Sometimes, Karma's Cool

After the rant the other day about customer service, I had a little run in yesterday with the pharmacy staff at CVS. BUT. In the end, the pharmacist waited on me himself, and gave me a new customer gift bag for my patience. Stuff like that? Is what gets you through.

Customer What Now?

I've had some absolutely appalling experiences with customer service lately - to the point where it's kind of actually troubling me. I know I wrote about my Father's Day fiasco with Sears. Well, then there was the even bigger fiasco with FedEx a couple weeks ago that was so bad I'll honestly never use them again, if I can in any way avoid it. DHL is my homeboy, people. Here's what happened (and I'm going to do my best to protect the privacy of the individuals involved - my friends, I mean, not the FedEx peeps - their names will be in the post).

A few weeks ago, a friend's father was diagnosed with colon cancer. Shortly thereafter, we were having a get together, so my sister, brother and I thought it'd be a fun idea to get some LiveStrong wrist bands to bring to the get together in his honor. (He is a very popular guy, so had already gone through a box of them, just among his friends and family.) So, I ordered the bands Thursday for what I thought was Saturday delivery. To make an even longer story a little shorter, I found out on Friday that I'd been mistaken. So, I called the Lance Armstrong Foundation, and after some cajoling from my sister and myself, they (VERY KINDLY) agreed to pay an additional fee to expedite the shipping to Saturday delivery (in addition to the fee I'd already paid for expedited shipping, mind you). We had a conference call with me, FedEx and LAF, and all parties agreed that this would work just fine, and we were all set. YAY! I thanked LAF profusely for their generosity. The woman told me they were glad to help.

Saturday, of course, the wrist bands did not arrive and did not arrive and I finally called FedEx. The "customer support" rep I spoke to was at a complete loss. I asked to be escalated to a manager, which I was. The manager's name was Tonya Bass. I pass this along in case any of you has occasion to deal with FedEx "customer support." Anyway, after around 45 minutes debating with Ms. Bass the fact that I was in Long Island and the facility where they were holding my shipment hostage was in Jamaica, NY (Queens), and really, that's...not that far away, and that the LAF and I had BOTH paid expedited shipping fees, and after her changing her story from, "Well, the shipment missed the truck this morning," to "Well, actually, the Lance Armstrong Foundation never did upgrade the shipping," and back again (after I informed her that I knew that to be false, since I'd been on the phone with both LAF and FedEx at the time when the shipping was upgraded), she finally informed me that she was getting off shift and would be hanging up on me. Upon my letting her know how unwise a move this would be, she calmed down enough to assure me she would have someone call me back once they were able to locate my package and figure something out.

Two hours later, shockingly, I had not heard from FedEx. I called back again, and again and this time immediately asked to be escalated to a manager. The manager who answered this time, Sheila Malone, was more pleasant. I told her the entire story and she let me know that Ms. Bass was supposed to have let her know of any outstanding customer support issues, but did not. I told Ms. Malone exactly how unhappy I was with the situation, and that I'd come to terms with the fact that I wouldn't be getting my shipment that day, but that although my little shipment probably didn't mean much to a company like FedEx, the fact that I was in the presence of five business owners who all used FedEx regularly should.

The next night when I got home, I wrote to FedEx and detailed the entire story, including the names, and including the assertion that I and the other business owners I'd been with over the weekend would not be using FedEx any longer. In response, I received a grammatically incorrect autoresponse. So, I wrote back, "Is this response a joke? Do your customers honestly mean so little to you that you can't even be bothered to provide grammatically correct responses to complaints? Perhaps it's a good thing that FedEx will lose business over this incident." At that point, I did at least receive an actual email from an actual person, but it still signed off with, "I hope your next interaction with FedEx proves more positive." Yea. Still not quite getting the point, here. THERE WILL BE NO NEXT TIME.

I feel like, increasingly, these large companies are so comfortable in their monopolies of their respective fields that they are completely complacent when it comes to customer service. (I've had similar experiences recently with not only Sears, but also Comcast and CVS.) I don't mean to be all fringe, "EFF THE MAN!" here, but it's really troubling to me that companies that should be based on customer service...don't give a sweet goddamn about customer service. And they wonder why they lose customers in this type of economy?! You know who has my business for life? Virgin Atlantic Airways. And do you know why? Because once, nearly ten years ago, they took such good care of me on a flight to London that I will never, ever forget it. Companies these days bemoan the lack of brand loyalty. But I've never heard Richard Branson bemoan it - and I don't think that's a coincidence.

