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Tuesday, 24 July 2007
Monday, 23 July 2007
It was a year ago today that I wrote an entry I entitled "Call Center Etiquette" and since that time it has been one of my most highly vistied blog entries. My guess is that people who have been given the runaround on the phone by a customer service representative turn to me via Google in their frustration. Finding the spell-unchecked job-related babble of yet another teledrone probably isn't what they were hoping to find, but because i worked in a call center at the time, I enjoyed rambling on about my job and the sometimes tedious callers. Click here to read it.
Recently I've had my own annoyances with customer help centers, but because of my past experience, I've gotten much better at being a call center caller. By better I don't necessarily mean being more polite; I mean getting what I want. My months in a the cube farm paid off and I thought I'd share some tips in case you're one of those forlorn souls whose tired of verifying the last four digits of your Social Security number only to be transferred to a dial tone.
DON'T THINK THAT BECAUSE SOMEONE PICKS UP THE PHONE THEY WANT TO HELP YOU.
The biggest mistake most people make when calling a call center is assuming that once they tell the rep what's wrong, the rep is going to try and solve their problem. Someone who sits in a cube eight hours of the day listening to irate people yammer on over the phone all for very little pay could really care less about some stranger's problem. The rep has his own problem to solve, mainly how to get you off the phone in as little time as possible.
IF YOU WANT SOMETHING SPECIFIC, DON'T WASTE TIME RAMBLING ON ABOUT HOW YOU DESPISE THE COMPANY.
This does not endear you to the rep or the company. Many people think that because an automated voice tells them the call may be monitored for quality assurance that the CEO is listening in. The vast majority of calls are not recorded, and the only person who hears your tale of woe is someone who has heard the same story over and over all day long to the point of anesthetism. Be calm and be brief.
Furthermore some reps will, after taking a disliking to you, add notes to your profile screen to dissuade any future reps from helping you. Your profile screen is like your permanent record. It follows you wherever you go in the cube farm.
DON'T ALLOW A REP TO REDIRECT YOU FROM THE ISSUE AT HAND.
I was very good at this, and you might be surprised to learn what percentage of angry callers hang up empty handed but happy simply because a rep could steer them away from the reason they called. In my case, I would use the tactic because their problem was not one my company could solve. So rather than simply say I can't do anything for you (because people will talk your ear off after you say something like that), I would find something in their account that I could tweak or change. Some reps will plant a hint of doubt or fear in the caller about something not related to their original concern and then magically come up with the solution to this newly invented problem. Et voila. Another happy customer.
DON'T ASK FOR A SUPERVISOR.
Doing so will almost certainly result in nothing other than you being passed over to the customer service rep's next-cube neighbor. My neighbor and I had an agreement. I was her supervisor and she was mine. If you're not getting the result you want, you'd be better off asking the rep to pass you on to another representative. Tell them their phone is cutting in and out and ask if you can be passed on to someone else. If you really think your problem merits a supervisor, it's time to write a letter.
FOR FUTURE REFERENCE GET THE NAME AND ID OF THE PERSON YOU'RE SPEAKING TO.
This one is tricky because if you ask for a rep's employee ID flat out, they'll assume you want to tattle on them. Try this route instead: Midway in the conversation say in a soothing voice, "You know, So-and-So, you are the first person I've spoken to at your company who understands and is actually trying to help. If I write a letter commending you for good service, do you have a last name or a number or something I can identify you with?
Most reps have some sort of incentive program where they get extra shekels when a customer pays them a compliment. You don't care about a compliment; you just want to be able to say John with employee i.d. 247356 said I should have a credit as opposed to I thought you said I was getting a credit. Notice one has more clout.
DON'T AUTOMATICALLY DISCOUNT THE OVERSEAS CUSTOMER SERVICE REP.
I have found that these people are often far more willing to do something than the stateside crew is. You just have to know how to talk to them. Many people make the mistake of thinking the overseas rep doesn't understand English. They likely do understand English provided it's not too colloquial. If your rampage is fast and heated with run-on sentences and incomplete thoughts, the rep will have difficulty understanding what you want. If you find yourself on the phone with someone who lives in a country where they celebrate Force your Daughter to Work Day, be succinct and use simple sentences.
NO WHEN TO CALL IT QUITS.
I recently had an issue with Vonage phone service where they failed to close my account on time as instructed and billed me for an additional month of service. At first I thought it might be a mistake, so I called their customer support line. After I spoke with the third rep and had waited on hold for north of forty minutes, I realized I was the fool. This was no mistake; it was a shady business practice on their part and no one I spoke with would have the power to help solve my problem. Their call center was designed to frustrate callers to the point of hanging up prematurely and not cancelling the service as a result.
I did finally get the credit back to my account, but it was only after writing a few emails and digging up the phone number of someone who had the authority to make changes. If you're getting the runaround, it's up to you to stop running. There's no point in rushing through a rat race if you're never going to get any cheese.
Before I wrap up, I want to make a request. Some of the favorite comments left on entries I wrote about my horrible experiences with Charter Communications came from people who identified themselves as former Charter employees. If you work in a call center, I want to hear from you. What are some ways callers can make your job easier and still get what they want?
