I went home this weekend to IL for my sister's bachelorette party. This morning I was sitting around with my mom... I asked her about a recent situation that was troubling her. For those of you that don't know, both of my parents are immigrants. My mom has worked for a very wealthy family for almost 25 years. She used to take care of their house, kids, watch their dog when they went to Florida for the winter, etc. They are almost in their 90's so now she has been helping out a lot more. She makes their meals, does their groceries, etc.
Recently, my parents brought land in Canada adjoining the land owned by this wealthy family. The wealthy family purchased an easement on my parents property to get to their property, which previously was only accessible by boat. Well, as with many things that involve mixing "family" and money, shit hit the fan. My parents found out that the easement was not to give access to their one home, but that they planned on splitting their lot into several parcels and selling it for a major profit.
My mom was so upset by the whole thing that she spilled her guts to them, asking how they could take advantage of an immigrant that has done nothing but help them for 25 years. It brought back a lot of painful memories.... Here she is....the person named on their living will, the person that they call when they're in the hospital.... only to be taken advantage of bc the wealthy family wants to leave more money to their children when they pass (the children that don't call visit, write, etc. but always manage to cash their 50K Christmas checks.) The details are far too complex, but I turned to my mom and said, You should really write a novel, about this, about how you came to America and the struggles that you faced, etc. She thought it was a great idea. After so many years she finally felt free and all of these stories started to come out. Stories about how this family would brag about donating tens of thousands of dollars to scholarship foundations, knowing all the while that their immigrant caretaker's own children had to take on thousands of dollars worth of student debt. She went on and on....
I think its prime time to whip out that Rhetoric degree that I have not used in so many years. Since it is national "Write a Novel Month" I thought why not? So, I am actually going to give this a shot. I will start doing some research by reading the stories that are already out there. Wish me luck.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Funk
So, I'm in a bit of life funk. Usually, I am too busy to have the time to reflect that I am in a funk, but law school is over and so all bets are off. First, I am not happy with my job. I dont feel I am part of a team. I feel like I am trying to change an entire culture all by myself. On top of that, I should be happy bc just last week I got a big raise without even having to ask for one, but as I've mentioned in my previous blogs: despite my best efforts to the contrary a lot of things come down to comparisons. A new co-worker of mine is younger than me, less experienced than me, and less educated than me and makes $26,000 more than me. For whatever reason, it bugs me to the core. The funny thing is that my salary never really bothered me until I found out what everyone else was making (just one of the perks for working for the government-most salaries are public). I almost wish I didnt know. On top of that, three people told me today, "I don't know how you do it." The answer: I don't know either.
Next, I am not happy with my living situation. I live in a decent apartment that has become less decent in the past few months. There are mysterious stains all over the hallway. I have a creepy neighbor with one roving eye who stalks me and apparently doesnt clean up after his multiple cats bc you can smell them from my apt (even with the door shut). I wake up to shouts of "chug, chug, chug" from my bedroom window every football Saturday. I could go on and on.... Now, I know what you're thinking, don't bitch, switch. I looked into other apartments but they are twice as expensive and many are not as big as my current place. Plus, if I move I want to get a dog and I cant seem to find a nice place that allows them. Moving is always the pits and who wants to deal with the hassle of forwarding mail, setting up internet, etc.
Finally, I am not happy with my spouse situation... mainly I have something called an 'absentee husband.' My husband travels 80% of the year. We mostly see each other on the weekends. I acknowledge that we make a trade-off. Namely, my husband could quit his job and easily get a job here in Madison... but we would take a significant pay-cut not to mention that the long-term career prospects would not be as good.
So, in looking back at my dissatisfaction with my job, home, and husband, I can see why I am in a major funk. So major in fact that I almost adopted a little dog last week. You know you're in a bad place when shopping doesnt even do the trick.
Next, I am not happy with my living situation. I live in a decent apartment that has become less decent in the past few months. There are mysterious stains all over the hallway. I have a creepy neighbor with one roving eye who stalks me and apparently doesnt clean up after his multiple cats bc you can smell them from my apt (even with the door shut). I wake up to shouts of "chug, chug, chug" from my bedroom window every football Saturday. I could go on and on.... Now, I know what you're thinking, don't bitch, switch. I looked into other apartments but they are twice as expensive and many are not as big as my current place. Plus, if I move I want to get a dog and I cant seem to find a nice place that allows them. Moving is always the pits and who wants to deal with the hassle of forwarding mail, setting up internet, etc.
