Adventures in Rotten Customer Service

Automatic Billing

2009-12-15T13:49:00.002-05:00

I have to scan this. Until I get around to that (cough cough) you'll have to imagine the official letterhead that came in the mail with this cheery sentiment from the allergist's office:

"YOUR BALANCE OF $0.00 IS EXTREMELY PAST DUE. PLEASE CONTACT OUR BILLING DEPARTMENT IMMEDIATELY at..."

If I didn't love the doctor so much, I'd be sorely tempted to send them a check for $0.00...

I'm baaaaaack!

2009-11-03T20:14:00.003-05:00

It's been awhile. Perhaps you noticed and wondered, Have the planets finally aligned? Has Meg's life been filled with considerate concierges, talented tellers, and rockin' representatives? Or maybe your internal monologue isn't quite so alliterate, but the sentiment was still there?

Alas, not quite. Since I disappeared off the face of the blogosphere* I have been in the midst of divorce proceedings, single-mothering two kids, and gone back to school to so I can become a nursey. My little one, aka the Banzai Bonsai, is also a medical puzzle and keeps me on my toes. So, blogs and peesticks took a backseat. (And, pathetically, it turns out peesticks aren't so much fun when you ain't gettin' any.)

*I am so cool.

I also ditched CVS pharmacy and haven't driven through Wendy's in months, which has considerably improved my customer service situation.

But wait! There is good news! For you. I had a craptastic customer disservice day. Of the "ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!" variety. And hey, things are finally moving forward in such a way I'm ready to get back online. So, here we go.

8 weeks ago, Bonzai Bonsai, formerly known as Peestick Baby (now 3 years old, whoa!), saw her GI doc. He ordered a particular test. Centralized Scheduling told me they were "waiting for insurance authorization" when I called to check on the status of the appointment after a few weeks.

I had to cancel the follow-up GI appt., because the test had not yet been done. I talked to our GI nurse, who again checked on the status for us. She was told it was STILL waiting for insurance authorization (6 weeks after it was ordered.)

Since the insurance company is actually good and NEVER gives us trouble like this, I called them. And it turns out that . . . not only did Children's never even call them in the first place, but it DOESN'T EVEN REQUIRE PRIOR AUTHORIZATION.

So then I'm hold with Children's. Centralized Scheduling told me she didn't deal with authorizations. (1. How does that make sense? and 2. IT DOESN'T MATTER BECAUSE I DON'T NEED AN AUTHORIZATION.) But she put me on hold and talked to Sandy, who referred me to Kit. They can't find the doctor's order at all. I happen to HAVE A COPY, so I know it exists. Oh, okay--- you know, "sometimes the orders get scanned into ChartMax and they forget to tell us." How wonderfully efficient of them.

Then after all that, the scheduling lady finally said, "Oh, and we can't schedule an upper GI series with small bowel follow-through. We can only schedule a regular upper GI series. You have to talk to Radiology for that."

So, to summarize:

1. My kid has waited 8 weeks for a test to be scheduled because they "needed insurance authorization."

2. That was a lie. They never called my insurance.

3. If they had bothered to call my insurance, they would have learned they didn't need to bother calling my insurance.

4. If they had bothered trying to schedule it instead of outright lying, they would have realized they couldn't find the order.

5. If they had bothered trying to schedule it instead of outright lying, they would have realized their department was not capable of scheduling it in the first place, and sent me to the right department.

Now maybe you'll sympathize with why I have been absent. AHHHHHHH!!!!

Mwah.

BD: Big Duh?

2008-03-13T17:49:00.002-04:00

My basal thermometer wandered off.

Actually I'm pretty sure it was assisted by my 19-month-old. But she's not telling, and neither is her sidekick the pink elephant.

However, I am sick of the rigid basal thermometer that I've been using since 2001. I'd really prefer a flex-tip (makes temping while half-asleep easier, as I tend to lack jaw control at that hour.)

I'd heard from many sources that the BD fever thermometers are as sensitive as the basal thermometers. But I'd never actually confirmed that, so I called up their technical support line (cue the laughter.)

I spoke with a very nice gentleman who was, at the very least, aware that his company sold basal thermometers. One point for BD. But then I asked the really tough question: what is the technical difference between the two?

Well, he said, the basal thermometers are more sensitive than the fever thermometers.

The basal thermometers are accurate within .1° of a degree, right?

Yes, he said. (He knew off the top of his head! Two points for BD.)

And is the fever thermometer accurate within, what, .2°?

No, he replied, the fever thermometer are accurate within .1°.

So . . . doesn't that mean they're equally sensitive?

No, he replied. Minus ten for BD.

But if they're both sensitive to within .1°, aren't they the same?

No, he said. The basal thermometers are used for something different than fevers.

Yeah, I've been using the BD basal thermometer for over 7 years. I know how they work. But usually fever thermometers are calibrated with a larger margin of error; the BD fever thermometers are a superior product (flattery can't hurt) and are sensitive within .1° just like the basal thermometers.

At this point, he asked to place me on hold. Oh sure, why the heck not.

After several minutes, he came back and informed me that the basal thermometers come packaged with charts and a free trial of charting software. Obviously the most crucial difference between the two!

Thanks for your help, I said. So, just to recap: the basal thermometers are accurate within .1°?

Yes, they are.

And the fever thermometers are accurate with .1°?

Yes. But-the-basal-thermometers-are-more-sensitive.

Got it. Thanks so much for your help!

*click* *blink blink*

You can feel free to repeat my experiment by dialing BD thermometer support at 1-800-511-9223. And now I'm off to buy my flex-tip BD fever thermometer.

Meg's All-In-One Holiday Rant & Gift Guide

2007-11-11T13:57:00.000-05:00

Apparently I missed the memo that said the biggest shopping day of the year is now the day after Halloween. But somewhere between the diapers and the doctor appointments, they changed the rules on me, and Christmas got bumped up another 4 weeks. I suppose I should have smelled a rat when the Halloween decor at Kohl's was marked 70% off by October 15.

But I digress.

This year, in the interest of bettering customer service for all, I am providing (free!) tips to all retailers and retail employees to improve the travesty that is November/December shopping. (You're on your own for the New Year's sales.)

Tip #1: Can the Music
It's such a fine line, catering to a diverse customer base: those who may be shopping for Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, Atheist Kids Get Presents Day *, Winter Solstice, or who simply lacked the foresight to hibernate between October 12th and December 26th. However, I think I speak for the overwhelming majority of shoppers, regardless of faith tradition, when I say that absolutely anything by Alvin & the Chipmunks is against our religion.

*I love Dave Barry.

Tip #2: Take Five Minutes To Train The Seasonal Employees
The holiday season is rich in tradition. The origins of some of these traditions are often steeped in folklore or lost entirely. My dad invites us all to take turns punching the (NB: defrosted) turkey before it's placed in the oven. Retailers have the similarly mystifying ritual of hiring 291 new employees, slapping hand-written name tags on their shirts, and placing them in strategic locations around the store so they are available to answer questions with a deer-in-headlights gaze and monotone, "Uh, I dunno."

In defense of the neophytes, it's not entirely their fault. You don't learn the inventory of the unmentionables department by osmosis. On the other hand, having worked retail myself, I say from experience it's simply not that hard to say: "Let me find out for you!" Having watched my mother spend five minutes explaining the concept of "cuff links" to an employee at the jewelry counter, I'd have to say that many retail employees aren't doing their part, either.

Tip #3: Less Is More
I am not a physics whiz, but I do know that the available space on a clothing rack is finite. For some reason, too many retailers fail to share this trade secret with their employees. Consequently, I routinely find myself engaged in battle with a hanger wedged too tightly among its fellows. The tag gets tangled on other tags. The hanger is stuck. Just as it starts to give, the plastic hanger breaks. The purse falls off my shoulder during the struggle. The clothing item falls halfway down and is lost in the abyss. As I reach into the mass of synthetic fiber to retrieve it, seven other hangers pop off the rack at my feet. (This is why women use the buddy system to go shopping. We must shout "Cover me!" as we dive into the fray.)

Tip #4: Lose the Endcaps
Remember those dumb analogy questions on the SAT? Despite what I said then, apparently I will use those in real life. To wit:

Spring:bunny rabbits::Christmas:endcaps

I can imagine the thought process now: "How best can we serve our customers this year? I know! Let's stack an inordinate amount of crap in the aisles so nobody can move!" Eureka, indeed.

Bah humbug.

HIPAAcritical

2007-10-14T19:06:00.000-04:00

They outdid themselves.

On Thursday, the baby had a kidney scan. As soon as it was over, I strapped her in the stroller and headed from Radiology to Medical Records (getting lost in the bowels of the hospital approximately thirty-seven times, but I digress.)

The nice lady handed me a HIPAA release form. I filled it out, checked it, double-checked it. Then I handed her the form and asked her to triple-check it for me, to avoid any delays like the last time. She did, confirmed it was filled out completely and properly, and signed her own name to the "Witness" line.

On Saturday, an ominous-looking envelope arrived in the mail from the hospital. Inside was a letter explaining that my request for records could not be processed because NO DATES OF SERVICE REQUESTED.

They returned my original release form. I immediately found the spot on the form for "Dates of Service." And you know what? 10/11/07 is written in that spot plain as day.

Frakking morons.

Pain in the HIPAA

2007-09-27T23:37:00.000-04:00

Perhaps you are unfamiliar with HIPAA (Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act.) Perhaps your only experience with this evil incarnate is that bushel of papers handed to you when you see a new physician for the first time. Perhaps you glance at it once, casually, before throwing it away a week later after it develops coffee rings from its impromptu nesting place on the kitchen table.

Perhaps you are not me.

If you are unfamiliar with HIPAA, you can read the Wikipedia entry. Or you can simply take me at my word: HIPAA is a federal privacy policy enacted by minions of the Dark Lord. It has turned the simple act of getting one's own medical records (or one's own minor child's medical records) into an excruciating process less appealing than, and not nearly as productive as, sticking flaming toothpicks in one's eardrums.

Having sparked your interest, I'll cut to the chase. This is not the worst HIPAA experience I've ever had (that honor goes to my experience with Aetna, in the blog archives.) That makes it worse, actually. This is routine.

Last week, my daughter had an medical procedure done at the local Children's Hospital. I knew enough to request the HIPAA release form up front, at the check-in desk. I filled it out (officially giving myself permission to have copies of the medical records.)

Today, I called Medical Records to inquire about the status of this request. (They claim records are available within 1-5 days of request; I waited 9.) First the lady in Medical Records told me there was no HIPAA release on record for my daughter. When I insisted, she put me on hold. Five minutes of Muzak later, she returned. She found the release, but it was missing my address.

Now, I do not recall the form even asking for my address. However, to avoid any problems, I told her I'd come pick up the records in person-- no address should be required, just my ID.

No, I can't do that.

Okay, I'll give her my address over the phone.

No, she can't alter the form.

Well, for goodness' sake, why on earth did the check-in lady who witnessed the release not notice it was missing this crucial, earth-shattering piece of information?

She's not used to the forms.

Pardon me, but she's handing them out, witnessing them, and filing them-- perhaps she should become used to them!

Finally she said I could fax a new release. She faxed me a new release form, and I filled it out (incidentally, it was different than the original form I filled out.) Then I realized the cover page had no return fax number. I called the hospital main line, got the fax number. Faxed it back. Called Medical Records to make sure the fax was received. A different lady answered (naturally, the original woman had left for the day.)

Yes, the fax was received-- but I would have to mail the original to them.

So what the heck was the point of the fax?!

Calming myself, I told her the original form was already on file, minus my address. "Oh, then that's okay," she said.

So . . . apparently an actual original signature can be missing from the HIPAA Holy Writ, but an address cannot.

This, you see, is the beauty of HIPAA. Only Satan could've figured this one out.

Giving CVS The Boot. And Finger.

2007-09-27T19:00:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I (don't laugh) tried dropping off another new prescription at the new CVS. I used the drive-thru and had to use one of those vacuum tube things. I put the prescription into the canister and placed it into the slot; there are buttons so I could press Send when ready. Except the pharmacy tech decided to be Speedy Gonzalez, and turned it on for me . . . before my fingers were clear. The tube smashed my finger as it began its ascent.

It was still throbbing when the pharmacy tech informed me (ready?) that the medication was not in stock, but they could order it.

My temples began to throb, too. "You know," I said fruitlessly, "this is literally the fifth prescription I've dropped off here, and the medication has never been in stock."

You know what she said?

Yup. "We're a new pharmacy."

I went to a different chain and had all the prescriptions transferred over. So long, CVS!

(They tried to screw me on the way out. New Chain called to let me know CVS transferred two prescriptions, but had no record of the other two. I had prescription numbers for those, so with a little legwork, New Chain got it done. Hurrah!)

CVS: Incompetent & Dangerous

2007-09-16T13:56:00.001-04:00

Okay, now I'm breaking out the big guns. I have had it with CVS and their ineptitude!