Recently I've had my own annoyances with customer help centers, but because of my past experience, I've gotten much better at being a call center caller. By better I don't necessarily mean being more polite; I mean getting what I want. My months in a the cube farm paid off and I thought I'd share some tips in case you're one of those forlorn souls whose tired of verifying the last four digits of your Social Security number only to be transferred to a dial tone.
DON'T THINK THAT BECAUSE SOMEONE PICKS UP THE PHONE THEY WANT TO HELP YOU.
The biggest mistake most people make when calling a call center is assuming that once they tell the rep what's wrong, the rep is going to try and solve their problem. Someone who sits in a cube eight hours of the day listening to irate people yammer on over the phone all for very little pay could really care less about some stranger's problem. The rep has his own problem to solve, mainly how to get you off the phone in as little time as possible.
IF YOU WANT SOMETHING SPECIFIC, DON'T WASTE TIME RAMBLING ON ABOUT HOW YOU DESPISE THE COMPANY.
This does not endear you to the rep or the company. Many people think that because an automated voice tells them the call may be monitored for quality assurance that the CEO is listening in. The vast majority of calls are not recorded, and the only person who hears your tale of woe is someone who has heard the same story over and over all day long to the point of anesthetism. Be calm and be brief.
Furthermore some reps will, after taking a disliking to you, add notes to your profile screen to dissuade any future reps from helping you. Your profile screen is like your permanent record. It follows you wherever you go in the cube farm.
DON'T ALLOW A REP TO REDIRECT YOU FROM THE ISSUE AT HAND.
I was very good at this, and you might be surprised to learn what percentage of angry callers hang up empty handed but happy simply because a rep could steer them away from the reason they called. In my case, I would use the tactic because their problem was not one my company could solve. So rather than simply say I can't do anything for you (because people will talk your ear off after you say something like that), I would find something in their account that I could tweak or change. Some reps will plant a hint of doubt or fear in the caller about something not related to their original concern and then magically come up with the solution to this newly invented problem. Et voila. Another happy customer.
DON'T ASK FOR A SUPERVISOR.
Doing so will almost certainly result in nothing other than you being passed over to the customer service rep's next-cube neighbor. My neighbor and I had an agreement. I was her supervisor and she was mine. If you're not getting the result you want, you'd be better off asking the rep to pass you on to another representative. Tell them their phone is cutting in and out and ask if you can be passed on to someone else. If you really think your problem merits a supervisor, it's time to write a letter.
FOR FUTURE REFERENCE GET THE NAME AND ID OF THE PERSON YOU'RE SPEAKING TO.
This one is tricky because if you ask for a rep's employee ID flat out, they'll assume you want to tattle on them. Try this route instead: Midway in the conversation say in a soothing voice, "You know, So-and-So, you are the first person I've spoken to at your company who understands and is actually trying to help. If I write a letter commending you for good service, do you have a last name or a number or something I can identify you with?
Most reps have some sort of incentive program where they get extra shekels when a customer pays them a compliment. You don't care about a compliment; you just want to be able to say John with employee i.d. 247356 said I should have a credit as opposed to I thought you said I was getting a credit. Notice one has more clout.
DON'T AUTOMATICALLY DISCOUNT THE OVERSEAS CUSTOMER SERVICE REP.
I have found that these people are often far more willing to do something than the stateside crew is. You just have to know how to talk to them. Many people make the mistake of thinking the overseas rep doesn't understand English. They likely do understand English provided it's not too colloquial. If your rampage is fast and heated with run-on sentences and incomplete thoughts, the rep will have difficulty understanding what you want. If you find yourself on the phone with someone who lives in a country where they celebrate Force your Daughter to Work Day, be succinct and use simple sentences.
NO WHEN TO CALL IT QUITS.
I recently had an issue with Vonage phone service where they failed to close my account on time as instructed and billed me for an additional month of service. At first I thought it might be a mistake, so I called their customer support line. After I spoke with the third rep and had waited on hold for north of forty minutes, I realized I was the fool. This was no mistake; it was a shady business practice on their part and no one I spoke with would have the power to help solve my problem. Their call center was designed to frustrate callers to the point of hanging up prematurely and not cancelling the service as a result.
I did finally get the credit back to my account, but it was only after writing a few emails and digging up the phone number of someone who had the authority to make changes. If you're getting the runaround, it's up to you to stop running. There's no point in rushing through a rat race if you're never going to get any cheese.
Before I wrap up, I want to make a request. Some of the favorite comments left on entries I wrote about my horrible experiences with Charter Communications came from people who identified themselves as former Charter employees. If you work in a call center, I want to hear from you. What are some ways callers can make your job easier and still get what they want?
Thursday, 19 July 2007
Today is a day in my household where there is much rejoicing, at least by Papa Bear. My blog and all my cyber-doings come to you now from a new internet provider, namely AT&T. Charter, that previously monopolistic monster that stalked my neighborhood knowing I and other residents had no other choice for bandwidth, has been fired as of yesterday.
If you need to be brought up to speed with my ongoing battle with Charter, click here or here. Either place will take you to some online bitching from yours truly along with commentary from other poor souls, some of whom claimed to have been subjected to Charter's similarly shoddy service and others who claimed to have worked for the company itself.