Don't blink.

Today, B is nine months old. In some ways, it kind of seems like I've always been his Mommy, but in others, nine months seem to have gone by in a blink. Last weekend, on the ferry back from Long Island, I was standing on the deck with B in the Baby Bjorn, when a man turned to me and said, "Don't blink. Whatever you do, don't blink. Mine is 16 already and it seems like yesterday that she was that age." So, along today's recurring theme of staying in the moment, I'm going to try not to blink, because I don't want to miss a thing!

Perspective

I've written a couple different times in this space about how I'm trying to be a more positive person. I mean, I think I've always been a reasonably positive person - a worrier, yes, but generally a pretty upbeat person. But because I AM admittedly a worrier, I do have to devote some focus to staying "in the moment" as my Mom would say. I have to remind myself sometimes to enjoy the moment I'm in and to take the positivity from it that I can, and not worry about what's coming next or how things will turn out.

I do also tend to stress out pretty easily. Ironically, my reputation among my colleagues is that I handle stress well and don't get worked up. They have no idea what a toll stress takes on me internally. Just because I'm not flipping out in hte middle of the work day doesn't mean my insides aren't in turmoil. I'm sure my husband, who sees the aftermath, could enlighten them to the myriad ways my stress can manifest itself.

Lately, because I've had a stressful couple of weeks, and because work has been less than ideal, and because we have such a brutal commute, and because having a baby is crazy expensive and we're both underpaid (it's all relative, I know, and we do just fine - we're both just underpaid for our specific roles), I've been really stressed out. And I can tend to have episodes of self pity when I'm stressed out. I've had a couple of Woe Is Me moments this week. But when I really take stock of all the wonderful, wonderful people and things in my life, I feel downright embarrassed about having even moments of self pity. I am so blessed in so many ways, and I know that. So, although I lose sight of that during my stressy moments, I never truly lose sight of it.

Back in the Saddle

Well, last week's vacation started out a little rocky, but did get better. We spent the latter part of last week and the weekend at my brother's house in Bridgehampton, NY, where we had a family reunion. There were 27 of us staying at the house and 10 others staying at hotels and my aunt & uncle's place in Orient, NY. Of the 27 at the house, four were under 15 months old. It was nutty. But it was SUCH fun. My brother and sister in law have the most amazing yard with a pool, hot tub, pool house and huge deck, which is ideal for a summer family gathering. And it's big enough to be comfortable for that many people. Plus, the weather was just ideal, which helps.

Yesterday, I was suffering from a MAJOR case of let down. I had been looking forward to my vacation week, and especially the family reunion for SUCH a long time, and between the stressful stuff that happened last week, and the fact that the reunion was over, AND the fact that I was returing to work, I was just a ball of anxiety yesterday. Shocking, I know. Thankfully, I do have one more week of vacation coming up in August. No big plans for it yet, but I'm just hoping it won't start off with a trip to the hospital.

Life Is a Crazy Ride

I had so much going on this weekend that I forgot that originally, I was going to post Saturday about the fact that it was the 10th anniversary of the day I moved to Atlanta. I cannot believe that was ten years ago. That just seems crazy.

That, along with various events this past week, has reminded me that life is short (and goes by fast), and it is precious, and it is so important to make the most of it. It is so important to live the life you want to live. It's so important to believe you deserve that life and to chase it down and hold onto it with everything you've got.