Finally, I am not happy with my spouse situation... mainly I have something called an 'absentee husband.' My husband travels 80% of the year. We mostly see each other on the weekends. I acknowledge that we make a trade-off. Namely, my husband could quit his job and easily get a job here in Madison... but we would take a significant pay-cut not to mention that the long-term career prospects would not be as good.
So, in looking back at my dissatisfaction with my job, home, and husband, I can see why I am in a major funk. So major in fact that I almost adopted a little dog last week. You know you're in a bad place when shopping doesnt even do the trick.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Mixed Signals
Have you ever gotten a mixed signal? Maybe from a guy, your boss, the clerk behind the counter? Well, I just got one from New York. I’m not kidding… check out the photo. This street light is really indicative of what New York really is-a City of contradiction. I just spent a good 48 hours in New York for a conference and so I feel incredibly confident in making the following conclusions:
-The buildings are gorgeous... or are they? This was the view from my 4th floor $455/night room. Did I mention room service charged $28 for eggs and bacon.
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-I thought I had the world’s smallest kitchen in my $640/month all utilities included apartment in Madison… turns out I was wrong. New York apartments are 5 times as expensive (literally) and they have kitchens five times as small.
-New York garbage days are gross…. They are surpassed only by Venice garbage days where the garbage actually stacks up on the sidewalk and spills over into the water. I actually saw a rat swimming along a gondola… pretty romantic, eh?
-New York is definitely not the City that never sleeps.... despite rumors to the contrary. Being that I had a $55/day per diem, I decided to head to Laguardia airport early to treat myself to a nice dinner for all of my hard work. I got there at 8:15pm for a 9:40pm flight. Turns out every restaurant was closed and so I got to eat Burger King.... Let me tell you, ten bucks got me real far. Just a little f-u from the City that never sleeps.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Why I am over wanting to date George Clooney and now just want to be him
It is quite possible that I am the last to realize this but, George Clooney has got it made. He has a successful career (note- this post is not about how great it would be to be a hollywood star because quite frankly, I think that is arguable. His success, however, is key), homes around the world (ok, maybe just Lake Como and LA, but still), great friends, and inappropriate girlfriends (ok, had). Some of you may be saying that I am leaving out one very important trait- his deliciously good looks. I don't think it is those big brown eyes that got him here, I think he just has his priorities straight, knows what he wants, and doesn't apologize for it. It is for these three reasons that I want to be him.
First of all, he knows he doesn't want to get married or have kids, and he doesn't apologize for dating women that aren't trying to marry him or get knocked up (or they are completely delusional). I am hoping that his stand on legal coupling lightens things up for others out there (ie, moi) choosing the same path.
Perhaps it is my deep-rooted oppositionalism hard at work but I think marriage is silly. Granted there are perks-- tax breaks, insurance, and that whole allowed in the hospital past visiting hours thing. Those perks do not out weigh the costs for yours truly.
Since the percentage is now higher than 50, I'm gonna use the term 'most'. Most marriages end in divorce. Add up the cost of the divorce and the elaborate weddings people are planning these days (since it will now be for not) and I guarentee it is higher than the tax breaks, cost of insurance, and bail (from assaulting the nurse to stay late, of course).
I fully applaud my friends who are getting married (by the boat load). I equate my choice to not pursue this just like my choice to not pursue religion, the multiplication tables, telling time, and tying my shoes. Ok just kidding (kind of) about everything past religion. I am not any less moral because I don't subscribe to organized religion. And that is exactly what this is about- this is about the fact that something must be wrong with me if I don't want it. George and I beg to differ.
I simply want the freedom to do what I want, when I want. Doing whatever, whenever, has nothing to do with ignoring other's feelings or being inconsiderate... at least not for me. It does mean that if I want to jet off to Lake Como with a 25 year old cocktail waitress (er, waiter), then damnit, I will, so don't judge me.