I stopped counting the phone calls I made to this company's technical support team. I just remember I spoke with people in five different countries, America, Canada, India and the Phillipines. Well . . . that's only four but I probably spoke with a Bangladeshi once the Indian center was experiencing its highest call volume. I'm only guessing.
At different times I received callbacks from follow-up reps, people at the local dispatch office and an executive officer in the technology department. Because I am an effective bitcher I was receiving credits upon credits on my Charter bill to the point that I've now been told I will receive a check in the mail for the outstanding balance. I fully believe I could have continued calling each month to complain about them not having buried a cable in my neighborhood that was causing me to not receive the full bandwidth I subscribed to and they would have continued giving me free internet.
But guess what?
I don't care.
I don't want their shitty internet service that functions only when the Moon is in the Seventh House and Jupiter aligns with Mars. I want a true always-on connection. I don't mind paying for it. I just want it to work.
Can anyone tell me how I can go about getting the notes that are in my customer profile at Charter? The last few people I spoke with at that company were most anxious to shut me up and get me off their phone. I barely had to ask for a week's worth of credit before being granted an entire month's worth of one. And when I was cancelling my service over the phone, the representative brought up my account after asking for my phone number and I just heard this long "Oooohh . . . " like she couldn't believe whatever she saw on the screen.
I used to work in a call center so I know the info screen on a customer's account is a hotbed for customer service rep gossip and heads-ups. I don't know if it says PER SO-AND-SO AT HQ GIVE HIM A CREDIT or something as simple as THIS GUY'S AN ASSHOLE but I'd love to find out. I still think part of the reason i squeezed as much out of them as I did was because I filed a complaint with the Federal Communications Commission, but I may only be flattering myself. In any case, I only wanted them to deliver what they promised. They never did.
For the record, I have had little difficulty signing up with AT&T so far. There was some confusion on their part as to when they were coming to my house to perform various tasks but after two visits I now have a working phone and innerwebs. They have promised me some cashback awards that will arrive over the next six weeks time and their asses better deliver.
The tech who came out to the house to hook up my DSL couldn't have been more polite. He even went to the trouble of setting up my router to work with my laptop and installed some file management software on my computer. He also spoke at length about his most recent love interest, but I offered him a bottled Coke the moment he showed up so he might have thought I wanted to be his friend. I don't care.
He only drank about half the Coke before he left it sitting on the floor next to the hole he drilled in my baseboard. I finished the drink before recycling the bottle. Yeah, I drank after him. So what? He was good people.
P..S. Now Vonage is screwing me over royally but I'll have to address that later.
If you need to be brought up to speed with my ongoing battle with Charter, click here or here. Either place will take you to some online bitching from yours truly along with commentary from other poor souls, some of whom claimed to have been subjected to Charter's similarly shoddy service and others who claimed to have worked for the company itself.
I stopped counting the phone calls I made to this company's technical support team. I just remember I spoke with people in five different countries, America, Canada, India and the Phillipines. Well . . . that's only four but I probably spoke with a Bangladeshi once the Indian center was experiencing its highest call volume. I'm only guessing.
At different times I received callbacks from follow-up reps, people at the local dispatch office and an executive officer in the technology department. Because I am an effective bitcher I was receiving credits upon credits on my Charter bill to the point that I've now been told I will receive a check in the mail for the outstanding balance. I fully believe I could have continued calling each month to complain about them not having buried a cable in my neighborhood that was causing me to not receive the full bandwidth I subscribed to and they would have continued giving me free internet.
But guess what?
I don't care.
I don't want their shitty internet service that functions only when the Moon is in the Seventh House and Jupiter aligns with Mars. I want a true always-on connection. I don't mind paying for it. I just want it to work.
Can anyone tell me how I can go about getting the notes that are in my customer profile at Charter? The last few people I spoke with at that company were most anxious to shut me up and get me off their phone. I barely had to ask for a week's worth of credit before being granted an entire month's worth of one. And when I was cancelling my service over the phone, the representative brought up my account after asking for my phone number and I just heard this long "Oooohh . . . " like she couldn't believe whatever she saw on the screen.
I used to work in a call center so I know the info screen on a customer's account is a hotbed for customer service rep gossip and heads-ups. I don't know if it says PER SO-AND-SO AT HQ GIVE HIM A CREDIT or something as simple as THIS GUY'S AN ASSHOLE but I'd love to find out. I still think part of the reason i squeezed as much out of them as I did was because I filed a complaint with the Federal Communications Commission, but I may only be flattering myself. In any case, I only wanted them to deliver what they promised. They never did.
For the record, I have had little difficulty signing up with AT&T so far. There was some confusion on their part as to when they were coming to my house to perform various tasks but after two visits I now have a working phone and innerwebs. They have promised me some cashback awards that will arrive over the next six weeks time and their asses better deliver.
The tech who came out to the house to hook up my DSL couldn't have been more polite. He even went to the trouble of setting up my router to work with my laptop and installed some file management software on my computer. He also spoke at length about his most recent love interest, but I offered him a bottled Coke the moment he showed up so he might have thought I wanted to be his friend. I don't care.