While visiting family in California, we've had occasion to need both refills and new prescriptions. Here are some of the ways CVS has disserviced me:

• A brand new CVS has opened within spitting distance of where I am staying with family. Charlotte had 0 refills left on her Prevacid, so I needed the GI doc to call in a new prescription. I asked whether it would be easier for CVS to (a) have an out-of-state physician call in a new rx directly or (b) have the dr. call our Maryland CVS and have it transferred to the California CVS. The pharmacy tech told me (a) was easier, so that's what we did. She took the doctor's number. Four days later, they still didn't have the prescription, and insisted they simply could not get in touch with anybody. I finally called myself, got in touch with the appropriate doctor, and had the prescription called in the same day.

The result? Brand-New CVS didn't even have the Prevacid in stock ("We're a new pharmacy"), and transferred the prescription to a farther-away CVS anyway. I could have saved 4 days and driving time if they bothered to check this information in the first place. I asked to speak to a pharmacy manager and was transferred to someone else; I asked if he were the manager and was told, "No. They haven't hired one yet. We're a new pharmacy."

• I went to the Farther-Away CVS to pick up the Prevacid. It comes in the form of dissolving tablets; for infant administration the tablet is placed in an oral syringe and mixed with water. Maryland CVS usually gives me a few syringes with each refill, and I reuse them until the rubber stoppers break and/or the inside has so much Prevacid residue it's purple. I asked Farther-Away CVS for some syringes, and the pharmacy tech had no idea what I meant. I described the syringes (brand name, color, size.) No idea. She offered me a dropper; I pointed out that the tablet cannot be placed into the dropper.

She fetched a second tech for me, who managed to find an oral medication syringe . . . except it was 1/5 the size it should have been. It was too small for the tablet to fit inside. I pointed this out, and the tech called for the pharmacist.

The pharmacist asked me "what my problem" was. I explained the situation. She came out from behind her counter to my side, looked around, and then shouted to another pharmacist, "Where do we keep the oral syringes for sale? This lady doesn't like our free ones!" The pharmacy was crowded, with a long line of patrons, and all eyes were on me.

My eyes popped out of my head. I announced loudly, "Excuse me. The ones you've offered are too small to fit the tablet! I'm only inquiring about what my regular CVS offers me. You don't have to make it sound like I'm throwing a fit because I'm so picky I don't want your syringes."

Then the pharmacist turned to me and said, loud enough for the entire pharmacy to hear, "I don't have to take this from a customer. Pick up your medication and go."

"I'm going," I snapped. "CVS is apparently staffed by morons, coast to coast!" Okay, it was rude. I was also sleeping sitting up in an armchair with a refluxy baby, and hadn't had more than a consecutive hour of sleep in a week.

• My older daughter needed a refill of her regular medication. Fortunately hers was a straightforward transfer and the drug was in stock at the Brand-New CVS. I discovered that this CVS did in fact carry the (free) oral syringes and asked for a handful.

• A week later, I took a prescription for an additional reflux medication to the Brand-New CVS. It was a new prescription, and I dropped it off in person. Several hours later, I got a phone call. Brand-New CVS did not have the ability to mix a liquid suspension ("We're a new pharmacy"), so they were transferring it to Farther-Away CVS. Oh Lord.

I picked up the new rx at F-A CVS. So far, so good. Took it home and administered before bedtime as ordered (thanks to one of my trusty new oral syringes, safely hoarded.) Except the baby wouldn't swallow it. Took a taste; gagged on it myself. Called the F-A CVS, which is fortunately open 24 hours. Pharmacist and I discussed flavorings (it is compounded with baking soda and tastes like bitter ocean water.) He said he'd call the flavoring company to ask about whether he can flavor this drug; promised to call me right back. Before we hung up, I noticed and mentioned that there was an error on the prescription label and asked him to confirm the dosage. He paused. Put me on hold. Came back. The medication had been compounded at ten times the prescribed dose. My jaw dropped. He told me he'd look into it and call back.

90 minutes later I called him again. It was now 11:00 p.m. Flavoring company hadn't gotten back to him. But he looked into the compound and thought the dosage was done properly after all; it was just a typo on the label. Forgive my skepticism. I wanted the med re-compounded. I'd be in touch tomorrow. Doctor ends up taking kid off the new med, don't bother following up on this one.

• Doctor called in yet another new rx (Pepcid) to the Brand-New CVS. A few hours later I called to ask if it's ready to pick up. Oops. They don't have the liquid suspension available ("We're a new pharmacy") . . . no, really. Transfer to Farther-Away CVS? Sure, why the hell not.

I got to pick this one up from F-A CVS without incident.

• Baby developed unrelated infection. See Urgent Care. See new rx. See Meg cry. See Meg be stupid and drop off rx at Brand-New CVS. See B-N CVS call Meg and explain they don't have this medication in stock. Seriously. I cut her off. "Look, I know you're a new pharmacy and all, but presumably corporate gave you some actual DRUGS before you opened." She said "Sorry."

As long as I had to get the prescription at F-A CVS, I called in the refills for both the Prevacid and Pepcid. They called to inform me they were all ready for pick-up.

When I got there, the Pepcid had not been reconstituted (it was powder in a bottle) and they had mistakenly given me half the amount of Prevacid they should have. Good freaking thing I realized both of these things before I left.

• Urologist wanted baby on prophylactic antibiotics. Finally wise, I skipped B-N CVS altogether and dropped off the prescription at F-A CVS. The tech read it and pointed out that the PA who wrote the script made an error. At 2 mL/day, the total 250 mLs she prescribed would be a 125-day supply of medication, which is highly unusual. Fine, I said, just give me 60 mLs (standard 30-day supply.) She had to check with the pharmacist.

Nope, she said when she returned. The law does not permit them to alter a prescription. The doctor's office had to be contacted; they could confirm or change the prescription. I checked my watch; 4:30. The office would close in half an hour. She said she'd fax them immediately.

I wandered around CVS for twenty minutes. I looked at the pregnancy and ovulation tests (my hobby.) I read the brochure for Jitterbug, the cell phone designed for elderly people. I checked out their stock of automatic blood pressure cuffs. I looked at their compression stockings, canes, and hemorrhoid cream. Finally I returned to the counter and asked the tech whether the dr.'s office had gotten the fax and cleared up the error.

"Oh," she said, "I don't know. The fax is in the back, so I just wait for someone to bring me my faxes periodically." My temples began to throb. I asked if she would check, given that I had been waiting ten feet away for 20 minutes. She did, looking inconvenienced. No, there had been no response. Too late for today; I could try again tomorrow. I asked for a pharmacist.

The tech left and returned a minute later. "The pharmacist who said I had to call them went off-duty, so I asked another one, and he said just to give you as much as your insurance will pay for."

Surprise, surprise. Insurance paid for a 30-day supply . . . the 60 mLs I had asked for, the 60 mLs that "could not be dispensed" because it was "illegal" to "modify a prescription." Yeah. That.

On the way home, I stopped at B-N CVS and asked for a handful of oral syringes . . . I have developed a habit of this, so I now have quite a nice little supply. I am rationing them carefully, yet I ask for "as many as you can give me." This is my way of sticking it to them.

So there you have it. From sea to shining sea, my experience has been that CVS pharmacists and its technicians are rude and poorly-trained (or simply incompetent.) Its shelves are poorly stocked. They have made potentially dangerous errors in dosage/dispensation of drugs for infants. They fail to return calls, review prescriptions before accepting them, or contact doctors for clarification in a timely manner. They have little sense of urgency for sick children. And finally, I am breaking free. Took me WAY too long.

CVS: sucks!

TSA: Making air travel safer, one warm chicken sandwich at a time

2007-05-27T16:07:00.000-04:00

We just returned from visiting family x-country. We've flown many times in the past few years (about a dozen round trips) and this was our third flight since the airlines insitituted the new liquid/gel restrictions. And, alas, it was our first negative food allergy-related travel experience. No allergic reactions . . . just had the police called on me in the airport!

TSA objected to the frozen gel pack in Rora's food cooler. Now, I've scoured the TSA website for this information and shared it with an allergy forum I frequent several times-- liquids/gels needed to cool medicines or foods required for medical conditions are permitted.

But this particular TSA supervisor had a bug up her butt. She wanted a doctor's note. I asked to see where on the website it said I required one. She said "I'm not looking anything up, because I know our regulations." I asked for her supervisor. She told me she didn't have one. I told her I knew she wasn't running the TSA on her own. She called the police (per escalation protocol.)

The police listened to me explain (calmly!) that my kid with allergies can only eat food I prepare, and I wanted this little gel pack to keep her food cool for a 5+ hr flight. They turned to the TSA lady and said, "So what's your problem?" (God bless you, my brave Maryland state officer!) She got snippy with them and reiterated "That's our policy."

I said, "Security screeners at this airport [BWI] and San Diego have NEVER had a problem with the gel pack, so apparently this is a matter of discretion. I'm asking you on behalf of a 3-year-old with a medical condition to let it go through." She said, "No."

I said, "You must not have children." She snapped, "I do have children." I said, "You must not have a child with a medical condition." She said, "I have a child with a very serious medical condition." I said, "Then I'm appealing to you as a mother of a child with a medical condition--" and she interrupted with "No, you're implying I have no compassion. I do, but WE always fly with a doctor's note."

At which point I gave up. She took my gel pack but OH SO GRACIOUSLY provided me with a Ziploc baggie that I could take to the restaurant inside the secure area and ask for ice.

Incidentally, my 10-oz bottle of hand lotion and TWO little Purell bottles got through security without a peep (I didn't even declare them. I'd forgotten them, since I carry them all the time.) One of them was even clipped to the OUTSIDE of the diaper bag and they didn't notice . . .

And the return trip? TSA guy asked, "Do you have any liquids or gels?" I replied, "The cooler has ice in it." And he said, "No problem."

Beware BWI-based TSA . . .

CVS: It Just Sucks

2007-03-16T21:10:00.000-04:00

Forgive my lack of creative title. It's much too hard to come up with a new one each time CVS disservices me.

The first new CVS tale happened a month or so ago; I accidentally knocked over my daughter's medication bottle and lost all but a few doses. I went to the drugstore and explained what happened, hoping they would pity me and give me half a bottle for free. (For goodness sake, it's generic Bactrim-- it's hardly liquid gold.) The pharmacist said no.

Fine. Here's my $10, give me the meds.

Nope-- first I had to wait 45 minutes. And when I returned to the pickup counter, I was informed they were out of the regular flavor.

Whatever-- she can take grape. She needs her meds.

Okay, we'll give you grape. Wait right over there and we'll dispense some.

Tap tap tap. 10 minutes later: here's your grape. Except we're almost out, so here's your dose for tonight. Come back tomorrow. Not like they could've mentioned that an hour ago so I could patronize the CVS up the road.

Then, today, I dropped off a new prescription and came back 45 minutes later in the drive-thru. The prescription bottle had a warning "NOT TO TAKE IF BREASTFEEDING" (which I am) so I asked the pharmacist about it (since the doctor should have known better.) She wasn't familiar with the side effects, so she asked me to wait while she looked it up. While I waited there, a pharmacy tech came to the window and asked if I needed help.

Nope, I'm being helped, I told him.

Do you need to pick something up?

No, waiting for the pharmacist to look something up for me.

Oh. You need to pull around then.

Why?

Because there might be people behind you.

There aren't.

Oh. Okay.

(Did I mention this was a drive-thru window? Had he turned his head 90° to the right, he would have seen Lack of Cars Behind Me.)

So, apparently my drive-thru experiences are the same wherever I go. The scary thing is, they need a college degree to work the one at CVS . . .

Archives: Nationwide Moving & Storage

2007-03-07T12:18:00.000-05:00

In August of 2003, my husband and I moved from Burbank, CA to Baltimore, MD. We collected moving quotes from various companies and went with Nationwide Moving & Storage, headquartered in Las Vegas.

On the day of the move, they arrived six hours late. Inasmuch as we were supposed to be starting our drive across the country once our belongings were loaded on the truck, this was more than a little inconvenient. We did our best and set out late.

Our things were supposed to arrive in Baltimore in "10-14 days." We took a leisurely drive (due mostly to the fact that I was 12 weeks pregnant and throwing up in every gas station and truck stop in the contiguous U.S., and that we were traveling with an elderly kitty who needed frequent breaks.) We stopped to spend a few days with my husband's grandparents in the midwest, and arrived in Baltimore after about 9 days.

Then Nationwide began to stonewall us. Our belongings had not been delivered after 14 days; when I called, I was told their delivery windows are "14-21 business days." I almost cried. We went to Target and bought an air mattress. Day after day I called, awaiting our furniture.

Finally, about a month after Nationwide took possession of our possessions, I got a call saying they would be arriving the following morning. And, oh yeah-- our belongings took up more room than they had estimated it would, so we were responsible for double the estimate. Payment in full was due before they would unload the truck.