Last night, B had a tough time sleeping, so we were up late. I happened upon ABC Family. There was a replay on of that guy Joel Osteen who has that hayooge church in Houston, TX. I'm not generally someone who would watch a Christian sermon on television, but occasionally, one of his will catch my attention enough that I'll check it out for a few minutes. I kind of dig his positive message. So much of Christianity, and especially Catholicism is based in negativity - judgment, guilt, etc., that it turns me off. But this guy preaches positivity. He makes Christian seem like a good thing to be, without making other religions seem like inherently bad things to be. Anyway (those of you who know me to be a left wing, hippie dippy spiritualist can pick your jaws up off the floor now), the reason what he was saying last night caught my attention for a few minutes was that he was talking about recognizing that faith entitles you to good things in life. It was just an interesting way of putting things. Basically, he was saying that we should put our trust in God to help us through our trials, and that he will lead us through them (not necessarily a new concept) and that we can achieve peace of mind by realizing we deserve this (that's the new part). I don't know. Several people who are very important to me had very difficult weekends for different reasons, so this idea just really hit the spot for me, spiritually, last night.

It also kind of goes along with what I've been thinking about so much lately about being a more positive person. Negativity doesn't really do anything for us, does it? So, why spend our lives in the dark place? Why NOT trust that things will get better? Why NOT trust that, if we hit a rough patch, it's just that, and that God (or whatever you believe in) will bring us through it and we'll reach the happy place on the other side? I mean, shit, it'll make life more fun, at the very least.

A Birthday Wish

A year ago today, a very special little girl was born. She was only with us physically for seven weeks, but she had an enormous impact on an enormous number of people in her short time here. And so, I'd like to wish a Happy Birthday to Willa Vaughan Jones. All my love, precious girl. I wish I could've gotten to know you. And thank you for helping to keep watch over my little man last night.

Why My Mom Colors Her Hair...

It's been a rough couple days around here. It's better now, but things were a little scary. When we woke up Thursday morning, B had what appeared to be pink eye. Obviously, we couldn't send him to daycare (although, apparently, some of the other parents at daycare didn't find that so obvious), and since I stayed home with him LAST week, E agreed to stay home with him. I went to work, and E took B to the doctor. The diagnosis was conjunctivitis (pink eye) and the beginnings of an ear infection. When I came home Thursday evening, I noticed he was also starting to wheeze a little bit. So, we gave him his antibiotics, and we gave him a dose of the nebulizer. We put him up in his crib and he slept for a little while, but was wailing soon enough. I went up to get him because it was obvious he wasn't going back to sleep. Since I was working from home Friday, I told E to go to bed and I'd stay downstairs with him. Neither of us slept very much that night (I think I slept about half an hour, total.). He was just fitful and I could tell he was uncomfortable. And he was definitely having trouble breathing normally. But I knew my Mom was coming Friday morning, so I knew we'd get through until then. And if anyone can identify a child in distress, it's my Mom. We gave him a nebulizer treatment before Eric went to work. After that, he was in pretty good shape, so Eric went to work. He was okay for about a half hour, and then he really started to struggle again. Later in the morning, I gave him another neb treatment. He was in good shape again, so I fed him. My Mom got here right after that, and once again, he was good for around a half hour, and then started to deteriorate. My Mom became pretty concerned, pretty quickly, especially when he didn't want a bath, which he normally loves. She told me to call the doctor. This was around 10:30. They told me they had a 3:00 open, but we both felt like B couldn't wait that long to go in. They managed to squeeze us in for 11:15, so I got dressed very quickly (no shower, naturally) and we put him in a new onesie and took off. When we got to the doctor, it was pretty clear that everyone now understood why we needed to come right in. B was having so much trouble breathing that he was grunting and crying with each breath he struggled to take. It was about the worst sound I've ever heard. They gave him another nebulizer treatment at the office. It helped, but his oxygen saturation level only went from 89 to 92. They want it to be as close to 100 as possible. So, the NP told us she wanted us to head across the street to the hospital, just to be on the safe side. And off we went to the hospital, where they gave him a chest ex-ray, another nebulizer treatment, put an oxygen tube up his nose, gave him a steroid and put in an IV (which took a couple tries and finally had to be inserted by a NICU nurse), because the doctor felt he wasn't stable enough to try to eat, both because his breathing was so poor and because he was sick enough that he probably wouldn't keep food down very well.