George does plenty philantropic deeds to get people off his tail and I have gotten the message loud and clear. I am now a dontaing member of Feed the Children. It may only be 40 bucks a month, but you can't get a seat on the board overnight.
About that success of his. I get that his freedom comes from being insanely financially secure. I am shooting for that myself (slowly but surely) so I can squash the argument that it is economically in my best interest to couple off. (Perhaps the most annoying argument I've heard. I am SO not a femme-Nazi but come on, since when do we need a man ladies?? Que the Pussycat Dolls.)
If I do decide to spend any considerable amount of time with somone, there won't be a clock ticking that says I need to get married and procreate. Here's why: I am simply missing that gene. Never the girl to dream of my wedding or being a mommy. Instead I used to have nightmares about both. I've never been into doing what everyone else does. I figure, what's the point? They've been there and done that and good or bad, I have gotten a front row seat.
And so I am. Doing something different. I'll be the first to admit this all may change. If it does (cringe) and you can prove that I am not under the influence while choosing this life, I will cheers you in all your righteousness. Until then, I'll just be me.
-Luci
First of all, he knows he doesn't want to get married or have kids, and he doesn't apologize for dating women that aren't trying to marry him or get knocked up (or they are completely delusional). I am hoping that his stand on legal coupling lightens things up for others out there (ie, moi) choosing the same path.
Perhaps it is my deep-rooted oppositionalism hard at work but I think marriage is silly. Granted there are perks-- tax breaks, insurance, and that whole allowed in the hospital past visiting hours thing. Those perks do not out weigh the costs for yours truly.
Since the percentage is now higher than 50, I'm gonna use the term 'most'. Most marriages end in divorce. Add up the cost of the divorce and the elaborate weddings people are planning these days (since it will now be for not) and I guarentee it is higher than the tax breaks, cost of insurance, and bail (from assaulting the nurse to stay late, of course).
I fully applaud my friends who are getting married (by the boat load). I equate my choice to not pursue this just like my choice to not pursue religion, the multiplication tables, telling time, and tying my shoes. Ok just kidding (kind of) about everything past religion. I am not any less moral because I don't subscribe to organized religion. And that is exactly what this is about- this is about the fact that something must be wrong with me if I don't want it. George and I beg to differ.
I simply want the freedom to do what I want, when I want. Doing whatever, whenever, has nothing to do with ignoring other's feelings or being inconsiderate... at least not for me. It does mean that if I want to jet off to Lake Como with a 25 year old cocktail waitress (er, waiter), then damnit, I will, so don't judge me.
George does plenty philantropic deeds to get people off his tail and I have gotten the message loud and clear. I am now a dontaing member of Feed the Children. It may only be 40 bucks a month, but you can't get a seat on the board overnight.
About that success of his. I get that his freedom comes from being insanely financially secure. I am shooting for that myself (slowly but surely) so I can squash the argument that it is economically in my best interest to couple off. (Perhaps the most annoying argument I've heard. I am SO not a femme-Nazi but come on, since when do we need a man ladies?? Que the Pussycat Dolls.)
If I do decide to spend any considerable amount of time with somone, there won't be a clock ticking that says I need to get married and procreate. Here's why: I am simply missing that gene. Never the girl to dream of my wedding or being a mommy. Instead I used to have nightmares about both. I've never been into doing what everyone else does. I figure, what's the point? They've been there and done that and good or bad, I have gotten a front row seat.
And so I am. Doing something different. I'll be the first to admit this all may change. If it does (cringe) and you can prove that I am not under the influence while choosing this life, I will cheers you in all your righteousness. Until then, I'll just be me.
-Luci
The Eggsperiment
So, the other day I was watching Oprah… the subject “How do we treat the animals we eat?” It was a great discussion of CA’s Proposition 2 that would improve housing conditions for certain types of animals. While I was initially scared to watch the show (I thought for sure that they would try to convert me to a vegan) the show was pretty tame. Instead of preaching the vegan lifestyle, they promoted free-range organic farming. Once again, I am way ahead of the game. I already buy free-range organic eggs, milk, meat, etc. Yeah, it is way more expensive than the regular stuff, but I eat less of it so in my eyes it all works out. One exception: restaurants. I eat out quite a bit and if I don’t like the vegetarian option, I eat regular eggs, milk, meat, etc.