He only drank about half the Coke before he left it sitting on the floor next to the hole he drilled in my baseboard. I finished the drink before recycling the bottle. Yeah, I drank after him. So what? He was good people.
P..S. Now Vonage is screwing me over royally but I'll have to address that later.
Tuesday, 29 May 2007
My wife and I recently met friends and their progeny at the Discover Mills mall near our home. Because we live in a suburban Mecca there are actually two malls near us, Discover Mills and Mall of Georgia. I usually take my daughter to Mall of Georgia because it's kids' area has a playhouse complete with slide, comfy benches and a plethora of children's books filed away in mahogany bookshelves. The Discover Mills play area has a few giant concrete bugs to play on and the occasional hypodermic needle.
Just teasing. It was probably just used for knitting.
Anyway, Discover Mills has a Lego store and an As Seen on TV store. Now do you see why we went there? Regardless, it's not the kids' play area I want to talk about; it's the food court surrounding it. Specifically I want to talk about the wonderful parents we saw and compare them to the bad parents we are.
First let me alibi and say I never eat fast food. Never. I gave it up years ago after I found it disgustingly necessary to limit my drive-through meals to only one in a twenty-four hour period. Shouting into the clown once a day is gross enough. Any more than that and a person becomes some weird Isle of Dr. Moreau creature that's half human and half polyunsaturated blubber. That being said, I promptly went up to the fry gal at Burger King and ordered a Double Cheese combo of my own volition. I ate it.
All.
And a Hershey chocolate pie. It had been years and I thought what the hell? What's the worst that can happen? I get cancer? Ha! I laugh in the face of cancer. Ha ha! Ha hahaha cough cough wheeze. Moving on.
I not only ate most of the fries myself, I decided to share some of them along with the burger with my one-year-old daughter. Did my wife get any? No. She was too busy scarfing down Sbarro's pizza. We like to pretend pizza, regardless of its origin, isn't fast food. Same goes for fried chicken.
Quit making fun. You're not the boss of us.
Our daughter was happily sitting in a grungy highchair to which we hadn't even cared to give a precursory wipedown with a moist towelette. Furthermore, while we do own a Baby Easy Clean Shopper, it looks so good up in Meryl's closet that we can't bare to bring it down and use it. When my kid licks the edge of the communal food court table, I just avert my eyes and bury my face in two all-beef patties.
Across from us is this similarly aged couple with their two boys, both of whom are running around the lead-based play area in their bare feet. No big deal. The kids are probably up on their tetnus shots. I'm just telling you so you get an idea of the local color.
Anyway, while my family is all devouring whatever badness is in front of us, this neighboring husband and wife team spend a good five minutes scrubbing everything around them with baby wipes. He cleans the top of the table. She wipes the edges of the table. He cleans the seat of the highchair. She washes the arms of the highchair. They even clean their own chairs, including the backs I didn't see what they all ate, but the youngest member of the family got to snack on YoBaby brand yoghurt.
How do you spell that anyway? I don't feel like looking it up. Is it yoghurt? Yogurt? Yoh Gert! Idunno.
My question is this: If you're such a germphobe, why are you even taking your kids to the food court at a local mall to eat? And then more importantly, when you get out the wipes and hand sanitizer are you really wiping said germs away? Or are you just wiping them around?
That's almost as bad as guys who after using the restroom hold the door handle with a paper towel and then drop the paper towel on the floor. As if the bathroom door handle is the only thing in whatever venue you happen to find yourself that has germs on it. And while I'm on the topic, guys who meticulously wash their hands after taking a leak in a public bathroom are all just giving the rest of us a bad name. Unless you routinely urinate on your hands, this is superfluous washing.
Do you wash your hands after shaking hands with someone else? After picking up an item someone hands you? After you scratch your head do you wash your hand? Why does touching the fifth appendage merit extra hygienic aftermath? I've never understood the logic in that. Frankly, I don't think there is any.
Our table received no scrubdown, and my daughter probably had schmutz on her moosh from the breakfast she ate earlier in the morning. She's still alive. But like I said, we're bad parents that way. Do not replicate.
Just teasing. It was probably just used for knitting.
Anyway, Discover Mills has a Lego store and an As Seen on TV store. Now do you see why we went there? Regardless, it's not the kids' play area I want to talk about; it's the food court surrounding it. Specifically I want to talk about the wonderful parents we saw and compare them to the bad parents we are.
First let me alibi and say I never eat fast food. Never. I gave it up years ago after I found it disgustingly necessary to limit my drive-through meals to only one in a twenty-four hour period. Shouting into the clown once a day is gross enough. Any more than that and a person becomes some weird Isle of Dr. Moreau creature that's half human and half polyunsaturated blubber. That being said, I promptly went up to the fry gal at Burger King and ordered a Double Cheese combo of my own volition. I ate it.
All.
And a Hershey chocolate pie. It had been years and I thought what the hell? What's the worst that can happen? I get cancer? Ha! I laugh in the face of cancer. Ha ha! Ha hahaha cough cough wheeze. Moving on.
I not only ate most of the fries myself, I decided to share some of them along with the burger with my one-year-old daughter. Did my wife get any? No. She was too busy scarfing down Sbarro's pizza. We like to pretend pizza, regardless of its origin, isn't fast food. Same goes for fried chicken.