This time I did cry. We had just left jobs and my husband was still waiting to start his new job in Baltimore. We did not have thousands of extra dollars lying around for movers. I called my parents, who wired us $2000. That was a wild goose chase in and of itself, trying to find a Western Union location that would deal with sums over $500. We ended up splitting the amount and collecting it from two different locations just before closing time.

The next day, the movers arrived . . . not in the morning, but in the evening. They unloaded our boxes and were long gone by the time we discovered many broken items (including wedding china) and missing items (curiously enough, several DVD's packed securely in the middle of a box were gone, as was a crystal jewelry box.)

When we filed for insurance reimbursement, we were told that we could collect only on items packed by Nationwide movers-- not on objects we had boxed ourselves. We estimated the replacement value of our broken/missing items was about $700. Our reimbursement? Fifty-some dollars.

I have always been angry about this particular company. And yesterday I ran across a website, MovingScam.com, that has a blacklist of moving companies.

Yup. Here it is. Nationwide is known for "operating without the required licenses and insurance to perform household goods moving services. Complaints include low-ball bids to attract customers followed by extremely higher rates once belongings are loaded on the truck... Other complaints include extensive damage and missing items at delivery."

This experience was definitely one of my worse Customer Disservice experiences, since they were not merely incompetent, but purposely deceptive.

4 Stars for Liberty Richter

2006-12-11T20:09:00.000-05:00

While this blog is my collection of horrible customer service anecdotes, I have on occasion given accolades. This is one of those occasions.

I am involved in the "food allergy community" (I hate using the c-word for everything . . . perhaps I should say "underground"? LOL.) Both of my daughters have food allergies; one of my nephews does, too. Reading every label on every food product is second nature to me, and I am always on the lookout for safe food alternatives.

One of the products my sister buys for my nephew (and many parents in my Community/Underground buy) is called VeganRella, manufactured by Liberty Richter. It's a cheese substitute that contains no dairy, no soy, and no legumes, making it unique in the allergy world.

Last week, VeganRella changed its recipe to contain expeller-pressed soy oil. This came as a very unwelcome surprise for parents (and kids!) whose only source of "cheese" is VeganRella. A grassroots effort was launched, with POFAKs (that's Parents of Food-Allergic Kids for those of you not in the peanut-free gallery ;) calling to voice their disappointment.

In a phenomental move, Liberty Richter has decided to resume the production of VeganRella with canola, instead of soy, oil. Until this incident they were unaware that their product was so popular in the allergy world. And in the meantime, they even offered my sister (one of the moms who called) a small stash of the canola oil version to last my nephew until the new canola oil batches hit the stores in a few weeks-- after a thorough cleaning of their production equipment, to reduce the potential for soy contamination.

This kind of service is virtually unheard of; some day I will rant about Hain Celestial, maker of Rice Dream products (and many, many, many others.) To have Liberty Richter address this issue promptly and resolve the matter in a way most beneficial to both manufacturer and consumer is, simply, fanfrickingtastic.

Fun With Maintenance

2006-12-06T09:00:00.000-05:00

The heat distribution in our apartment is pathetic. The other night I woke up drenched in sweat. I used my nifty desk thermometer to determine that our bedroom was 83°. I put the same thermometer in my 2-year-old's bedroom; 61°. Every vent in the apartment is closed except the one in her room. We had this problem last winter, too, but I didn't have a 3-month-old coughing and sweating by my side at the time.

So I called maintenance. Hee hee.

Two men showed up, determined the vent in her room is indeed blowing, and decided it would help if her window weren't poorly sealed and allowing cold air in. We'll get you new weatherstripping, they said, and left.

Of course, they never came back. Instead, the next morning, I got an e-mail from the management office declaring my support ticket closed.

I dialed maintenance and identified myself. Where oh where is my weatherstripping?

She put me on hold while she checked. She returned. "Oh, they had to order it. It will take a few days."

"Okay, then why is my support ticket closed?"

I could hear the unspoken duh as she replied, "Because the issue is resolved."

"Not on my end," I told her. "My bedroom's still cold!"

"But they'll come back," she insisted.

"How will they know to come back if the support ticket is closed?" I wanted to know.

"They just know," she retorted.

Are there really people for whom this is true? Because if I had to give Vegas odds on this one . . .

JCPenney: Customer Disservice

2006-11-25T21:56:00.000-05:00

I had a blouse to return; tags intact, receipt accounted for. I had the kids in the double stroller (the part finally arrived, thankyouverymuch!) We were on the upper level of the mall. I entered the housewares section of JCP and approached the customer service kiosk. Two women employees were gabbing to themselves, and a much younger, disinterested looking male employee stood with his arms crossed, staring off into space.

"Hi," I said to the man. He looked at me expectantly. "Can I return something here if I bought it downstairs?"

He replied, "You bought it downstairs? You might have to take it back there."

I said, "I do?"

He said, "Yeah, you might have to."

I replied, "I might, or I do?" If I didn't have to find an elevator and navigate through the crowded mall, I didn't want to!

"I'll ask," he said, turning to the women, who were studiously ignoring us. Naturally he didn't want to interrupt them, so he stood there, waiting. I did, too, because I found their conversation so deliciously ironic . . .

They were comparing Inconsiderate Customer stories; namely, how much they hated it when customers were on their cell phones while they (the employees) were trying to ring up a purchase. "I told him, if you don't want to make your transaction now, then go to the end of the line!" said one to the other.

Never mind the employees who are chatting while a customer is waiting to complete a transaction . . .

(Yes, I was able to return the blouse right there.)

McDonald's: Doing Without

2006-11-25T21:44:00.000-05:00

"I'd like a quarter pounder with NO cheese and NO bun, please."

Jared was giggling as we pulled up to the window. "This can't end well," he said.

I peeked inside the box. Yup . . . there was cheese.

Sent it back. This time they got it right, but here's what it looked like:

Sauce pretty much everywhere except on the meat . . . ah well.

Whole Foods: Unholy

2006-11-11T14:18:00.000-05:00

I called my local Whole Foods and asked for 2 cases of their store brand original rice milk set aside for me. I gave my name and said I'd be there within a couple of hours to purchase it. (Thing Two is following in her sister's food-allergic footsteps; I'm on the dairy/soy/wheat/egg/fish/nuts-free diet to accommodate the allergic breastfeeder, and my toddler is still drinking her weight in rice milk every day.)

The guy assured me they had it in stock, and said he'd put 2 cases aside with my name on them.

I showed up at Whole Foods less than two hours later. There was a woman restocking the shelf next to the rice milk. I approached her and explained, "I have some rice milk set aside for me in the back; who can get it for me?" She looked at me and said, "Rice milk," then pointed to the rice milk aisle. I tried again. "No, they put some aside two cases for me." She shook her head. Obviously English was not her first language. She pointed to two other employees nearby. "You ask other person."

I approached the other two employees. "Hi. I called earlier and had two cases of rice milk set aside in the back for me." One of them pointed to the rice milk aisle. "Rice milk is that way," he said.

I tried hard not to roll my eyes. "No, I TALKED to somebody and had them SET ASIDE some CASES of rice milk for me. They're in the back. Can you get them?" The other employee turned and called to a fourth employee nearby. "Hey Miguel!"

Miguel came over, and I repeated, "I have two cases of rice milk waiting for me in the back."

"Rice milk? There's some right there," he said, and pointed to the refrigerated rice milk on the shelf.

Ready to scream, I snapped, "NO. TWO CASES." I held up two fingers. "In the BACK." I pointed to the Employees' Only door, which was only a few feet away. "I called earlier and had them SET ASIDE for me. They have my NAME on them."

"Oh. Hold on." He disappeared. I waited.

A fifth employee emerged. "You're looking for rice milk?" he said.

"Yes," I replied, cautiously.

"Let's go down here," he said, and began leading the way to the rice milk aisle.

"CASES," I managed to say.

"Yeah," he said, and kept walking.

I humored him. We arrived in the rice milk aisle. There was one case of 365 brand Original stacked in the corner. He put it in my cart and then looked around helplessly. There were several boxes on the shelf, but no more cases. He grabbed a case of Vanilla, opened it, dumped the boxes on the floor, and began filling the empty cardboard case with Original rice milk from the shelf.

When he was halfway through, a sixth employee approached us, pushing a cart with . . . two cases of rice milk on it. On those cases was written my name and the words "2:00 p.m. pickup."

SO glad I called ahead to save myself some trouble.

Curse of the Insurance Company

2006-11-11T14:07:00.000-05:00

This is a first. I mean, I realize I'm cursed, but this took on a whole new dimension.

I received a letter in the mail from my insurance company. They had been trying to contact me at XXX-XXX-XXXX phone number regarding a program they have (they send newsletters and offer phone support for people diagnosed with various conditions.) The letter made no mention of what condition they were seeking to support me in having. And incidentally, the phone number they had was wrong, which explains why they couldn't reach me. Having no interest in this program, I didn't seek to correct them.

A couple weeks later I received a phone call from them. Apparently they found my phone number all by themselves. The woman informed me that a person diagnosed with my condition could benefit from their support program. I asked, "What condition?" She replied, "Lower back pain."

"Uh, I don't have lower back pain," I replied.

"You don't?" she said.

"No. And since I received a notice saying you've been trying to reach me at the wrong phone number, I suspect you have me mixed up with someone else entirely. Please remove me from your list."

She did. Or so she claimed. A week later I got another phone call from the same program. I told that rep I do not suffer from lower back pain, and asked not to be contacted again. Naturally, a third person called me a few days later; I repeated my spiel, and she confirmed I would no longer be contacted.

Yesterday I was in the shower with my toddler. The baby was in her bouncy seat in the bathroom. She started to fuss, so I leaned over to replace her binky.

My back went into a spasm, and 24 hours later I am still in horrid pain, unable to bend over without a muscle spasm.

NOW I suffer from Lower Back Pain.

I'm cursed.

American Airlines: Guest Post

2006-10-05T17:31:00.000-04:00

People like to share their disservice stories with me. It makes us, like, sympatico. However, this one is truly worthy of the first ever Customer Disservice Guest Post. (It helps that I know the victim quite well in "real life" so I know this was not embellished!)

First, meet Annie. Annie, these are my devoted readers. Devoted readers, Annie is married to Mike; their sons are Isaac (3) and Sam (1). Collectively we shall call them the N family. They flew American Airlines to attend a wedding on the other coast and were innocently trying to make their way back home when they were struck by Disservice Lightning (my apologies-- I think I'm highly contagious!) The witticisms herein are hers.

4 a.m. PDT: The N's stumble out of bed.

5 a.m. PDT: The N's arrive at the airport in Oakland, CA. They check luggage, make it through security. Woohoo. The plan is to fly from Oakland to Seattle to Chicago and then home to Baltimore at 10 EDT.

Oakland to Seattle flight: uneventful.

Seattle to Chicago: preceded by 2-hour layover. They board the plane at 10:30 a.m. PDT.

11 a.m. PDT: pilot announces weather in Chicago is stormy. Time is needed to ensure a safe flight and landing are possible. Another 45-60 minutes on the tarmac are necessary. Isaac is distracted by Goldfish crackers and Magna-Doodle. Sam enjoys making Mike's bladder function as a trampoline.

12 noon PDT: pilot announces that not only is the weather in Chicago worse, but the plane is now experiencing mechanical difficulties and a repair must be attempted.

1 p.m. PDT: passengers become restless and leave plane to stretch. The N family follow suit. Annie realizes she has only 1 diaper and 2 bottles of formula left for Sam. She finds a diaper dispenser in a restroom and purchases an extra.

1:20 p.m. PDT: Annie considers buying food for the kids, but the flight crew are rounding up passengers to re-board. She decides to make do with onboard snacks. Editor's note: cue giggling from the peanut gallery as they see where this is going.

1:30 p.m. PDT: the N family are safely onboard. Many passengers have grown tired of waiting and rebooked their flights; as a result, American Airlines resells these tickets-- and the flight is overbooked. A family of 4 has been sold four seats, but none of them are together.

2:00 p.m. PDT-3:00 p.m. PDT: The flight crew spend an hour attempting to reseat passengers in an effort to seat the aforementioned family together. People are kicked off the plane. Children are crying. The people in front of the N's get fed up and leave altogether, scrapping their trip. The aforementioned familly now has a place to sit. However, the flight crew are now absent, ostensibly pouring over the new flight manifest.

3:00 p.m. PDT: the plane finally pulls away from the gate, only to join the end of a long line of planes waiting for the runway.

3:30 p.m. PDT: plane is safely in the air. Passengers are invited to purchase American Airlines snack packs. Cheese crackers, raisins, and Lorna Doones for only $4. The N's decline.

8:45 p.m. CT: plane is circling Chicago. Pilot informs passengers the weather is still too hazardous to land. Oh, and the plane is low on fuel. Without clearance to land soon, plane will be diverted.

Isaac is now awake from his nap and begging for food. He has no further interest in the Goldfish crackers or granola bars his mother has available. Crackers and raisins now sounding more appealing, Annie flags down a flight attendant. She is informed the snack packs are all gone. Mike inquires about the availability of peanuts. Or pretzels. Or anything edible. Flight attendant informs them they are up shit creek without a paddle. Editor's note: I admit to taking liberties with the precise phraseology. More probably her words were "You guys are way screwed."