Take Thursdays…. Every Thursday we have a staff breakfast at this cute breakfast place. I think their food is great however their vegetarian bfast options suck and they don’t offer free-range anything. So my question is how should I go about making this change happen? Should I ask to talk to the manager and advocate for a free-range egg option? Can I BYOE (bring my own eggs).? This is the start of my eggsperiment. I’ll keep you updated.
-Djo Djo
Take Thursdays…. Every Thursday we have a staff breakfast at this cute breakfast place. I think their food is great however their vegetarian bfast options suck and they don’t offer free-range anything. So my question is how should I go about making this change happen? Should I ask to talk to the manager and advocate for a free-range egg option? Can I BYOE (bring my own eggs).? This is the start of my eggsperiment. I’ll keep you updated.
-Djo Djo
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Wedding Buyer’s Remorse?
So I just returned from visiting San Diego. My family and I headed out there for my cousin’s wedding. Being that her wedding was just 6 weeks out from my own wedding, and being that I’ve attended only a handful of weddings in my life, I really did not know what to expect. It wasn’t until I got there that I realized this glamorous California wedding was going to put my little Illinois wedding to shame…
My cousin’s wedding was held on an island in San Diego that looked out over the Pacific Ocean. She had a wedding planner (as opposed to moi, early referenced bridezilla who made all my own centerpieces, programs, etc.). She had a 6 piece professional band (as opposed to my DJ who when I complained about the music on my wedding day refused to change it, saying, “it’s not just your wedding, it’s my reputation”). Even the speeches were significantly better. Much, but not all of this, was due to the fact that her budget was significantly higher than mine.
And so, for a few minutes (okay hours), instead of enjoying the day and being happy for my cousin, I found myself comparing just about everything. It drove me nuts. Maybe I should have gotten the photo booth. Maybe I should have printed dinner menus. Maybe, maybe, maybe…. It is obviously too late for all of that. (In theory) we only get one wedding and I can’t change mine.
Later, as I drove to the airport, I stared at the California mountains, thinking about just how beautiful they were… Then, I thought to myself, why don’t I live here?! It certainly beats 100 inches of Wisconsin snow! But after thinking about it some more, I realized that I would never be happy in California. Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful, it’s just not me (that and the fact the Californians piss me off). And then came the Mr. Roger’s moment—neither wedding was better… they were just different. Equally special and equally different. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure that out.
So, in the end, the moral of the story is an obvious one: comparisons will drive you nuts. Other couples will have better weddings, better cars, better houses, etc. While sitting in my crappy little apartment in Wisconsin, I will be busy reminding myself that while happy cows may come from California, the simple yet elegant ones come from Wisconsin.
My cousin’s wedding was held on an island in San Diego that looked out over the Pacific Ocean. She had a wedding planner (as opposed to moi, early referenced bridezilla who made all my own centerpieces, programs, etc.). She had a 6 piece professional band (as opposed to my DJ who when I complained about the music on my wedding day refused to change it, saying, “it’s not just your wedding, it’s my reputation”). Even the speeches were significantly better. Much, but not all of this, was due to the fact that her budget was significantly higher than mine.
And so, for a few minutes (okay hours), instead of enjoying the day and being happy for my cousin, I found myself comparing just about everything. It drove me nuts. Maybe I should have gotten the photo booth. Maybe I should have printed dinner menus. Maybe, maybe, maybe…. It is obviously too late for all of that. (In theory) we only get one wedding and I can’t change mine.
Later, as I drove to the airport, I stared at the California mountains, thinking about just how beautiful they were… Then, I thought to myself, why don’t I live here?! It certainly beats 100 inches of Wisconsin snow! But after thinking about it some more, I realized that I would never be happy in California. Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful, it’s just not me (that and the fact the Californians piss me off). And then came the Mr. Roger’s moment—neither wedding was better… they were just different. Equally special and equally different. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure that out.
So, in the end, the moral of the story is an obvious one: comparisons will drive you nuts. Other couples will have better weddings, better cars, better houses, etc. While sitting in my crappy little apartment in Wisconsin, I will be busy reminding myself that while happy cows may come from California, the simple yet elegant ones come from Wisconsin.