Quit making fun. You're not the boss of us.
Our daughter was happily sitting in a grungy highchair to which we hadn't even cared to give a precursory wipedown with a moist towelette. Furthermore, while we do own a Baby Easy Clean Shopper, it looks so good up in Meryl's closet that we can't bare to bring it down and use it. When my kid licks the edge of the communal food court table, I just avert my eyes and bury my face in two all-beef patties.
Across from us is this similarly aged couple with their two boys, both of whom are running around the lead-based play area in their bare feet. No big deal. The kids are probably up on their tetnus shots. I'm just telling you so you get an idea of the local color.
Anyway, while my family is all devouring whatever badness is in front of us, this neighboring husband and wife team spend a good five minutes scrubbing everything around them with baby wipes. He cleans the top of the table. She wipes the edges of the table. He cleans the seat of the highchair. She washes the arms of the highchair. They even clean their own chairs, including the backs I didn't see what they all ate, but the youngest member of the family got to snack on YoBaby brand yoghurt.
How do you spell that anyway? I don't feel like looking it up. Is it yoghurt? Yogurt? Yoh Gert! Idunno.
My question is this: If you're such a germphobe, why are you even taking your kids to the food court at a local mall to eat? And then more importantly, when you get out the wipes and hand sanitizer are you really wiping said germs away? Or are you just wiping them around?
That's almost as bad as guys who after using the restroom hold the door handle with a paper towel and then drop the paper towel on the floor. As if the bathroom door handle is the only thing in whatever venue you happen to find yourself that has germs on it. And while I'm on the topic, guys who meticulously wash their hands after taking a leak in a public bathroom are all just giving the rest of us a bad name. Unless you routinely urinate on your hands, this is superfluous washing.
Do you wash your hands after shaking hands with someone else? After picking up an item someone hands you? After you scratch your head do you wash your hand? Why does touching the fifth appendage merit extra hygienic aftermath? I've never understood the logic in that. Frankly, I don't think there is any.
Our table received no scrubdown, and my daughter probably had schmutz on her moosh from the breakfast she ate earlier in the morning. She's still alive. But like I said, we're bad parents that way. Do not replicate.
Tuesday, 8 May 2007
Be forewarned that I have no rhyme or reason to what I am about to say. This evening's entry will likely be a list of short blurbs about the life and times of a part-time miscreant. Furthermore what you read from this point forward may or may not be heavily influenced by the forty-dollar sparkling my wife and I are enjoying along with the prescription medicine I am taking to relieve a toothache. The warning label on the latter clearly depicts a full martini glass covered with the international symbol for no-don't-tell-anyone-you're-doing-this.
I know some would rebound from their blog absence with a diatribe about why they haven't posted anything of merit in a while or apologize for not having commented on others' blogs, but guess what?
We don't roll that way around here.
It's good to be the king.
On May 5th though when many of our neighbors south of theAmerican Canadian border were out celebrating their ancestors' defeat of the French army in the Battle of Puebla(which if you think about it is like celebrating kicking a shortbus passenger while he's off his meds) my daughter celebrated her first trip around the sun. One year has come and gone, and while the days have seemed like weeks this first year has flown as though it were only a month.
My baby's not really a baby anymore. Whereas once my wife and I applauded her holding her head up on her own, now we chase after her as she races to the dog bowl, the toilet bowl or the cleaning supplies to find something new to put in her mouth. Thankfully none of the plants in our home are poisonous. How do we know this? Because I think it's safe to say she's sampled them all. The same can be said for the weeds in our front yard.
I subscribe to a list serve for local stay-at-home dads. For the record, I don't like that term. I only use it for lack of a better one. Trapped-at-home dad is more indicative of how you feel when you sign up for the gig, at least at first.
Anyway, most of the information on these list serves is rather blase. One guy bitches about having to be at home while his wife works. Another complains that he isn't being allowed to join any of the local moms' groups. Someone else talks of his kid's recent trip to the doctor. Riveting news, huh? This morning though I got an email from the guy who heads up the Atlanta stay-at-home dads' group saying there was going to be the "World's Largest Playgroup" at a nearby mall.
Well, the mall was about 30 minutes from my house (90 during Atlanta rush hour) but come on. It's the world's largest freakin' playgroup for Falwell's sake. No way I'm gonna miss that.
Meryl and I showed up at Perimeter Mall and followed the music to this babypalooza. Funnily enough it was located right outside of Spencer's Gifts, and their store window features some scantily clad bimbo hawking a flavored body lotion. I'm just glad someone's still looking out for us stay-at-home dads.
A nearby placard announced the day's festivities which included performances by different musicians, storytimes, raffles for stuff you don't really need or want, and car seat demonstrations.
When we sat down Meryl was happy to stay put and watch the Kindermusik instructors for all of about four minutes. After that not even their peekaboo scarves and rattle eggs could keep her occupied. By the time the woman on stage was singing in her soothing slow voice Shakers away! Shakers away! It's time to put the shakers away!, my kid was making a beeline for the adult party games and blacklight posters across the way.