Isaac cries. Sam cries. Nearby passengers begin throwing bananas, cookies, and leftover Lorna Doones at the N family.

9:15 p.m. CT: plane is diverted to St. Louis.

9:45 p.m. CT: plane lands in St. Louis. Cue Annie's panic about the diaper/formula situation for her baby. Plane sits on tarmac. The influx of diverted flights means there are few available gates.

10 p.m. CT: pilot announces, "Folks, this just isn't our night." Editor's note: they're really channeling Meg now! Audible plane-wide groan ensues. Pilot explains a gate has been found, but it's not owned by the airport. Rather, it's owned by the city of St. Louis, and nobody at the airport has a key. They need to go wake someone up. Editor's note: no, they are NOT kidding.

10:45 p.m. CT: key is found. "Fasten Seatbelt" light goes off. Everyone stands up. Pilot announces, "Folks, you're going to need to sit back down." The flight crew, unfamiliar with this particular gate, have not lined things up properly. The plane must pull ahead another few feet.

Isaac wails. A voice calls out, "Cry your heart out, little man!" Annie cries too.

11 p.m. CT: the N's are free of the evil clutches of American Airlines.

11:01 p.m. CT: the N's discover their gate-checked stroller is not waiting for them. They trek on foot, then collapse in the waiting area.

Mike produces his blessed Blackberry and books flights that way rather than standing in the long lines now formed at the agent desk. Then he approaches an agent and requests a hotel or food voucher. Agent explains that while vouchers are normally given for mechanical delays, technically this flight was delayed due to weather and therefore no vouchers will be given. She gestures to a box of toothbrushes by way of compensation.

11:17 p.m. CT: Mike contemplates homicide.

11:18 p.m. CT: Annie begins asking every family with a baby or stroller if she can borrow a diaper or formula. She scores a too-small diaper and 4 ounces of formula.

11:45 p.m. CT: the N's are in their hotel room and fall asleep quickly, praying Isaac does not have a nighttime accident in the hotel bed.

1:30 p.m. EDT, following day: the N's arrive in Baltimore after an uneventful flight . . . only to discover the airline has lost their luggage.

Folks . . . it doesn't get much better than that. "Congratulations" to the N crew and American Airlines for warranting an unprecedented guest entry in my hallowed blog. And Annie? I suggest vodka.

Strolling Me Crazy

2006-09-25T18:53:00.000-04:00

I love my Aria Twin MT stroller. Except for the fact that a big piece of it fell off the third time I ever used it. I didn't bump anything. We were completely unaware of its disappearance until it came time to fold the stroller up and put it in the car.

Jared figured out that if you jam a key into the side to slide it up it can be folded-- but that works only for people without arthritis. In the meantime I'm glad I have a station wagon because it can fit without folding, barely. One of the hoods got mangled doing that though.

I called Peg Pérego and asked for a replacement part. Since it's a brand new stroller, no prob. I even got her to throw in a new hood since ours got ruined as a result or the original problem.

The hood arrived. The other part was backordered but was supposed to ship 2 weeks ago. I called today to find out where it is. Apparently parts came in, shipped out to everyone on the list in front of me, and went back on backorder. How many of these things are falling off?!?! (I asked, actually, and was told that they do often fall off when subjected to baggage handlers when traveling.)

This lady was helpful enough to suggest using a pen. Who am I, MacGyver? I told her that works only about half the time for my husband, and I'm arthritic and can't do it at all. I jammed my wrist attempting it again today.

As far as I'm concerned the company is holding my $300 hostage because their brand new product fell apart and is not terribly usable in the meantime. (When my mom was in town and we went to the mall in her rented minivan, I had to leave the stroller at the Cheesecake Factory for Jared to retrieve on his way home from work-- it wouldn't fold, even with my mom, sister, and me all working at it for 20 minutes, using a key.)

ARGH.

P.S. I bought it online from an authorized retailer, so I can't exchange it.

Free Valet Parking

2006-09-22T15:18:00.000-04:00

You know that saying "Be careful what you wish for; you might get it"? And you know that saying, "You get what you pay for"? Right. Well, I was just thinking that it had been awhile since I had any really good blog material. And then I used the free valet parking outside the hospital while I ran inside to pick up copies of some X-rays.

I plunked the kids in the double stroller, ran my errand in the hospital, and came back out-- ten minutes, tops. The valet returned with my car, left it idling in Park, and tried to hit the door-unlock button for me. Except, he locked the doors instead, and then, naturally, closed the driver's door.

Yup. All four doors locked; key in ignition; engine running.

To his credit, he was really apologetic. And I knew he'd been trying to help, so I told him not to worry about it. So long as he didn't lock my kids in the car, I wasn't terribly upset.

Of course, that was before a total of four valets and two security guards spent 45 minutes trying to jimmy my car door while I sat on a bench with the kids (one of whom was a very hungry toddler.) I was getting rather nervous, recalling that my mom once had her car's power locks damaged by a dunce with a Slim Jim. I voiced my concerns, so one of the valets changed to a coat hanger. Oh, what a vast improvement :p

Here's some rare pictorial insight into my life, which I've come to believe is decidedly unique in the number of bizarre and inconvenient things that occur. Please excuse the quality, as it was taken with my Sidekick from afar:

Note how it's blocking the entire drop-off area in front of the hospital. I witnessed several newly-discharged, wheelchair-bound patients and two very pregnant women having to take detours.

After awhile, feeling that perhaps the troupe did not really know what the hell they were doing, I dialed 411 for the number of a local Ford dealer. They connected me to a Ford truck dealership; the receptionist said she couldn't help me, and gave me another number to call. It was supposed to be some hotline to get a duplicate key; instead it connected me with a random computer company. I tried 411 again (specifying CAR dealership!) I got through, waited on hold for quite awhile, and finally got a warm body. He informed me that if I had the key's code (which I did) I could walk into a Ford dealership and get a new key.

With no car and two small children I sure wasn't going anywhere, but I thought perhaps one of the valets (like, the one who locked the keys in the car to begin with) might feel bad enough to do it for me. Naturally as soon as I proposed the solution, one of the valets whooped triumphantly as the car door popped open!

So now the weatherstripping on all 4 windows is shot to hell, since they spent nearly an hour trying to jimmy each of them in turn. I did make sure all the power windows and the power locks still functioned.

I took the gas money out of the valet's tip.

Shilling for Cotton Babies

2006-09-03T17:05:00.000-04:00

I've "known" the owner of Cotton Babies online for several years now, so I'm giving her a plug. I think I get a coupon, too ;) But as a connoisseur of customer disservice, I can say with authority that Cotton Babies isn't it-- they're far too prompt and helpful. Visit the site for your cloth diapering & breastfeeding needs!

(Just don't tell anyone I own cloth diapers. Next they'll expect me to Save The Whales and wear hemp jewelry or something ;)

Baby Hospital Pics: The Sequel

2006-08-25T09:39:00.000-04:00

I sent an e-mail to customer support saying:

I have entered my 12-digit password and first 4 letters of my last name to find a preview of my new baby's photo, but receive an error message (says it can't find the photo.)

The response came 48 hours later, saying:

Thank you for contacting Expressdigital Customer Care. We strive to provide a world class level of support. If for some reason this solution does not address your needs please reply to this email and the ticket will be re-opened.

This email describes how to retrieve your password.

If you are a photographer and cant log in to Publisher, please visit and click on the link that says “Manage my account online for PC “ then “I have forgotten my password”.

If you are a Customer who signed up with an account to purchase photos from a photographer and need you password to log in to your account to look up your order status or order more photos. You can visit click on the Order status link and then click on the link that says “I forgot my username and password”.

If you are customer of a photographer and are trying to view you photos and are prompted for a password before you can view the photos, you MUST contact your photographer as Photoreflect does not set these passwords nor do we store them.

Thank you for contacting Photoreflect customer care. If this email does not answer you questions, we apologize for the inconvenience and encourage you to reply with further inquiry.

Not surprisingly, none of this helps me whatever. So, I replied:

You said: "We strive to provide a world class level of support." FYI: keep striving. Apparently nobody actually read the description of my problem before forwarding me the standard "This Idiot Lost Her Password" FAQ.

I have NOT lost my password. I have it right here. It's just not working. I've tried spaces, no spaces, all caps, no caps, you name it. I never registered for an "account" on the website, so I cannot change the password. I merely paid $6 at the hospital where I delivered my baby; 2 weeks later I received a brochure and a password to preview the photograph online. Said password fails to get me an online preview-- just an error message.

I don't have a photographer to contact, because I'm sure the minimum-wage lady-with-a-camera in the hospital nursery is in no way connected to the Great Photographic Entity that issues the passwords. In fact, she was unaware that previews of the images were even available (I asked. We thought we were buying actual photos, not the privilege of receiving advertisements, incidentally.)

So, if the CSR rep who reads this would actually do me the favor of, say, doing his job and helping me with my support question, I'd really appreciate it.

Baby Hospital Pics

2006-08-23T19:46:00.000-04:00

Thing Two made her grand debut on August 10. With a great sense of irony, she held out in time to be the first child in 3 generations to be born overdue-- but came so fast in the end that Mommy didn't get drugs and Daddy had not yet arrived at the hospital! Yes, we think we got a stubborn one :p

Anyhoo. We decided to purchase the hospital portraits taken of baby Charlotte despite the fact that they do not provide a preview. The photographer had noted on the form "Eyes open at time of picture" so we figured it couldn't be that bad-- especially for only $6. Figuring we'd get a handful of wallet-sized photos or a 5x7 or something, we filled out the order form.

Today the big envelope marked "Baby Photographs" arrived. I opened it to discover . . . a brochure for all kinds of photo packages, keychains, etc. That was it. Apparently the $6 was for the privilege of receiving mail. Before I got too livid, I did notice that a URL and password were given to preview the photo online. I went to the website, entered the password, and got an error message-- photo not found.

I clicked on "Customer Care" for help, only to have my browser resize itself (I hate that!) and still not find anything in their FAQ about my problem. I e-mailed them, but as I wait, I think I'd be better served to give up the $6 gracefully and take my own darn pics.

CVS: Evil, Part II

2006-06-30T22:39:00.000-04:00

Remember how the electronic "confirmation" the doctor received was just a bunch of gorgonzola according to the pharmacist who then made me wait 2 hours to fill the script I needed? Good. Keep that in short-term memory for about 2 paragraphs.

We discovered last week that the cause of Rora's recurring UTI's is kidney reflux. Fortunately hers can be treated medically rather than surgically. She will need to take antibiotics every day to prevent infections. She just finished up the meds to treat her UTI, so today I dropped off the new prescription for the prophylactic, daily drugs.

(Remember Paragraph 1? Good!)

When I went to pick up the presciption 30 minutes after dropping it off (in person, I might add!) the pharmacist (a different one) handed me a bag and said, "Oh, from the 25th, right?"

"Huh?" (I admit to being both tired and in a McDonald's brownie sundae-induced food coma.)

"You dropped this off on the 25th?"

"Nooo . . . I dropped it off half an hour ago."

"Well, did you want this one too? It's the same medicine."

Then it clicked. Yes, this was the ORIGINAL PRESCRIPTION that had SUCCESSFULLY been logged in the pharmacy's computer at 6:34 p.m., just as the doctor had received electronic confirmation of. The prescription I actually took home on the 25th was a duplicate-- after I finally got ahold of the doctor and had her confirm via phone that she had prescribed the drug. The pharmacist really was a dumb@$$ unfamiliar with his own pharmacy's electronic prescription system.

I was so not pleased. I told today's pharmacist as much, but I don't think she even understood what I was saying. Or cared.

CVS: Chronically Villainous Salespeople

2006-06-25T14:27:00.000-04:00

My 2-year-old began showing symptoms of another UTI last night. Being Saturday evening, I paged the doc on call, who agreed to call in a prescription to my local CVS/pharmacy. I confirmed both address and phone number with the doctor before hanging up at 6:30.

At 7:30, deciding an hour was more than enough time for the pharmacy to fill the prescription, I ran to CVS to pick it up. Naturally, the pharmacist informed me that there was "no record" of the prescription ever being ordered.

Flustered, I called my husband, and had him obtain the on-call number from the Post-It on my desk. I provided the number to the pharmacist, who had the doctor paged. While we waited, I wandered the drugstore filling my basket with various impulse buys such as a new toothbrush and conditioner.

After about half an hour, I approached the pharmacist again. Nope-- the doc hadn't called back. I asked him to page her again. He said he would. I wandered, this time treating myself to some new bath salts, then ogled the ice cream.

Thirty minutes later, still no call back. This time _I_ called and explained to the answering service lady that it was crucial that the doctor call back. My toddler was in pain, waiting at home while Daddy kept her up past bedtime so we could make sure she got her medicine before going to sleep. The pharmacy had no record of the prescription, and the doctor had not called back in over an hour.