Monday, October 6, 2008
First Stall Folly
I swear that I have read somewhere (and yes, it could have been a Cosmo) that the first stall is the least used in the ladies room and thus the least germy. Has anyone else heard that? True or not, it is the basis for a theory that I might just test...
Theory: The first stall of the 8th floor ladies room at my work is the most oft used.
Rationale: The 8th floor (more than any other floor) is jam packed with a.) females, b.) academics, and c.) specifically, scientists (who constantly read/write scientific research and thus may be familiar with/authored this study).
Real cutting edge research, I know. I always head to the first stall and just want to know if I am crazy, in good company, and/or need to switch it up.
-Luci
Theory: The first stall of the 8th floor ladies room at my work is the most oft used.
Rationale: The 8th floor (more than any other floor) is jam packed with a.) females, b.) academics, and c.) specifically, scientists (who constantly read/write scientific research and thus may be familiar with/authored this study).
Real cutting edge research, I know. I always head to the first stall and just want to know if I am crazy, in good company, and/or need to switch it up.
-Luci
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Today I was yelled at by a 73 year old woman...
Yes, folks and she actually made me cry... in public.
Now, I know what you must be thinking... anyone can handle a cotton-top (for those of you not down with Shelbyville lingo, that means old person). Yes, one would think. Now, don’t get me wrong, I work for the government. I literally get paid to have people yell at me. I handle aggressive alders, tavern owners, etc. all the time. So, why was this old lady able to reduce me to tears? She was livid that I would not allow her to volunteer to work at a late-night taxi stand. Did I mention the stand runs until 3am? Did I mention that she is 73 years old?
Yes, so there she is waving her finger in my face, calling me a liar-saying that I was making up excuses not to let her volunteer at the stand. There I am trying (unsuccessfully) to explain the situation, hungry bc its 3pm and I haven’t had an opportunity to eat lunch, and exhausted from multiple vaccinations inserted into my arm the prior day. It was not until I started to see people around the room start to stare at me (assessing the situation and trying to figure out whether I had killed her dog or something) that my eyes started to well up with tears. Somehow, I managed to escape being yelled at by my parents, teachers, etc. through my entire childhood only to work for the government and get screamed at by everyone and there mother (or in this case grandmother)... constantly.
Oh, the irony.
-Djo Djo
Now, I know what you must be thinking... anyone can handle a cotton-top (for those of you not down with Shelbyville lingo, that means old person). Yes, one would think. Now, don’t get me wrong, I work for the government. I literally get paid to have people yell at me. I handle aggressive alders, tavern owners, etc. all the time. So, why was this old lady able to reduce me to tears? She was livid that I would not allow her to volunteer to work at a late-night taxi stand. Did I mention the stand runs until 3am? Did I mention that she is 73 years old?
Yes, so there she is waving her finger in my face, calling me a liar-saying that I was making up excuses not to let her volunteer at the stand. There I am trying (unsuccessfully) to explain the situation, hungry bc its 3pm and I haven’t had an opportunity to eat lunch, and exhausted from multiple vaccinations inserted into my arm the prior day. It was not until I started to see people around the room start to stare at me (assessing the situation and trying to figure out whether I had killed her dog or something) that my eyes started to well up with tears. Somehow, I managed to escape being yelled at by my parents, teachers, etc. through my entire childhood only to work for the government and get screamed at by everyone and there mother (or in this case grandmother)... constantly.
Oh, the irony.
-Djo Djo
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
A night to remember by Djo-Djo
Your wedding is supposed to be the most romantic day of your life, right?
Let me tell you about how my beautiful day ended.
The culprit in this story is Hyatt...
We decided to reserve a hotel block at the Hyatt. It was newly renovated, had couches in all the rooms-just lovely. The deal was that if our guests book a certain number of rooms, we will get a free room and free shuttle to and from the reception hall. I thought to myself-this is going to be awesome. We will encourage all of our friends to drink responsibly by staying at the hotel and taking the shuttle to and from the hall. We easily met the required number of rooms.
The wedding was great. After a brief face-off with the DJ, we gather up all of our gifts and head for the hotel... only no shuttle. 15 minutes go by and still no shuttle. 30 min. I call-nothing.