We left with several of the free giveaways like bubbles, a bib, a onesie and some diaper rash cream as well as two Kindermusik egg rattles that were supposed to have been returned. Unfortunately while chasing down my kid, I couldn't find a Kindermusic recipient quickly enough to give back the rattles. I guess that means the egg rattles aren't giveaways so much as they are stealaways.
Oh well. Life goes on.
In other news, my tooth effing hurts! This is the same tooth (I think) that I wrote about many moons ago back in October of 2005 when I was told I might need a root canal. I ended up only getting a filling and have been pain free up until only recently. I can't believe it! Since that appointment I have been flossing three times every ice age. Life is so unfair.
My wife and daughter and I are going out of town in a few days to visit my sister and brother-in-law along with their new bouncing baby girl. I just hope my tooth doesn't choose family vacation as a time to erupt into agonizing abcess.
If I had to pick one issue about which I see eye to eye with my conservative bretren, it would have to be the crippling effects caused by the oral decay of America. Doesn't anyone care about the children?
In other news, this champagne sure is good.
Peace out.
Love,
Kevin
I know some would rebound from their blog absence with a diatribe about why they haven't posted anything of merit in a while or apologize for not having commented on others' blogs, but guess what?
We don't roll that way around here.
It's good to be the king.
On May 5th though when many of our neighbors south of the
My baby's not really a baby anymore. Whereas once my wife and I applauded her holding her head up on her own, now we chase after her as she races to the dog bowl, the toilet bowl or the cleaning supplies to find something new to put in her mouth. Thankfully none of the plants in our home are poisonous. How do we know this? Because I think it's safe to say she's sampled them all. The same can be said for the weeds in our front yard.
I subscribe to a list serve for local stay-at-home dads. For the record, I don't like that term. I only use it for lack of a better one. Trapped-at-home dad is more indicative of how you feel when you sign up for the gig, at least at first.
Anyway, most of the information on these list serves is rather blase. One guy bitches about having to be at home while his wife works. Another complains that he isn't being allowed to join any of the local moms' groups. Someone else talks of his kid's recent trip to the doctor. Riveting news, huh? This morning though I got an email from the guy who heads up the Atlanta stay-at-home dads' group saying there was going to be the "World's Largest Playgroup" at a nearby mall.
Well, the mall was about 30 minutes from my house (90 during Atlanta rush hour) but come on. It's the world's largest freakin' playgroup for Falwell's sake. No way I'm gonna miss that.
Meryl and I showed up at Perimeter Mall and followed the music to this babypalooza. Funnily enough it was located right outside of Spencer's Gifts, and their store window features some scantily clad bimbo hawking a flavored body lotion. I'm just glad someone's still looking out for us stay-at-home dads.
A nearby placard announced the day's festivities which included performances by different musicians, storytimes, raffles for stuff you don't really need or want, and car seat demonstrations.
When we sat down Meryl was happy to stay put and watch the Kindermusik instructors for all of about four minutes. After that not even their peekaboo scarves and rattle eggs could keep her occupied. By the time the woman on stage was singing in her soothing slow voice Shakers away! Shakers away! It's time to put the shakers away!, my kid was making a beeline for the adult party games and blacklight posters across the way.
We left with several of the free giveaways like bubbles, a bib, a onesie and some diaper rash cream as well as two Kindermusik egg rattles that were supposed to have been returned. Unfortunately while chasing down my kid, I couldn't find a Kindermusic recipient quickly enough to give back the rattles. I guess that means the egg rattles aren't giveaways so much as they are stealaways.
Oh well. Life goes on.
In other news, my tooth effing hurts! This is the same tooth (I think) that I wrote about many moons ago back in October of 2005 when I was told I might need a root canal. I ended up only getting a filling and have been pain free up until only recently. I can't believe it! Since that appointment I have been flossing three times every ice age. Life is so unfair.
My wife and daughter and I are going out of town in a few days to visit my sister and brother-in-law along with their new bouncing baby girl. I just hope my tooth doesn't choose family vacation as a time to erupt into agonizing abcess.
If I had to pick one issue about which I see eye to eye with my conservative bretren, it would have to be the crippling effects caused by the oral decay of America. Doesn't anyone care about the children?
In other news, this champagne sure is good.
Peace out.
Love,
Kevin
Monday, 30 April 2007
Have you ever stopped to think about the hefty price we pay for having an email address? I'm not talking about having to sort through the messages relating to Nigerian banking scams or Tijuana-based erectile dysfunction drug companies. Those are certainly a pain to have to weed through, but in my book those annoyances don't measure up to the accountability we are subjected to by electronic mail.
In the past I've had a few potential employers and organizations ask me for my email address only to follow up with the question How often do you check your email? Because I want the position (whatever it is at the time) I always say that i check my email daily, which is usually true, but in doing so I obligate myself, at least to some degree, of being on call 24 hours a day. In other words, it opens up the door for an employer to email me and expect an answer regardless of whether I'm scheduled to appear at work that day.
This is not so much a gripe as it is an observation.
This brings to mind the people who call up and upon getting an answering machine say I know you're there so pick up the phone.
How dare they?
When I was single I would constantly change the message on my answering machine. Once when I was fed up with aforementioned types my message said:
That message got mixed reviews. Some friends took it as a personal attack which was not my intention. I just couldn't believe the audacity of those who would assume that because they wanted me to answer my phone I should drop whatever i was doing and do their bidding.