The answering service lady was great, and assured me that she would keep paging the doctor all night if she had to! She put in a third page.

Thirty minutes after that there was no reply. I called again, and the answering service lady told me to sit tight, she would try to reach the doctor on her cell phone. (By now, I was up to Super Sticky Post-Its and a new medicine spoon. I briefly contemplated the at-home anemia test kit, but managed to resist its siren song.)

And the doctor called me right back. With the news that she had ordered the medication online and had a confirmation number stating that the prescription had been received by my pharmacy at 6:34 p.m.

It was now 9:15 p.m.

I handed my cell phone to the pharmacist, who spoke with the doctor for a minute, then hung up and handed me the phone. "Okay, we'll get that filled for you."

I said, "You've had it in your computer for nearly 3 hours?"

He said, "No, she just called it in."

I said, "She had a confirmation on her PDA that it went through at 6:34!"

He replied, "Oh, those don't work." I said, "Don't work? Your company sends erroneous confirmation numbers? Don't you think if it didn't work, physicians wouldn't use the system?" He flashed the most condescending, annoying smirk.

I narrowed my eyes. "Will this take about five minutes, or what?"

He looked at me. "Ma'am, there are several prescriptions waiting to be filled here."

I nearly lost it. "And I've been sitting here for an hour and a half waiting for you to fill mine, which in your incompetence you managed to lose. Have you ever seen a two-year-old with a UTI? You know what? Their pregnant mothers don't wait around for more than ninety minutes waiting for pharmacies to get their acts in gear. I'll be back in ten minutes to pick up my Bactrim." I stalked off.

About seven minutes later, the pharmacist found me to say it was ready.

Short-Term Memory Loss at Wal-Mart

2006-06-06T01:36:00.000-04:00

On vacation and desperate for comfier, cooler maternity pants, I went to Wal-Mart this evening. I grabbed a few items to try on, and the dressing room doler-outer pointed to an empty dressing room. As soon as I got in the room and stripped down to my unmentionables, the door opened-- "Oh, sorry!" It was the woman who assigned me the room. She had forgotten I was in it.

Several minutes later, I exited the room and said to her, "I'm going right back in-- I need to grab another size." "Okay," she acknowledged.

While I was rummaging on a rack fifteen feet away from the room, I saw the same woman assign my room to somebody else (my sister, actually, so I had no problem yelling for her to get another one ;)

Sigh.

RhoGAM: Bullseye

2006-05-19T18:32:00.000-04:00

I am the official owner of a burning butt. Shot successfully administered.

In a fit of irony, it began to rain literally the minute I turned the car off in the parking lot. Rained on me (and Kid) up to the office, and on the way back to the car. It stopped about 3 minutes after we got back in the car.

There really is a little black raincloud hanging over me . . .

4:56 p.m. update!

2006-05-18T17:04:00.000-04:00

This afternoon, the supervisor from Caremark did call me back. And wonder of wonders, she was NICE and SYMPATHETIC and APOLOGETIC and ATE the cost of the RhoGAM (credited back to my Visa) so I don't have to bother filing for reimbursement with my medical coverage. Gave me her extension if I needed anything.

I called later, when FedEx still hadn't showed by their 3 p.m. deadline. She called the FedEx manager in charge of "my" delivery truck, expressed the "medical necessity" thing, attempted to get it delivered by 4:30 p.m. (enough time for me to get to the ob's before close of business.)

At 4:52 p.m., Mr. FedEx arrived at my ob's office just as they were getting ready to close up; not enough time for me to make it today. At least they have it safe and sound now.

The receptionist did page my ob earlier today, ob said I could have the shot as late as tomorrow. So stay tuned for the conclusion of the RhoGAM Wars Trilogy.

All this for a shot in the @$$. That's the real indignity.

RhoGAMboling: Give it Another Shot

2006-05-18T12:47:00.001-04:00

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

*Meg goes on stuffed animal-killing rampage*

Okay. I am now completely and utterly calm and reasonable. *pops head off stuffed puppy*

It is now 12:45 p.m. and the RhoGAM has yet to arrive via FedEx at my ob's office.

So I called Caremark, the prescription coverage, from whence my RhoGAM was ordered. I learned that the FedEx flight was delayed 3 hours, and delivery is guaranteed by 3 p.m. today. I asked why it was not shipped until yesterday, when it was supposed to ship the day before. Turns out the person I spoke with mailed it Standard Overnight instead of Priority Overnight. She also failed to confirm delivery with my physician, as she failed to account for the different time zones, and called after the close of business.

Then I called Principal, my medical coverage, and asked again about their coverage of RhoGAM. The representative (unlike all the others) knew what RhoGAM is and when it is given. She assured me OF COURSE IT'S COVERED!!! and is listed under their codes as an injectable drug. She has no idea why the Caremark lady assured me that she has "worked alongside Principal for years and I KNOW FOR SURE they do not cover it." I will "definitely" be reimbursed once I submit the necessary information to Principal.

So, here's what happened:

*Meg does legwork, and finds out RhoGAM is covered under medical, not prescription. Calls dr.'s office and tells receptionist this.

*Receptionist messes up, calls prescription instead of medical. Prescription lady takes it upon herself to say, "I do not work for Principal, the medical coverage, but I KNOW they do not cover this drug. Neither do we." Calls me, tells me so, charges me for the drug OOP, and screws up the shipping to boot.

*FedEx delivery schedule goes awry.

I mostly blame Prescription/Caremark Lady. Fortunately I have her name, her extension, and a call in to her supervisor >:-p

RhoGAMboling: It's the Principal* of the Matter

2006-05-17T12:26:00.000-04:00

*It's a pun on the name of my insurance underwriter, not a grammatical error :p

So. Today I am 28 weeks pregnant, and as I am part of the lucky 15% of women with an Rh- blood type, I require an injection of a nifty drug called RhoGAM. The shot is administered to every Rh- woman at 28 weeks, so this should not be a shocking occurrence to insurance companies. My doctor's office does not stock RhoGAM. She'll order it if insurance requires that she supply it; otherwise she writes a prescription and it's BYOR.

4 weeks ago I called my prescription drug coverage number; they do NOT cover RhoGAM. I called the medical coverage number; they said they would cover RhoGAM if the dr. ordered it. I called my ob's office and told the receptionist she'd need to order it for me. She did.

On Monday, 2 days before my appointment, I received a call from my insurance company. Oops, sorry, they don't cover RhoGAM after all. Not prescription drug, not medical, nada. They can give me a "cash discount" at $113 and send it directly to my ob's office. I can try to submit the claim for reimbursement later. But I need to pony up my Visa number on the phone, and they will order it the next day (Tuesday) and have it overnighted in hopes it arrives in time for my 10:15 a.m. Wednesday appointment. Yes, these people knew I needed the RhoGAM for 4 WEEKS and lagged. Why am I not surprised?

Today is Wednesday. And-- everyone get ready now-- the RhoGAM was a no-show. The receptionist at the ob's office got on the phone to my insurance company . . . it's en route now but will not arrive at my ob's office until tomorrow. I have already been charged (Visa.)

Did I mention that RhoGAM must be administered within 3 days of a blood sensitivity screening? Yeah, mine was done on Monday, as part of the blood drawn during my glucose test (see previous blog entry. Enjoy!) That means I must have the injection done no later than tomorrow.

And . . . did I mention that legally, an obstetrician must be present in the office during the administration of the shot?

My ob, however, is scheduled to perform C-sections at the hospital tomorrow. So, we've got three options:

(a) RhoGAM arrives at ob's office tomorrow. Doctor has time in between surgical deliveries to meet me at her office (located next door to the hospital) where she will have just enough time to pee while her medical assistant jabs a needle in my @$$ and sends me on my merry way.

(b) RhoGAM arrives at ob's office tomorrow. Doctor is unable to get away from the hospital, so I will courier the RhoGAM from her office to the hospital next door, where I will go up to L&D and arrange for one of the nurses to give me the shot there. Note: doc has no idea if the hospital will permit this, so if not, we're onto . . .

(c) RhoGAM arrives at ob's office tomorrow. Doctor is unable to get away from the hospital, and hospital will not permit me to receive my shot on their L&D floor. I will, therefore, drive to my ob's office, pick up the RhoGAM, and drive 25 miles to a third-party location: the office wherein my ob's partner practices two days a week and will be working tomorrow. (Coincidentally, this office is also home to my daughter's pediatrician, so at least I know where the hell I would be going.) That office would administer the injection.

So tomorrow is Field Trip Day . . . so I can put anywhere from 40-55 miles on my car, $113 out of my pocket, for a drug that is required, standard treatment for 15% of the pregnant population because my insurance company 1. claims they will not cover the drug and 2. failed to ship it in a timely manner. While 6 months pregnant, arthritic, and asthmatic, juggling a toddler who's got a runny nose and is exceedingly cranky.

Whee!

Biohazardous!

2006-05-15T16:28:00.000-04:00

Hoo boy. What scares me most about this particular experience is that the main offender works not for a fast food chain, but a medical lab. Biohazardous fluids are a far cry from French fries, tu sais?

Today was the grand occasion of my glucose tolerance test (GTT.) For the uninitiated, this involves forcing a pregnant woman to chug a high-sugar beverage (one brand name is Glucola) and then checking her blood sugar an hour later. I knew from my first pregnancy that I kinda like the taste of Glucola (orange flavor) so I wasn't worried about much other than sitting in the waiting room with my 2-year-old for an hour.

Little did I know . . .

I arrived at the independent lab at 10:15 a.m., paperwork in hand. I signed in, and waited 20 minutes before my name was even called to check in. When I presented the desk clerk with my paperwork, she said, "These forms are for Quest Diagnostics. This is LABCORP."

"I got this address from the Quest website," I informed her. She shook her head. "No, this is a different COMPANY."

"That may be," I said, "but is there some type of affiliateship? I only know this place is HERE because I checked the website. I even looked up locations that administer the GTT specifically."

"Ma'am," she snapped, "this is NOT Quest." I met her eyes evenly. "Is there a Quest location on this street, then?" I knew the answer would be no, and it was. Before I could progress to asking her to check the website herself, she grumbled, "I can call your doctor and have the order transferred here."

"Great!" I said brightly, with faux enthusiasm. I took my seat again and waited. As I monitored the volume on said 2-year-old's LeapPad to ensure Tigger's woo-hoo-hoo-hoo did not become too raucous, the desk clerk called out again, "Megan? Did you have anything to eat today?"

"Yes," I told her.

"Yes? You did?" she repeated disapprovingly. (Some doctors prefer fasting for the tests, while some do not.)

"Yes," I repeated, "I called my ob's office to che--"

"I just need a simple YES or NO," she cut me off. I just gave you one, you twit, I thought. (This is approximately the time when Evil Meg's Internal Monologue begins.)

More waiting. Tick-tock. Finally, at 11:10, nearly an hour after I arrived, I was called back by a lab tech. I entered a back room, and she asked me to sit in the blood collection chair. "Uh, don't we do that after I drink the Glucola?" I asked.

She frowned. "Oh, wait, you're doing that?" she exclaimed, suddenly looking at the form. My eyes widened. Perhaps it's silly of me, but for some reason I would expect that before forcibly removing bodily fluids from an individual, a competent lab tech might actually read and see which fluids are expected, when, and for what purpose.

"Yeeees, that's why I'm here," I responded. She stared at the form for a minute. "Okay," she said, "I need a urine sample first."

Fine. 6 months pregnant, absolutely no problem. I took the cup and my kid and headed to the restroom. Where there was . . . no toilet paper. Naturally! Not like they collect urine samples here *cough cough*. I made do with paper towels and returned to the back room, sample in hand. She took it from me and placed it on the counter, then handed me the Glucola bottle.

As she wrote something on the form and I began to chug (mmm, refreshing!) she pointed to Aurora, who had seated herself in a chair opposite me, and asked, "Is that a boy or a girl?" That? "She's a girl," I responded. "Hence the pink." (Forgive me-- my child was wearing gender-ambiguous jeans, but she did have a Pepto-Bismol colored sweatshirt AND pink shoes. I apologize for passing on hair growth-deficient genes. My husband had hair. I was bald until kindergarten. Or something.)

"How old is she?"

"She's two."

"Oh," replied the tech. Then she opened her mouth in a jaw-breaking yawn, so I could see her fillings. As I finished the Glucola, she did that three more times, the last couple of times groaning as she did so. How utterly professional!

When I had finished the drink, she said, "Okay, come back here in an hour, don't eat or drink anything in the meantime."

"I won't," I replied, and relocated to the waiting room.