After 1 hour we finally arrive at said Hyatt hotel via extremely late shuttle. While I managed to fight off bridezilla tendencies up until this point, that quickly flew out the window as I stormed the front desk and demanded to know what took so long. The scared girl behind the counter says, "Ma'am we're really sorry. We have another wedding party tonight and we are having a hard time keeping them under control." I look to my right and I see said wedding party boozing in the lobby. I storm off to the left only to slip... on a pile of vomit.
But it gets better.... Fortunately, I have cat-like reflexes that kept me from tumbling into the vomit.... Unfortunately, one of my wedding guests smells the vomit, and vomits herself right next to moi, said bride(zilla).
I don't notice that said wedding guest has vomited on herself and I immediately go on a tyraid, saying that doing vomiting in public is "trashy" and that disgusting (which I still firmly believe-come on people-make it to a bathroom!)... all in presence of said wedding guest.
I take off my vomit stained dress and head to bed. One week later, I work up the courage to get the dress cleaned. I cant bare to say the words to my trusted dry cleaner, so I pass a note that says, "the stain on the bottom of my dress is vomit." It was as if I passed a robbery note at a bank. I later attempt to clarify that it is not my vomit, but the damage was done. I got the look-you know the one that people give you when they think you vomited on your own wedding dress. Yeah-did I mention they have to hand-clean all of their wedding dresses?
How romantic!
-Djo Djo
Let me tell you about how my beautiful day ended.
The culprit in this story is Hyatt...
We decided to reserve a hotel block at the Hyatt. It was newly renovated, had couches in all the rooms-just lovely. The deal was that if our guests book a certain number of rooms, we will get a free room and free shuttle to and from the reception hall. I thought to myself-this is going to be awesome. We will encourage all of our friends to drink responsibly by staying at the hotel and taking the shuttle to and from the hall. We easily met the required number of rooms.
The wedding was great. After a brief face-off with the DJ, we gather up all of our gifts and head for the hotel... only no shuttle. 15 minutes go by and still no shuttle. 30 min. I call-nothing.
After 1 hour we finally arrive at said Hyatt hotel via extremely late shuttle. While I managed to fight off bridezilla tendencies up until this point, that quickly flew out the window as I stormed the front desk and demanded to know what took so long. The scared girl behind the counter says, "Ma'am we're really sorry. We have another wedding party tonight and we are having a hard time keeping them under control." I look to my right and I see said wedding party boozing in the lobby. I storm off to the left only to slip... on a pile of vomit.
But it gets better.... Fortunately, I have cat-like reflexes that kept me from tumbling into the vomit.... Unfortunately, one of my wedding guests smells the vomit, and vomits herself right next to moi, said bride(zilla).
I don't notice that said wedding guest has vomited on herself and I immediately go on a tyraid, saying that doing vomiting in public is "trashy" and that disgusting (which I still firmly believe-come on people-make it to a bathroom!)... all in presence of said wedding guest.
I take off my vomit stained dress and head to bed. One week later, I work up the courage to get the dress cleaned. I cant bare to say the words to my trusted dry cleaner, so I pass a note that says, "the stain on the bottom of my dress is vomit." It was as if I passed a robbery note at a bank. I later attempt to clarify that it is not my vomit, but the damage was done. I got the look-you know the one that people give you when they think you vomited on your own wedding dress. Yeah-did I mention they have to hand-clean all of their wedding dresses?
How romantic!
-Djo Djo
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Target: An Avid Consumer's Reflection in Three Parts
The Good:
Oh, Target. How I love thee. You are always there when I need to wander aimlessly with a cherry slushy and comparison shop for grout cleaner. You provide every essential for that new hobby I didn't know I just couldn't wait to start. When I get the itch to redecorate, you're always there with suggestions at a reasonable price. When things couldn't get better, you go and out do yourself with Target Greatland. Now, not only can I buy more than one single girl could every need of paper goods, Isaac Mizrahi clothing, and potting soil-- I can get my groceries too! Just when the excitement of Target Greatland began to wear off, you introduced the Dollar Spot and knocked me off my feet. It's like you read my mind when I was searching endlessly for Cinqo de Mayo themed tiki torches. And for that, I want to thank you.
