Were #9 |
| Eden on The Poison Field |
| Eden on Final Tally |
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