While waiting, I overheard something that is best described as "customer disservice." It didn't affect me, but I sure wouldn't have stood for it-- it was way out of the league of misunderstanding "no mayo." It involved a little boy younger than Aurora, probably close to 2. He was playing in the waiting room with his brothers and parents, and was called back for a blood draw. Everyone in the office could hear his cries, presumably as the blood draw commenced or became imminent. After a minute, the tech (a man) barked, "Oh stop it, I've hardly touched you." Stop it? Like, stop crying, you stupid little scared toddler unreasonably afraid of the stranger with a needle? I could hardly believe my ears. In a moment the boy's cries became blood-curdling shrieks, at which time a door slammed, the shrieks became slightly more muffled, and the tech's voice boomed again, "Knock it off, you're FINE."

The boy returned with his mom, sniffling, a minute later. I think the entire laboratory should be duly contented that they were not drawing blood from my child with that attitude. My blood pressure was soaring from Mama Bear-by-proxy!

But my tech, though less obnoxious, was apparently not much more experienced or efficient. At 12:15 I returned to her lair for the blood draw. She said, "Sit down." I sat in the chair. She smiled at Aurora. "Is she your first?"

"Yup," I replied.

"That's nice." She turned back to the paperwork on the desk. "Oh, wait, first I need some urine."

I said, "Again?"

"Again?" she repeated. "Did you give me some already?"

My eyebrows raised. "Yes," I informed her, "as soon as I got here." She peered down at her notes. "Oh. Well, I need another one."

I asked, "You can't use the first one?"

She said, "I could have . . . but I threw it away."

"You threw it away?"

"Yeah." Silence.

Frustrated, I said, "Sure, fine. Give me the cup." She handed me another one, and I trekked yet again to the toilet paperless bathroom with toddler in tow, then back to the room with the tech. She accepted the sample and asked me to sit down again. While she readied the vials and needle, she asked, "How old is she?"

She had asked that an hour ago, but I was just another patient in the sea, so I replied again, "Two." She said, "Oh, is she your first?" I blinked. She had asked that only a few minutes before. They let this woman come at people with needles? I was kind of creeped out. "Yeah," I replied.

"Oh, that's nice." Doo-dee-doo-doo. Cue Rod Serling.

She took my blood, and that was that. I left the lab at 12:15, two hours after arriving. Now I have to trust that all went well, and the right blood and pee will be sent to the right place for interpretation, and come back to the right doctor with the right results. In the meantime, I may write a little note to LabCorp suggesting they perhaps interview their candidates a little more carefully.

And if my tests come back showing an elevated prostate-specific antigen level, we'll know who to blame.

DMV: Bicoastal Inefficiency

2006-05-01T19:21:00.000-04:00

As mentioned in my rant about the Maryland Motor Vehicle Administration we need to have the title for our car reissued. The car was a gift to us from my father and we need to have the vehicle officially titled in our names and then registered in the state of Maryland (currently it is registered to him in California.)

Two months ago I sent the completed forms and required $16 check to the state of California requesting a duplicate title. I attached the invalid/mutilated copy of the title. And waited. La la la.

Weeks passed. My dad, eager to have the vehicle out of his name, went to the Ford dealership where he purchased the car and asked for their help. A very nice lady called her contact in Sacramento and discovered that . . . of course! Our request was lost in the mail. Or something. Whatever happened, they didn't have it.

Back to Square One. My dad obtained the forms (AGAIN) and filled them out (AGAIN) and sent them to us (AGAIN) to fill out the rest. We attached another check (this time for $31, since a replacement title is more expensive than a duplicate title) and waited (AGAIN.)

Incidentally: the registration is now expired in the state of California, and I cannot yet register it in the state of Maryland, lacking the title. The car is therefore unregistered. La la la.

Another two weeks passed. Tonight I receive a call on my cell phone from my mother, who is at AAA (their car insurance provider) seeking to clear things up once and for all.

So, she tells me, remember those forms the California DMV never got? Yeeeeah . . . .

Well, apparently they did get them . . . and were baffled. That a Maryland resident was requesting a California title was beyond their collective bureaucratic ken. Instead, they issued (to my father's California residence) a letter stating they had no fricking idea what we wanted of them. And it took them 6 weeks to articulate this.

I'll hate to learn of the ensuing confusion when the second set of forms arrive . . . though that's been 2 weeks, they still have no record of that ever arriving.

Thanks to the nice lady at AAA we hope to have our car titled in our names and registered in our state sometime in the next eight years or so. As it is, the car will need a repeat inspection . . . since the original was only good for so long, and thanks to those on-the-ball folks in Sacramento, we're way past that.

Not-So-Great Steak & Potato Co.

2006-04-25T16:01:00.000-04:00

My weekly junk food treat yesterday: a cheesesteak sandwich combo. No mayo.

A nice gentleman in line behind me was having his cheesesteak made at the same time-- in front of us, on the grill. The cheesesteak-maker asked the man if he wanted mushrooms. "No," he said. The C-M returned his handful of mushrooms to the bin.

"Mine has mushrooms," I piped up.

"Oh, you too?" he said. "Yes, I ordered the Super Cheesesteak," I replied. (That's mushrooms, onions, and green peppers, plus cheese, lettuce, and tomato, sans mayo.)

He sprinkled mushrooms on mine. Then he asked the man, "Onions?" "Yes please." Man got onions. Then he began reaching for something else . . .

"Excuse me, mine has onions too," I piped up.

He looked at me. "Wait, what did you order?"

"Super Cheesesteak."

He paused to look at the receipt. "You said no mayo," he said triumphantly.

My mouth opened-- and bless the man next to me, he responded for me, scoffing-- "Yeah, no MAYO, not no onions!"

The C-M looked at me dully. "So you want onions." "YES."

He applied onions. The man and I exchanged looks. I said, "His first day?" The man said, "That's what I'm thinking."

C-M reached for the peppers . . . yup, Man got his. Mine did not. Man championed me: "Hers gets peppers too!"

"But she said no mayo!" the C-M said again. The Man looked at me, aghast. I assured him, "This happens to me all the time. Don't worry."

I turned to the C-M. "I want EVERYTHING except mayo. I PAID for peppers, I want peppers."

My sandwich got its peppers. The man looked at me. "They're not usually this bad. They usually have a different crew."

I laughed. "It's my karma. I even blog this stuff. I'm sorry you're stuck behind me!" He laughed.

The C-M began to apply my sandwich to bread, now fully cooked. The Man said, "Where's her cheese?" C-M stared for a second and said, "Cheese too?"

We just started laughing like crazy. I got the cheese. He handed me the sandwich. Man said to me, "Did you want lettuce and tomato, too?" I shook my head. "I give up." During the ordeal, my mall buddy had already gotten her Sbarro's and was half done with her pizza.

However, the second employee informed me, "Oops. No fries. I'll put them in right now." He dumped a batch into the deep fryer. Oh whee. "How long?" I asked. "One minute," he said.

I stood there and tapped my foot. Man was also waiting for fries. I looked over my shoulder and saw my friend was sitting patiently, empty plate in front of her.

I looked at my watch. 4 minutes had passed. "Hey, you think those fries burned three minutes ago?" I called. The employee took them out of the fryer. "They're fine," he said.

However, they were Cajun fries, not the plain ones I'd ordered.

I cut my losses as usual. As I accepted the fries, I heard a woman joining us at the grill informing C-M, "Everything, except mayo on the side." I cracked up. "Good luck with that mayo thing," I told her.

Forget contentious political elections. The real disenfranchised population of the United States are we the mayo haters!

Outsourcing Disservice

2006-04-15T22:13:00.000-04:00

My husband told me that McDonald's is piloting a new program in some of its "restaurants," wherein drive-thru patrons are actually connected to a central customer service location that takes the order and sends it back to the appropriate McD's location, rather than give anyone at the actual restaurant a headset. I find this to be equally breathtakingly promising and incredibly scary.

On one hand, I might actually be saved from experiences like the one I had last week. I ordered a #10 combo (fish sandwich) with no tartar sauce. Wising up, I was not deceived by the "Special Order" sticker on the box, and actually inspected my food before leaving the drive-thru. Good thing, because my sandwich was swimming in tartar sauce, though it lacked cheese.

"Excuse me," I said, catching the woman's attention. "This has tartar sauce. I ordered it without."

She frowned. "He [the guy at Window #1, who actually took my order] said 'only cheese.'"

Uhhhh . . . "That's right. ONLY cheese means YES cheese, NO tartar sauce."

When I got my replacement, it had only HALF a slice of cheese . . . as though they'd ripped off the uncontaminated half from my original sandwich and salvaged it. I chose to consider it a diet sandwich and drove off.

So, anyway, perhaps if I had a highly-trained McDonald's menu specialist in a cushy chair in a cubicle somewhere in Oak Brook, Illinois, things might go better.

On the other hand, I could repeat the outsourcing experience I recently had with Delta Airlines. I admit it, it was my fault. I purposely confused the hell out of the automated phone tree to speak with a warm body. And then I had the temerity to ask for TWO price quotes-- my destination airport was flexible, either Cincinnati or Dayton would have worked for me. But Ms. Delta Specialist really had a hard time understanding that I could fly to EITHER airport; she kept giving me a quote for BOTH. As in, Baltimore to Dayton to Cincinnati.

I tried to spell it out. Nicely. I swear. But then she asked what airport I wanted to fly into once I left Ohio. I said, "Round trip." She said, "But what airport?" I said, "ROUND TRIP. Back home." "I don't understand."

No, really. She said that. I asked if I could speak with a representative who DID understand. Silence. "Okay," I tried, "See, when I go on vacation, I leave my home in Baltimore, but my home stays right where it is. So when I fly BACK HOME, I want to fly BACK TO BALTIMORE."

No wonder Delta's going under. (And, for the record, I went with United. They were also $600 cheaper. No joke.)

And that is why I am both intrigued and terrified at the prospect of outsourcing disservice.

McD's: I'm Hatin' It

2006-03-21T18:21:00.000-05:00

Such simple things can ruin one's evening.

I ordered a #5 combo. That's a chicken BLT with Ranch sauce . . . except I order it without the sauce. I wanted a lemonade to drink.

At home, I discovered my BLT was minus the B, the L, and the T, in addition to the Ranch. Just a lonely, naked chicken.

And my lemonade was Sprite.

Chick-Fil-A-Hole

2006-03-09T17:25:00.000-05:00

On my keychain is a mini debit card, handy for making purchases without fumbling in the depths of my wallet. I clip my keys to the diaper bag and fast $ is always at hand.

Today I stopped at the food court in the mall. I handed my card (with keys) to the Chick-Fil-A cashier. He swiped the card . . . and then I saw him turn and fumble with my keychain. A moment later he handed the keys back to me with my receipt and walked away from the counter.

I clipped the keys back on the diaper bag, and moved out of the way to make room for the next customer while I waited for my food. Then I noticed that my little Visa had fallen on the floor several feet away.

Yup. He broke the card off my keys, managed to slip it back on just long enough to make a getaway, and said nothing. I guess that's why he sells chicken :p

Going Postal

2006-03-07T13:43:00.001-05:00

Last week I rented a post office box to be used in conjunction with my website. I requested and paid for a small box.

On Saturday, my husband took a message from me while I was in the shower. Apparently the P.O. employee had mistakenly assigned me to a medium-sized box. According to my husband, they were offering me the choice of keeping the medium box for the original small box price (until renewal time) or of changing boxes now. I was to call Wayne.

Today I called Wayne. When I explained who I was, he said, "Oh, we took care of that already." I said, "What do you mean? I'm speaking to you for the first time."

He said, "We already took care of that on Saturday. I spoke with somebody."

I said, "You spoke with my husband, who took a message. I'm returning your call. My husband is not the owner of the box; how could you take care of anything through him?"

"Well, we already changed your box number."

"My husband was told I would have the option of keeping the box."

"I already switched it."

Sigh. Fine. That's what I wanted to do anyway, rather than change my address in 6 months anyway. But it annoyed me that I would be given options and then have them taken away; also that the decision would be made behind my back, so to speak.

"No charge on the key swap," he told me.

Oh, gee, how magnanimous of you.

Skechers: Walk Away

2006-02-09T17:12:00.000-05:00

I don't know who did it, but somebody informed my toddler she's about to turn 2, and she has been acting accordingly. (Perhaps it's something in the water-- the cat has also been getting on my last nerve. Right now he's eating Walt, my indoor potted palm. I digress.)

She discovered lately that it's really fun to take off her shoes (Velcro) in the car, and even more fun to increase her glee in proportion to how firmly Mommy says, "Rora, DON'T TOUCH YOUR SHOES!" So I decided it's time for some shoes that can be double-knotted.

Since I am a Skechers devotée (I'm a jeans 'n' tennies kinda gal) I headed over the mall to buy Aurora her very first pair of Skechers. And fortunately for someone else *whistles*, they had a BOGO-half off sale.

I walked into the store where I was promptly ignored by three salespeople hanging out behind the register. I proceeded to the back, where the kids' shoes were. I found a pair I liked immediately (and so did Rora, because they light up.) But I wanted to have her feet measured, since it had been awhile.

I looked around for a foot measury-thingy. Nope. I looked at the register, where the three employees were engaged in conversation regarding somebody's boyfriend. I said, "Excuse me." Nothing. "EXCUSE ME?" I waved my hand, in the vain hope that perhaps their visual acuity, like the T-Rex, was based on motion.