The afternoon was really just a succession of nebulizer treatments, between which he would improve slightly and then deteriorate. The ex-ray determined that he had Restrictive Airway Disease, with possible pneumonia in the lower right lobe, but the doctor thought it probably was not actually pneumonia, since he never had a fever. Finally, early in the evening, he just fell dead asleep. His poor little body was just completely exhausted after struggling to breathe for so long. He slept through the night, pretty much, except when the nurse woke him for medication. E and I both stayed at the hospital too, of course. There was a daybed couch thing in the room, so I slept on that, and the nurses got a chair version of the daybed from an empty room and he slept on that. I actually slept surprisingly well. I think it was because a) I was exhausted from not sleeping the previous night and b) I knew the nurses would be checking on B throughout the night, and plus, he was hooked up to machines that were monitoring his heart rate and breathing, so if anything were amiss, they would start beeping.

This morning, B woke up at 5:15 and was immediately our boy again, thank God. He was his chipper self, smiling and chatting, and flirting with the nurses. He had some milk first thing, and that was another good sign. By noon time, he had eaten some bananas, and we knew we'd be able to take him home this afternoon.

I know that one night in the hospital isn't that huge a deal, but I have to say, it was one of the scariest things I've been through. Just knowing that your child can't breathe - especially knowing, as I do, how that feels - is a horrible feeling. I have gained so much more appreciation for everything my Mom went through as a mother since I had B, and after yesterday, I understand now why she tended to be so over protective of me at times. She went through what I went through yesterday on a number of occasions. And back then, they didn't have nebulizers or any of that, which must've made it even scarier. I love B with everything in me and I was so unbelievably elated this morning to see him acting himself again.

The Curse of the Vivid Memory

I've always been kind of...sensitive. Even as a kid, things got to me that most kids wouldn't ever notice or care about. I would hear about something that happened to someone and it would break my heart, even though I had no idea who the person it happened to even was. Sometimes, this sensitivity has served me, but most of the time, all it does is make me an even more nervous person than I already am. Years after the fact, I'll still remember some incident that someone I know went through, and it'll still have some kind of impact on my psyche. Meanwhile, the person it actually happened to will have long forgotten it.

I have memories from my childhood, too, that still make me cringe with embarrassment. Something I said or did that I determined to be embarrassingly inappropriate in some way, that I remember as vividly as if they'd happened yesterday, can stop me cold in the middle of a thought, and I'll think, "God, I'm an idiot." And after a beat, "Well, I was an idiot when I was 11, anyway."

I always think that these memories of embarrassments or hurts or whatever will come in handy in my writing. That one day, I'll finally figure out the story I can ride to international bestsellerdom, and that these anecdotes, or the more entertaining of them, will find their way into the story. Will that happen? Who knows? Maybe one day I really WILL write about the time I broke up with a boyfriend in the middle of Franklin Street in downtown Boston, yelling at him for being a cheating asshole, as promised. Maybe one day I really WILL write about the time my Dad caught me having Barbie and Ken get busy and I made up a completely PREPOSTEROUS excuse as to why they were naked...and then guiltily recanted two hours later, which was really just more awkward for poor Dad. I guess in the meantime, I can at least entertain my sister and best friend with the ridiculous stories that no one remembers but me...well, and them, because I've told each of them those stories 542 times.

Where's the Fire?

When I was a kid, my aunt and uncle rented a beach house every July at Humarock, MA. It was a big, old Victorian house that had been very well cared for by a family who never rented it, except to my aunt and uncle. My grandparents, their three children, and their children's respective broods, would all crowd into this big, old house for the 4th. Actually though, at Humarock, the "event" was the 3rd. The night before the 4th, that beach was a chaotic mess of illegal fireworks, bonfires and beer. Even before I could or wanted to enjoy the beer, the fireworks and bonfires were quite a spectacle. It was such a blast of a gathering because the Pennsylvania cousins would come, which was a relatively rare pleasure. And we would all get together on the porch and the sea wall and watch the spectacle. Except my grandfather, Bucky. Bucky would be in the house because he hated bugs and he hated fireworks and he wasn't a big fan of crowds. Especially as he got older, that night wasn't exactly appealing to him. What WAS appealing to him was watching out the window as the people he loved most in the world enjoyed this crazy night he could barely stand. It's funny. I've definitely inherited Bucky's nervousness about fire. Not that big a fan, I have to say. Yet, I'd give almost anything to be able to share those nights of fireworks and bonfires with my boys.