The Bad:
While you were an innovator in the returns department when you introduced the 'receipt look-up' using the credit card used to purchase, your success stopped there. Why, why, why? Why do you make online customer print out another receipt from their online account? Why can't I walk into a store to return an online purchase and receive the 'no questions asked' service I have come to expect from your competitors and contemporaries? It is a nuisance at best and the straw that broke the camel's back at worst. I have seen many a customer 'lose their shit' on your customer service representatives because of the hoops that you make us, your loyal customers, jump through. Do you not reciprocate our un-dying devotion and admiration? Does our business not keep the lights on and the employees paid?
The Ugly:
I bought seven silver clutches for Djo-djo's recent nuptials for the Bridesmaids. While I was more than happy to do my duty, Target has made things horrendously difficult. I bought the clutches online (first mistake) and had them shipped to her. They didn't quite work for the wedding and, alas, had to be returned. Attempts were made in-person to make this return, online, and through the US Postal Service. Finally, it was time to use the phone. They assured me that the return was processed and that it was my creditor's fault for not returning my money. The weinus that I spoke to neglected to tell me that Target made the executive decision to give my online account a credit instead of my credit card. (Note: they didn't even credit my account for the total) Is Target so desperate for business that they manipulate returns to keep the revenue in house? Pathetic. When I called and corrected this situation, I only received a credit of 50 bucks and the other 50 (please note the total was over 100) was being held by the 'Fraud Investigation Team' for review. ARE YOU FING KIDDING ME? Yes, that's right, I am attempting to rip-off Target and am willing to deal with their UN-TRAINED, INCOMPETENT customer 'service' reps to do so. Puh-leese.
Final Plea:
Come back to me Target. The boycott hasn't even begun and I miss you immensely. Saturday errands will be lonely without but like any good consumer, I will soldier on. Stop treating me like I am out to get you and respect the fact that I spend my hard-earned pay check (sadly, sometimes all of it) in your stores. I promise to do my part and cease online shopping until you can pull yourself together. Please do yours and celebrate your customer instead of treating them like you are doing them a favor.
-Luci
Oh, Target. How I love thee. You are always there when I need to wander aimlessly with a cherry slushy and comparison shop for grout cleaner. You provide every essential for that new hobby I didn't know I just couldn't wait to start. When I get the itch to redecorate, you're always there with suggestions at a reasonable price. When things couldn't get better, you go and out do yourself with Target Greatland. Now, not only can I buy more than one single girl could every need of paper goods, Isaac Mizrahi clothing, and potting soil-- I can get my groceries too! Just when the excitement of Target Greatland began to wear off, you introduced the Dollar Spot and knocked me off my feet. It's like you read my mind when I was searching endlessly for Cinqo de Mayo themed tiki torches. And for that, I want to thank you.
The Bad:
While you were an innovator in the returns department when you introduced the 'receipt look-up' using the credit card used to purchase, your success stopped there. Why, why, why? Why do you make online customer print out another receipt from their online account? Why can't I walk into a store to return an online purchase and receive the 'no questions asked' service I have come to expect from your competitors and contemporaries? It is a nuisance at best and the straw that broke the camel's back at worst. I have seen many a customer 'lose their shit' on your customer service representatives because of the hoops that you make us, your loyal customers, jump through. Do you not reciprocate our un-dying devotion and admiration? Does our business not keep the lights on and the employees paid?
The Ugly:
I bought seven silver clutches for Djo-djo's recent nuptials for the Bridesmaids. While I was more than happy to do my duty, Target has made things horrendously difficult. I bought the clutches online (first mistake) and had them shipped to her. They didn't quite work for the wedding and, alas, had to be returned. Attempts were made in-person to make this return, online, and through the US Postal Service. Finally, it was time to use the phone. They assured me that the return was processed and that it was my creditor's fault for not returning my money. The weinus that I spoke to neglected to tell me that Target made the executive decision to give my online account a credit instead of my credit card. (Note: they didn't even credit my account for the total) Is Target so desperate for business that they manipulate returns to keep the revenue in house? Pathetic. When I called and corrected this situation, I only received a credit of 50 bucks and the other 50 (please note the total was over 100) was being held by the 'Fraud Investigation Team' for review. ARE YOU FING KIDDING ME? Yes, that's right, I am attempting to rip-off Target and am willing to deal with their UN-TRAINED, INCOMPETENT customer 'service' reps to do so. Puh-leese.