Before I had a chance to get louder or storm over to the cash wrap (while keeping a certain little gremlin from opening every shoebox on the shelf) an employee emerged from the back room, walking right past me. "Excuse me," I said gratefully. He shook his head. "You need a salesman," he said, and yelled, "YO!" to the chittering employees.

One of them finally lumbered over to me. "Hi," I said, "I'd like my daughter's feet measured."

He disappeared without a word (I cheerfully imagined, Sure, ma'am, I'll go get the measury-thingy. I'll be right back. I often fantasize about decent customer service. Forbidden fruit and all.) He did return shortly with the device. And . . .

He dropped it on the floor at my feet. So I, the pregnant woman, crouch down and measure my kid's feet while he stands there staring. (In my mind: Here, let me just measure her feet for you. Why don't you sit down in this chair? Make yourself comfortable.) When I was done, I said (irritated and semi-sarcastic), "Thanks." He walked away again, rejoining his comrades behind the register.

I looked on the shelf. She measured a 6, but she's been a 6 for awhile. Perhaps a 6.5 would be a wiser purchase to allow for the inevitable growth. (Fellow parents will recognize the phenomenon of spending money on a particular size of clothing, only to have said child grow 3'' overnight.) I didn't see a 6.5. I snagged a woman heading toward the back from where she'd been cackling at the register. "Are there any more sizes in the back?" She said she'd check.

She returned. No 6.5, she said. "Do you need anything else?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'm going to buy myself a pair, too." (Internally: Sure, do you need any help finding a size? What kind of style were you interested in?) Actual response: "Okay"-- AS SHE WALKED AWAY.

Fortunately I'm familiar with my own shoe size, and found what I wanted easily, because I am a very boring shoe-wearer. And thus ended my foray into the Lightning Round . . .

Roomba: Tick-Tock

2006-02-09T17:10:00.000-05:00

Remember how they sent the part that didn't work?

Turns out it didn't work because . . . one must have a functioning battery in order to use this device (which updates the Roomba's firmware.)

Yet they sent us this piece in order to update the firmware because the Roomba didn't CHARGE our battery. Of course! It's so simple. Any Meg CSR could've thought of it.

Idiots.

We're waiting for the new, fully-charged battery to arrive in the mail. They said 7-10 days. Do I hear 16?

Vonage: Up Your Whoo-Hoo

2006-02-09T17:09:00.000-05:00

Not only does Vonage fail to recognize the fact that we've now canceled our service with them, oh, three times (still charging us monthly), they're also now charging us for hardware we never received.

Roombust II

2006-01-19T20:32:00.000-05:00

The wrong part arrived. We dutifully ignored it.

The right part arrived. It didn't work.

Gee, couldn't see that one coming.

DMV, Harbingers of Doom

2006-01-17T20:13:00.000-05:00

Okay, so in Maryland it's MVA. I refuse to capitulate. And however you abbreviate it, DMV be damned.

My father gifted us a vehicle. He sent us the title, we filled out the appropriate form, I had the car inspected. Dotted i's, crossed t's, stood in line at the DMV with the omnipresent toddler. When I reached the Document Inspection booth, the nice lady looked over everything I had, then informed me that Maryland does not recognize out-of-state gifts. The registration fee is 5% of the sale price of the car; if the car is gifted, not sold, 5% of the Blue Book value of the car is due. In this case, that's $500. Um, no.

Went home, called Dad requesting notarized bill of sale selling us the car for the princely sum of $1 (and the intention of paying the 5% registration fee in pennies.) One of my sisters became very sick, and during her hospitalization other things understandably fell by the wayside. Several weeks later, the bill of sale arrived, my dad's signature notarized.

Hopped in the car, stood in the 45-minute-long line. Document Inspector Lady #2 reviewed my documents, approved them, and had me stand in yet another line. When I reached the head of that line, the employee examined the bill of sale and informed me that my husband and I also needed to sign the document and have it notarized. (Now, if I am presenting the bill of sale as authentic on my behalf, and it's notarized by the seller, why the hell must I sign it too? Smile and nod.) It would've been nice if Lady #2 had picked up on this minor detail, before sending me to stand in another line. And it would be nice if I were the type of person who could order a burger without some major snafu (like getting chicken nuggets and a drive-thru order-taker arguing with me about what I had ordered. I digress.) As is painfully clear at this point in my life, I am not that type of person. And now I have plans to pay the 5-cent registration fee with my credit card, thus costing them a transaction fee in excess of $1. Mwahahaha.

I go home. Hubby and I rustle up a notary. I return to the DMV today, where I stand in another 45 minute line. Document Lady #3 examines my documents . . . and points to the White-Out on the title. I wrote the zip code in the wrong box, I inform her, and whited it out. White-Out constitutes alteration of the title, she informs me, and voids it. I will need to order a new title from the People's Republic of California.

My jaw drops. Several thoughts are spinning in my head, and the first one that comes out is, "It's just correction tape. It can be scratched right off."

Oh no, she tells me. That's alteration of the document, and it's already null and void.

"Even if it comes right off?" I ask. "What if I take the title, scratch it off, and come back through this line?"

I have offended the morality of the DMV, apparently. No, I can't do that. She would still know. I roll my eyes. "What's your day off?" I ask. She is most decidedly unamused.

The second document inspector at the booth overhears and joins the fun. "You can take it up with the governor," she snaps.

My jaw drops lower. "Excuse me," I say. "I'm not trying to be smarmy. I am frustrated, at this point, because I have now been here several times, and none of the previous three individuals who have checked my documents ever pointed this out. If this were the first time anybody checked and told me this, it would be understandable. But now I have to come back a fourth time-- each time somebody notices something new with the papers and sends me on a fool's errand."

"Quit hollering at me," she says. My jaw goes lower, at this point rivaling a python unhingeing its jaw to enjoy a tasty giraffe. "Ma'am, I'm not hollering, I'm not even raising my voice!" (It was true. I swear.) She waves her hand at me in an unspoken whatever.

"Look, I'm asking you to understand my frustration with your fellow employees, who have now cost me at least 3 extra trips here with a toddler."

"I'm not going to speculate on what may have happened in the past," she responds irritably. So much for any iota of sympathy.

"Fine. I'll just come back a fourth time. Have a wonderful day." I take back my documents and step aside to make room for the next person. As I'm putting away my license, the first lady says, "Let me see your title again."

Thinking maybe she is going to cut me some slack, I hand it back to her, then turn to put my wallet away. She hands me the title again, wordlessly, and I realize I'm S.O.L. I scoop up the kid and head to the car. (On the way out, I am accosted by some individuals with a petition for a certain political cause. So NOT in the mood. I inform them I am on The Other Side and head to my car.)

Once the kid is buckled in, I reach for the title. May as well see just how cleanly that White-Out tape scratches off, just in case I can actually avoid the bureaucratic nightmare that ordering a replacement title from California entails. (I had to order a copy of my birth certificate awhile back-- and that was excruciating enough!)

That's when I realize what the employee had done when she asked to see the title "again." She had circled the "altered" portions in thick red marker, making it impossible even to attempt removal of the White-Out. $*%&!

Roombust

2006-01-14T09:59:00.000-05:00

For Christmas, we received a Roomba-- ya know, the robot vacuum cleaner. Woohoo! We packed it up from our California Christmas and brought it back to our Maryland electrical outlet. Where it stubbornly blinked red and refused to accept a charge.

I called the manufacturer's number and they said this was a known issue; they would ship us a part that would arrive in 7-10 days.

Right.

Today, more than 2 weeks having gone by, hubby called them again. He was informed that the part had been on backorder, but had indeed shipped, and would be arriving this week.

Right.

Ten minutes later, the phone rang again. It was Bobby from iRobot again, calling to inform us that after some additional research, he discovered that iRobot had ordered and shipped us the wrong part, and warned us not to install it, as it would damage the Roomba. He placed the correct part on order, and I figure that will be arriving sometime before next Memorial Day. At which point it will probably blow up our Roomba.

Can I shoot telemarketers for sport?

2006-01-10T13:51:00.000-05:00

Today, the phone rang. Caller ID informed me it was a particular telemarketer soliciting funds for some fundraiser.

The first time they called, they asked for Miss Campbell. When I informed the caller he had the wrong number, he told me it was a general call soliciting donations. I let him talk for about 15 seconds, politely interrupted, and informed him I was not able to contribute.

The second time, I told them no, and please remove my number from the list.

Third through fifth times, I was more irate, said "REMOVE ME FROM THE LIST" and hung up.

Today, someone once again asked for Miss Campbell. I informed him there was no Miss Campbell here, and for the SIXTH time, remove my name from the list!

"You just said you're not Miss Campbell, so your name's not ON my list," he retorted.

OOOOOH. I hate telemarketers. I hate cheeky ones even more.

"Then take my NUMBER or whatever-the-hell-you-have off the $*%&! list," I snapped.

He was still talking when I hung up the phone. Days like this I really wish I had a "regular" phone. Clicking "off" on a cordless doesn't carry with it the satisfaction that slamming the receiver down does!

I'll let you know next time they call.

Misadventures in Health Care & Sam's Club

2005-12-08T14:40:00.000-05:00

I swear I need to start a new blog just for health lack-of-care experiences.

Anyway. The Kid woke up with a very deep, dry, hacking cough today. We moved to the area recently (old ped is 30 miles away) so I called the local ped a friend recommended. They didn't have an appointment available until tomorrow, and suggested I take her to Urgent Care.

At Urgent Care, Aurora was diagnosed with-- ready for this?-- a cold! Okay, fine. I'm glad her lungs sound good and the cough isn't anything major. Doctor said, "Give her some Triaminic." I explained about her food allergies (unable to give her OTC meds because of the additives) and asked if she would call the compounding pharmacy for me to have a safe version made up. She said, "Can't you ask her allergist?"

I told her last time I went that route it took 8 hours, because the allergist is VERY busy (considered one of the top allergists in the U.S.) She said, "I'm not comfortable doing that."

I said, "You don't write prescriptions here?"

She said, "I do, but I don't know about her allergies."

I explained that Aurora's allergies are on file with this pharmacy, they made up some Tylenol for me last week, I just need her to call (even though it's an OTC dosage/active ingredient, they need an Rx for special formulation.)

She said, "_I_ don't call, the nurses do." Whatever. "Well, could they, please?" Sigh. "Oh fine." Gee, SO sorry to put you out. What a pushy witch I am, asking a doctor to call in a prescription for my sick toddler!

Whatever.

Then I made the mistake of running over to Sam's Club, which happens to be across the street from Urgent Care. We buy giant packs of Hormel pre-cooked bacon there, which is fast and easy for breakfast, portable for snacks, and safe for Aurora to eat. Because I was just running in for one item, I decided not to bother with a cart (since Her Highness protests them anyway.)

I rushed Rora inside (I do not understand 34° in broad daylight) and rummaged in my wallet for my membership card. Not in its usual slot. I went through every card there-- Safeway, Giant, Petco, the Metro, debit, credit, expired library, my social security, Aurora's social security, health insurance, car insurance. Drat. (That's the G-rated version of what I said.) Still shivering as the automatic doors kept opening and closing behind us, I asked if I could have a temporary card issued.

Yes-- I just needed to stand in that line. That line stretching halfway through the store.

So I stood in it. Rory asked to "awk," so I put her down. At first she was content to hold my hand, but then began pushing it away and announcing loudly, "Stop, Mama!" "Hold my hand," I told her. She screeched. I picked her up. She kicked and screamed. Oh. One of those days.

I held her, kicking and screaming, snot streaming down her face (did I mention the doctor advised me not to aggravate her and worsen her cough?) Heads turned. Finally it was my turn, the woman looked up my card (there are 4 local Megan Clarkes, apparently, and it took awhile to find me specifically) and then took my picture again (in it, I am telling Aurora sternly, "Stop screaming." I was not ready for the photo.) She handed me my new card, I stuck it in my pocket, and we proceded to the DVD aisle (looking at Key, Goopy, Donald, and Puto on the Disney DVD's cheered her right up.)

Once we got to the bacon, she wanted to be held. I grabbed 2 packs (might as well avoid a repeat of this trip in the near future) and carried her to the checkout.

Naturally, when it came my turn, the cashier was ready to go off-duty and I had to wait for them to close out the cash drawer, enter the employee's code into the computer or whatever they do, etc. The new one swiped my bacon, scanned my membership card, and . . .

"Did you just get this card?" she asked. I said suspiciously, "Yeees?"

"It wasn't activated properly," she said.

Before I had a chance to properly snarl, a man returned to demand his receipt, which the previous cashier had failed to give him. Now the Sam's Club Exit Guards were refusing to let him exit with his cartful. And before he could be helped, the woman behind me suddenly discovered her cornish game hen had been opened, and was requesting that someone go get her a new one.

A manager was called. They sent me back to the membership desk to reactivate the card. Don't worry, they can ring up your bacon there, since it's only 2 items, I was assured.