The last 4th of July gathering we had that Bucky was alive for was 1998. Ten years ago. So, ten years ago tonight, Bucky was sitting, thoroughly annoyed, in the living room of our Humarock house, watching us all act silly on the beach. That weekend was the last we had together as a family before Bucky died. It was also a week before I moved to Atlanta. When I look back on that weekend now, it's almost surreal to think how unaware I was of how completely everything I knew about my life was about to change. Some of the changes were for the better, and obviously, some were for the worse. But it'd sure be nice to go back to Humarock and chill with Buck on the porch with a martini, even just for a day.

An Oldie But Goodie...

This was an old post from my myspace blog. I brought it over because I enjoyed writing it so much. And since writing it originally, back in the summer of 2006, one more song has come along that needs to be added. It'll be the second to last one...


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It's funny how a song can bring you back to a moment so specifically and so effectively...

'Little Red Corvette'...hanging out with my big sister...the coolest person in the world, feeling so lucky that she would choose to spend time with me, trying to absorb as much of her coolness as I could...

'Santeria'...riding in an open jeep in the sunshine, feeling the sun on my face, feeling beautiful for the first time in years, feeling like my life was about to change, but not being sure why or how...

'Little Plastic Castles'...sitting in the window of my tiny bedroom my senior year of college, taking a break from writing my thesis, dreaming of how completing it was going to change my life, and of all the great writing I would do later on...feeling like my life was ahead of me and I could do anything...

'Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee'...driving across campus on my way to a NASA meeting, fire in my belly over all I'd learned about the real history of the country...

'Inside Out'...driving from Norcross to Buckhead to my first job in GA, wondering what in God's name had made me move so far from home, but feeling comforted by my sister's presence next to me in the car...

'As Cool As I Am'...my first year teaching, going on a blind date, realizing I didn't like the guy half as much as the one I already liked, and that I was okay with that, loving the mix tape my best friend had made me, missing her so much it ached...

'Praise You'...sitting in a darkened living room in Los Angeles, watching smoke curl its way upward from a lit Camel Light in the ashtray, realizing what, exactly, it feels like when your heart breaks...

'Honeysuckle Blue'...sitting on my parents' old sofa in an apartment in Georgia, drinking hunch punch with a bunch of southerners who'd adopted me as one of their own, feeling like these people would always be in my life...

'Dilate'...subway in NYC, heading downtown to a job training, feeling like this was the coolest, best place I'd ever been, loving how easy it is to blend into a city where anything goes...

'Fallin'...Washing my hair in my new apartment in Allston, wondering if the world would ever again feel as normal as I did singing along to this song in the mornings...

'Short Skirt, Long Jacket'...Looking up at a shaft of sunlight above me, smiling and feeling, for the first time in my life, that I was sexy enough to pull off a look like that...

'Closer to Myself'...Walking up Comm Ave in the sunshine, feeling like I'd found the secret to happiness, knowing deep down I was wrong, but hoping like Hell I wasn't...

'Hands Down'...Singing to myself in my apartment in Beacon Hill, feeling all angsty about when, if ever, I was going to have a date that good...

'Burn'...singing along with Usher at the top of my lungs and knowing just exactly what he meant when he sang the shit out of those lyrics...

'Tessie'...the absolutely intoxicating mix of my team finally winning and my own finally finding that right person...there was never a better week than that one...

'Suspicious Minds'...Ironically, dancing at a wedding, finally knowing what it was like to feel truly loved by someone who wasn't required by blood to feel that way...

'Only With You'...looking my brand new husband in the eye and knowing he was my past, present and future. Knowing I was safe and loved and was finally someone's favorite.

'Power of Two'...knowing my dream had finally come true and nothing had ruined it and I could exhale.

'No One'...Singing to my brand new son while watching VH-1 in the middle of the night, feeling an intensity of love and protectiveness I wasn't aware I could feel until just then...

'You Are My Sunshine'...a lifetime's worth...sitting on my grandfather's knee, dozing, feeling like everything was just right...missing him when he'd gone, being comforted that this song would continue to link us, somehow...dancing with my father, both of us crying both with joy and with the ache of missing my grandfather on a day he would've loved to be part of. And finally, singing to my son to calm him during restless moments, being amazed each time how quickly that song could quiet him, as if he knew instinctively how important it was...