Final Plea:
Come back to me Target. The boycott hasn't even begun and I miss you immensely. Saturday errands will be lonely without but like any good consumer, I will soldier on. Stop treating me like I am out to get you and respect the fact that I spend my hard-earned pay check (sadly, sometimes all of it) in your stores. I promise to do my part and cease online shopping until you can pull yourself together. Please do yours and celebrate your customer instead of treating them like you are doing them a favor.
-Luci
I just lost my wallet at Starbucks and it wasnt under the napkin dispenser
So let me open by saying I dont know if I can contribute to the drowning franchise that is Starbucks any longer. The customer service has gotten so poor that I have run out of Starbucks to patronize in a 3 mile radius from work and have taken to playing with Russian Roulette with the few I will still enter.
Background: I get back to work from my daily Starbucks run and realize that I am sans wallet.
I get there and my wallet is no where to be seen. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum behind the counter insist that no one has turned anything in. The male Tweedle goes so far as to say 'You sure were gripping it like you thought I was gonna take it' to which I promptly roll my eyes. The female Tweedle comes over to check under the napkin dispenser for me. I sure am glad she was there to do the heavy lifting. Some customers over hear my conversation and add that some lady in a fuscia top walked around looking for the owner of the wallet. I look at the Tweedles who are shocked as they had no clue this happened. The female Tweedle adds that I should check with the police department because maybe this mystery person turned it in there. They then 'go the extra mile' and ask the barista if anyone has turned anything in. I look over to my right and what do you know, there is a lady in a fuscia top. I approach and ask if she's happened to see a wallet and she and another lady (having over heard the entire conversation they are clearly frustrated for me by the incompetence of the Tweedles) tell me that the lady walking around with it, WORKED THERE. I almost broke my neck snapping it around to launch my most violent death stare at my new foes. The male Tweedle quickly scurries behind the counter and asks, who else but the "boss," who has been (as he put it) 'keeping it safe' all along.
I'm not high-maintenance, really. I just want my iced-venti-no water-extra roomy-Americano and I want to leave (with my wallet).
-Luci
Background: I get back to work from my daily Starbucks run and realize that I am sans wallet.
I get there and my wallet is no where to be seen. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum behind the counter insist that no one has turned anything in. The male Tweedle goes so far as to say 'You sure were gripping it like you thought I was gonna take it' to which I promptly roll my eyes. The female Tweedle comes over to check under the napkin dispenser for me. I sure am glad she was there to do the heavy lifting. Some customers over hear my conversation and add that some lady in a fuscia top walked around looking for the owner of the wallet. I look at the Tweedles who are shocked as they had no clue this happened. The female Tweedle adds that I should check with the police department because maybe this mystery person turned it in there. They then 'go the extra mile' and ask the barista if anyone has turned anything in. I look over to my right and what do you know, there is a lady in a fuscia top. I approach and ask if she's happened to see a wallet and she and another lady (having over heard the entire conversation they are clearly frustrated for me by the incompetence of the Tweedles) tell me that the lady walking around with it, WORKED THERE. I almost broke my neck snapping it around to launch my most violent death stare at my new foes. The male Tweedle quickly scurries behind the counter and asks, who else but the "boss," who has been (as he put it) 'keeping it safe' all along.
I'm not high-maintenance, really. I just want my iced-venti-no water-extra roomy-Americano and I want to leave (with my wallet).
-Luci
Monday, September 22, 2008
L'elephant francais
Its finally time... a blog between friends has been born.
What? Two twenty-something bff's take the world by storm and share every detail with you.
Who? We're choosing to remain somewhat annoymous. 1 is a married lawyer from Madison, WI and the other is a single gal working and living in downtown Chicago.
Why? Why not. I've always wanted to write a book about life's little adventures. Blogging is the next best thing.
What? Two twenty-something bff's take the world by storm and share every detail with you.
Who? We're choosing to remain somewhat annoymous. 1 is a married lawyer from Madison, WI and the other is a single gal working and living in downtown Chicago.
Why? Why not. I've always wanted to write a book about life's little adventures. Blogging is the next best thing.
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