Would these same people invite themselves into your living room and ask you to make them a sandwich? Can't you just hear them say Don't forget to cut the crusts off! They probably wouldn't be so bold, but in essence that's basically what they're doing when they make demands of you via the telephone.
Going back to the job application, what if instead of asking how often you check your email, it asked how often you were willing to work for free outside of your scheduled hours? After all, isn't this really what the question is asking when you get right down to it? Otherwise, why wouldn't the sender just wait until you clocked in to ask you whatever they needed?
As cantankerous as I may seem at times, I am not into complaining about things that are within my control. I used to work at a job where coworkers would complain about how little they made, yet they would continue to show up for work every day.
Talk is cheap.
My argument was that we set our own worth every day that we clocked in. Regardless of how "poorly" the employer was rewarding us, we told that employer we were okay with that every day that we showed up for work.
The same is true for responding to someone's email. If I respond during my personal time, I'm telling the sender I am willing to file them into the same category as I do my family and friends. I'm saying I'm just as anxious to receive their news as I am my niece's prom pictures or my friend's latest gossip or my wife's cherished sweet nothings.
If this isn't the case, I have only myself to blame.
I am curious to hear how others have dealt with this dilemma.
In the past I've had a few potential employers and organizations ask me for my email address only to follow up with the question How often do you check your email? Because I want the position (whatever it is at the time) I always say that i check my email daily, which is usually true, but in doing so I obligate myself, at least to some degree, of being on call 24 hours a day. In other words, it opens up the door for an employer to email me and expect an answer regardless of whether I'm scheduled to appear at work that day.
This is not so much a gripe as it is an observation.
This brings to mind the people who call up and upon getting an answering machine say I know you're there so pick up the phone.
How dare they?
When I was single I would constantly change the message on my answering machine. Once when I was fed up with aforementioned types my message said:
Please leave a message after the beep. Do understand
however that leaving a message does not obligate me to call you back. Also
if I am screening my calls, announcing who you are does not obligate me to pick
up the phone. My phone does not control me; I control my phone.
Would these same people invite themselves into your living room and ask you to make them a sandwich? Can't you just hear them say Don't forget to cut the crusts off! They probably wouldn't be so bold, but in essence that's basically what they're doing when they make demands of you via the telephone.
Going back to the job application, what if instead of asking how often you check your email, it asked how often you were willing to work for free outside of your scheduled hours? After all, isn't this really what the question is asking when you get right down to it? Otherwise, why wouldn't the sender just wait until you clocked in to ask you whatever they needed?
As cantankerous as I may seem at times, I am not into complaining about things that are within my control. I used to work at a job where coworkers would complain about how little they made, yet they would continue to show up for work every day.
Talk is cheap.
My argument was that we set our own worth every day that we clocked in. Regardless of how "poorly" the employer was rewarding us, we told that employer we were okay with that every day that we showed up for work.
The same is true for responding to someone's email. If I respond during my personal time, I'm telling the sender I am willing to file them into the same category as I do my family and friends. I'm saying I'm just as anxious to receive their news as I am my niece's prom pictures or my friend's latest gossip or my wife's cherished sweet nothings.
If this isn't the case, I have only myself to blame.
I am curious to hear how others have dealt with this dilemma.
Tuesday, 17 April 2007
Blessed be the taxman for he bringeth us our refund. We shout and holler praise for the almighty deductions. Huzzah!
Yes, I know this money is actually nothing more than the piddly remains of what I've already forked out to the government and gotten back in the form of a check, but so what? If we didn't pay our taxes to the United States, who would fund the weapons of mass destruction? And then if there were no weapons of mass destruction, how could we justify the weapons of mass destruction destruction? And then hard working Americans would be out of a job now wouldn't they?
Our checks, both from the state and George W., came and went. No sooner were they in our mitts than they were rushed off to our credit union for deposit. No sooner were they deposited than they were spent. Thanks to a great tax guy and a thousand-dollar procreation credit our family has two more toys to boot.
And there was much rejoicing.
One toy is the notebook computer upon which I am typing to you now. It is a Compaq Presario XYZ-LMNOP or something like that. Does anyone else remember back when we called these things laptops? Remember Y2K compliance? Those were the days, my friend.
This computer replaces the seven-year old doorstop of a laptop I've been working on for the past . . . well . . . seven years. Actually, I won't throw out the old computer. It still works provided I'm willing to sit through the five-minute bootup . It also has writings and other creative endeavors of yours truly dating back to ye olde college days.
I don't know why I keep those papers, but whenever I get a new computer, I always transfer over old documents for which I have absolutely no use. I once wrote an essay comparing a novel by late Senegalese author, Mariama Bâ, to French philosopher Prévost's Manon Lescaut. The long title for the latter is actually Histoire du chevalier des Grieux et de Manon Lescaut.
Does anyone really care about the title, much less to read my sophomoric literary opinions on the subject in pisspoor French? Then why has this oeuvre survived now for six or seven hard drives?
Explain your answer.
My new computer is pretty sweet, especially considering I only spent $480 on it after the $30 rebate. I'll keep you informed, gentle reader, as to whether or not I ever receive the rebate. Oh yes, I will keep you informed. Hopefully Staples will pull through though. Signing up for the rebate on their website couldn't have been easier.
I also am playing on Windows Vista which, for all practical purposes is semi-somewhat better than XP. I guess. I haven't taken the bundled cyber tour of what all new features I can expect from this new operating system, but I'm sure it's chocked full of user-friendly features I will never use.
One annoyance is the pop-up program called the HP Total Care Advisor slash PC Health and Security. I really haven't figured out what all this does that benefits me as a person. I have learned from other innerwebbers that the program actually slows down my system performance considerably and it contains an equally annoying innerweb search window down in the taskbar. Again, I'm not sure what good any of this does me. I'm a big believer in if-it-ain't-broke-don't-eff-with-it, and furthermore why is the program called what it is? It sounds like it was installed by Kaiser Permanente or some other health care provider.
And that's another thing? Have computers and their minions usurped the term health care the same way they did viruses? Are we now going to have to distinguish between human health and computer health?
I also recently purchased a Sharp Notevision projector and let me just tell you that this thing rocks in all caps. Why anyone would spend thousands on a large-screen TV when they could get one of these for under $700 is beyond me. You hook it up to your DVD player, notebook computer or whatever and project whatever you wanna watch up on to your wall. The image quality is stupendous. It's like being at the movies only the drinks are cheaper and you can still here the film when you're in the bathroom.
Even cooler is that we plug up the audio to the wireless speakers so we can easily listen to surround-sound. And since the speakers are wireless, we could easily take the whole thing outside and host a neighborhood movie night up against the garage door.
I know that sounds naughty but it's really not.
Anyway, deductions plus good tax guy plus impulse equals toys. And that's what it's all about.
Yes, I know this money is actually nothing more than the piddly remains of what I've already forked out to the government and gotten back in the form of a check, but so what? If we didn't pay our taxes to the United States, who would fund the weapons of mass destruction? And then if there were no weapons of mass destruction, how could we justify the weapons of mass destruction destruction? And then hard working Americans would be out of a job now wouldn't they?
Our checks, both from the state and George W., came and went. No sooner were they in our mitts than they were rushed off to our credit union for deposit. No sooner were they deposited than they were spent. Thanks to a great tax guy and a thousand-dollar procreation credit our family has two more toys to boot.
And there was much rejoicing.
One toy is the notebook computer upon which I am typing to you now. It is a Compaq Presario XYZ-LMNOP or something like that. Does anyone else remember back when we called these things laptops? Remember Y2K compliance? Those were the days, my friend.
This computer replaces the seven-year old doorstop of a laptop I've been working on for the past . . . well . . . seven years. Actually, I won't throw out the old computer. It still works provided I'm willing to sit through the five-minute bootup . It also has writings and other creative endeavors of yours truly dating back to ye olde college days.
I don't know why I keep those papers, but whenever I get a new computer, I always transfer over old documents for which I have absolutely no use. I once wrote an essay comparing a novel by late Senegalese author, Mariama Bâ, to French philosopher Prévost's Manon Lescaut. The long title for the latter is actually Histoire du chevalier des Grieux et de Manon Lescaut.
Does anyone really care about the title, much less to read my sophomoric literary opinions on the subject in pisspoor French? Then why has this oeuvre survived now for six or seven hard drives?
Explain your answer.
My new computer is pretty sweet, especially considering I only spent $480 on it after the $30 rebate. I'll keep you informed, gentle reader, as to whether or not I ever receive the rebate. Oh yes, I will keep you informed. Hopefully Staples will pull through though. Signing up for the rebate on their website couldn't have been easier.
I also am playing on Windows Vista which, for all practical purposes is semi-somewhat better than XP. I guess. I haven't taken the bundled cyber tour of what all new features I can expect from this new operating system, but I'm sure it's chocked full of user-friendly features I will never use.
One annoyance is the pop-up program called the HP Total Care Advisor slash PC Health and Security. I really haven't figured out what all this does that benefits me as a person. I have learned from other innerwebbers that the program actually slows down my system performance considerably and it contains an equally annoying innerweb search window down in the taskbar. Again, I'm not sure what good any of this does me. I'm a big believer in if-it-ain't-broke-don't-eff-with-it, and furthermore why is the program called what it is? It sounds like it was installed by Kaiser Permanente or some other health care provider.
And that's another thing? Have computers and their minions usurped the term health care the same way they did viruses? Are we now going to have to distinguish between human health and computer health?
I also recently purchased a Sharp Notevision projector and let me just tell you that this thing rocks in all caps. Why anyone would spend thousands on a large-screen TV when they could get one of these for under $700 is beyond me. You hook it up to your DVD player, notebook computer or whatever and project whatever you wanna watch up on to your wall. The image quality is stupendous. It's like being at the movies only the drinks are cheaper and you can still here the film when you're in the bathroom.
Even cooler is that we plug up the audio to the wireless speakers so we can easily listen to surround-sound. And since the speakers are wireless, we could easily take the whole thing outside and host a neighborhood movie night up against the garage door.
I know that sounds naughty but it's really not.
Anyway, deductions plus good tax guy plus impulse equals toys. And that's what it's all about.
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