I trudged back across the store, heavy toddler on my hip (now refusing to get DOWN), heavy diaper bag on my shoulder, juggling 2 packages of bacon. The irate membership desk employee activated the card, but refused to ring up the bacon. I marched back to the original cashier, cut in her line, and had her ring me up.

All that for $16 worth of bacon.

And a cold.

Verizon Part II

2005-12-01T15:13:00.000-05:00

The repairman showed up awhile back. A day early. He was kind of weird, too. By the time he asked if I had an alarm system in my apartment (???) I called my sister and put on a big show about having company coming over VERY SOON. Just in case he had a hatchet in his bag of tricks. (My sister lives 2700 miles away, but HE didn't know that.)

Once the line was repaired (at no charge! Imagine) he called his boss, in my presence, to say the line was fixed and to credit us, because the problem was on THEIR end.

3 days ago I got a bill for $160+, most of which was marked "past due." Then came the nasty phone message threatening to cut off our service if we didn't pay. 'Cause of course they didn't credit us.

When I called to rant, however, Mrs. Lind kindly noted that we HAD been credited . . . $1.92. (Don't EVEN ask.)

Supposedly it's taken care of now. I'll probably update when the phone line explodes or similar.

Verizon: We Never Stop Working You

2005-11-02T12:43:00.000-05:00

Years ago, Verizon was my cell phone provider. I would not be surprised to learn that my calls to their billing department were used to train new phone reps on how to handle irate customers. Since then, I have hated Verizon with a passion.

Alas, I hate Vonage too (see below.) So, when I flew to SoCal to visit family last month, I gave Jared express instructions to have a "real" phone installed in the apartment before I got back.

He did his best. He called and ordered a new line. Unfortunately the local phone co. is . . . yeah. Them. Big V.

Yesterday I called the billing line. Here's roughly how my conversation went:

"Hi. My husband called and ordered a new residential line. We just got a bill for $102.29, but the line has never been activated. There is no dial tone from any of the phone jacks in the apartment."

"Okay, can I have your account number?"

"I'm sorry, I don't have that. My husband wrote this all down somewhere and he's at work."

"Okay, the phone number?"

"Again, I don't know. The line has never worked."

"I can look it up by social."

"[Jared's SSN.]"

"All right. I see the account. It was activated on October 17."

"Well, we have no dial tone and have never used this service. I am not going to pay a hundred dollars for a service I have yet to receive."

"Let me transfer you to Repair and they can help you."

Pause. "Hello, this is Mrs. Gordon with Repair, can I have your account number please?"

"I don't have it, the person I just spoke with had to look up the account with my husband's social security number."

"Well I can't look up accounts that way, only with the account or phone number."

"Well the person I talked with KNEW I didn't have it, and she transferred me."

"They KNOW I can't look it up that way . . . I'll have to transfer you back to Billing and you can ask for the number."

*smacks forehead*

Pause. "Hi, this is Ramona with Billing, can I have your account number please?"

"No. I don't have it, which is why I've been transferred back to you after the first two people couldn't help me."

"The account number isn't on your bill?"

"No, it's not."

"Look in the upper right hand corner."

"Oh. OH . . . I'm sorry, it's there! Could you transfer me back to Repair, please?"

"Sure thing."

(Incidentally, why did it take until the THIRD person to point out the obvious? I felt dumb-- but then so should Mrs. Gordon and the Person Whose Name I Didn't Catch.)

"Hi, this is Thelma with Repair, can I have your account number, please?"

"[account number]. [explains problem]."

"Okay, let me check your line. Hold on." Pause. "Yes, it appears we need to send someone to your house to do some repairs on the line."

"Okay, let's schedule that."

"Wait, did you try checking the [something?] box out front?"

"Umm, I don't know what that is."

"The box. It says right on it [something?] Next to the house."

"I live in an apartment, I don't know where the phone boxes are."

"Oh, it's an apartment?"

"Yes."

"Oh, all right, let me transfer you over to someone who can help you with apartments."

Pause. Click. Recording: "Please enter your account number now." I do. "According to our records, your phone service was activated October 17. To repeat this information, press or say 'repeat.'"

I am used to this game. "Speak with representative."

"I'm sorry. I am having trouble understanding you. Did you say 'yes' or 'no'?"

"SPEAK WITH REPRESENTATIVE."

"I think you said you'd like to speak with a representative. If this is correct, say--"

"YES!"

Pause. "Hi, this is Juanita, can I have your account number please?"

"Why sure, Juanita. I've given it to a recording, Miss Chambers, Thelma, Ramona, Mrs. Gordon, and someone else before THAT, I suppose you should have it to!"

Please note: Juanita apparently doesn't have much of a sense of humor. I get her up to speed anyway. She confirms that yes, work needs to be done on the line, but they require permission from the maintenance department first-- they need access to the telephone box. I will need to call my apartment management and then get back to them. Oh, and if our line isn't "tagged" yet (whatever that is) an extra fee will apply!

"Okay. Well, in the meantime, I have this bill for $102.29 for phone service I obviously haven't used. With whom do I speak to take care of the bill?"

"Let me transfer you back to Billing to take care of that, ma'am."

Pause. "Hello, this is Miss Jones, can I have your account number please?"

I give it. I tell her I do not wish to pay the bill until my phone is repaired.

"Okay, let me transfer you over to someone who can credit you."

Please, God. Stop the pain.

Pause. "This is Kristy, can I have your account number please?"

"Yes, you can, Kristy, but I'd like it noted you are the NINTH person I have spoken with today for this issue." I give her the number. I tell her no phone, no bill. She says she will put a note on the bill, and I need to CALL BACK once phone service is restored so they can credit me appropriately.

Too tired to protest, I thanked her and hung up. Now I need to call my apartment maintenance and arrange for Verizon to make a repair. Then I must call Verizon to schedule the repair. I may or may not owe an extra fee, depending upon whether the box is "tagged" or not. Then I need to call Verizon once again so they know how long I was out of service, total, and thus how much credit is applicable. In the meantime, I still owe them $102.29 despite a dial tone dearth. I am therefore still using Vonage, which dropped another call on me last night-- thank God not during the 40-minute call to the Verizon Troupe.

I couldn't make this crap up if I tried.

Vonage: Woo Hoo to You, Too

2005-09-21T19:20:00.000-04:00

We've had Vonage (broadband phone) for several months now.

I categorically hate it. If I'm not experiencing random disconnections, there is so much intermittent static it's like calling from a tunnel. Or there's a delay, so that the other person isn't answering me for a full 2-3 seconds after I've finished talking.

Or there's no dial tone at all.

That was the problem today. Since my apartment has no cell phone reception, I was totally without a phone. So I e-mailed their tech support instead of calling.

Here's their reply. Tell me how THIS ranks on a customer service scale?

Dear Jared Clarke, [um, I DID type MEGAN into the box]

Thank you for contacting Customer Care.

We understand from your mail that you are experiencing issues with dial tone.

Please follow the instructions given below to troubleshoot the issue:

1. Open Internet Explorer from one of the computers connected to the RT31P2 router and in the address bar, type http://192.168.15.1 and press Enter.

2. Enter "admin" in both username and password fields when it prompts and click on "Ok".

3. Click on the tab "Administration" and then on sub-tab "FactoryDefaults". Now select "Restore factory defaults" as "yes" and click on "Save Settings". It should display "Settings are Successful".

4. Then it will ask to enter User name and password. So enter as
follows
User name : user
Password : [XXXXXXX]

5. Once this is done, disconnect power cable from all the devices inthe network which includes modem and RT31P2.

6. Connect the appropriate power cable to the cable modem.

7. Wait for two minutes for the cable modem to boot up, before continuing.

8. Connect the power cable, provided with the Phone Adapter to the power port on the Phone Adapter.

9. Wait for two minutes for the phone adapter to boot up before continuing.

10. Open Internet Explorer and in the address bar type "192.168.15.1"(without Quotes) and press Enter.

11. Enter admin as user name and password when it prompts and click "OK"

Click on the "Status" tab and then on the "router" sub-tab. Check for the Internet IP address. If an IP address is released, try to go online. If the Internet IP address is all zeroes, click on DHCP Renew. If an IP address is released, try to go online.

If the IP Address is still all zeroes, then Click on "Setup" tab and then on "MAC Address Clone" sub-tab. Select "Enable" under MAC Clone Service and then click on "Clone". Click on "Save Settings".

Click on the "Status" tab and then on the "router" sub-tab. Check for the Internet IP address. If an IP address is released, try to go online. If the Internet IP address is all zeroes, click on DHCP Renew. If an IP address is released, try to go online.

12. If you are able to go online, connect a telephone to the "Phone 1" port of the Phone Adapter using a standard phone line.

13. Wait at least five minutes for the Phone Adapter to boot up. The Phone Adapter's lights will remain off or blink until it is fully connected to the Vonage network. There may be updates that need to be downloaded such as new firmware or changes to your features. NOTE: Do not interrupt the configuration process by unplugging the power or lifting the receiver on your phone during the startup process. Interruption of the startup may result in interruption of service.

14. Once the Phone Adapter's status light is off, the Phone Adapter is ready to use.

15. Pick up the telephone receiver and listen for a dial tone. If you hear a dial tone, you can start making and receiving calls.

We believe this has assisted you in resolving the issue. If the issue persists, please reply to this email for further assistance.

1. What is the message you get when you clicked on "Save Settings"? Is it "Settings are successful" or "Settings are failed"?

We value you as a customer and are dedicated to quality customer service.

Regards,
Kanchan.
Customer Care.

I am not a technical idiot. I worked for Apple for a couple of years in my pre-Kid life. I even know what "http" stands for. I did NOT find this to be a reasonable troubleshooting suggestion.

Hubby fixed it. Woo hoo!

Now let's cancel.

Another Dr. Office

2005-09-16T14:39:00.000-04:00

Last week I saw the doctor and had some lab tests run. He told me my results would be in by "Monday or Tuesday."

Tuesday afternoon, I called the office. I pressed 3 for lab results. Voicemail. Left my name and number. No call back.

Wednesday afternoon, I called the office. I pressed 3 for lab results. Voicemail. Left my name and number. No call back.

Thursday afternoon, I called the office. I pressed 3 for lab results. Voicemail. Left my name and number. No call back.

Friday afternoon (today), I called the office. I got wise and stayed on the line for the next available representative. I expressed my frustration (pleasantly!) to the woman who answered. She asked for my name. When I gave her my last name, she said, "With an E on the end, right?" Yes, I told her. Then she actually said, "Hmm, that's strange. I never saw your name on my list of messages."

Oh, okay . . . she just KNEW I used the spelling Clarke, "right?" But of course she'd never SEEN my name.

Anyway. My test results were fine. They came back on Monday and languished in my chart.

eBay Needs to Bid on Customer Service Skills

2005-09-11T13:29:00.000-04:00

It amazes me, sometimes, how difficult companies can make the most basic tasks. Like changing the e-mail address associated with my eBay account. Simple, right?

Wrong!

I've been an eBay member since 1998. Since then, I've married (i.e. changed my name), moved several times, and recently lost access to the e-mail account tied to my eBay name. So, I wanted to enter a new e-mail address (and update my snail mail address.) That's it.

In order to change any information, it required that I enter my credit card number and address. Apparently this is a standard verification process now-- but I signed up before it was implemented, so this is their way of grandfathering me in. Fine. Entered my CC # and address, got an error message. Cannot verify CC #. I entered the number again, checking for errors-- nope. Still didn't work. Tried another card. Nope.

So I click on Help. None of the FAQ's were helpful. I clicked Contact Us. It said "Please select from the following list." The list below was blank, and the Submit button was grayed out. Telltale sign that their programming won't work with my browser (Safari.) I tried Firefox and IE. No luck.

I'm stuck. What now? I find the forum where eBay users can post to one another asking for technical help. I search that forum and find a link someone has posted for Live Help-- a realtime chat with an eBay rep. I click the link.

I enter a chat with the eBay rep. As I begin to type my problem, I noice ha some words are coming ou very srangely. In fac, i's almos like here is an enirely missing leer.

I pound on the T key. Nothing happens. Everything else on my keyboard works. I move my cursor into an unrelated window and begin to type-- the T works there just fine. I ask the eBay rep to forgive my gobbledygook as the T key is not functioning in the chat. (And, as fans of Wheel of Fortune will acknowledge, since T is the most common letter in the English language, going without it somewhat of a big deal.)

She tells me to turn on my caps lock-- THAT SOLVES THE PROBLEM. NOW I'M TYPING LIKE THIS. DID I MENTION I HATE CAPS LOCK? (AND WHY IN HELL DOES THE LOWERCASE T NOT WORK IN EBAY'S SUPPORT CHAT?)

That solved (except I'm "shouting") I get down to brass tacks. Why isn't my CC validating?

She asks if I have sufficient funds (they run a "test" charge of $1 to ensure the validity of the card.) Yes. And I tried multiple cards. I'm not in that much debt.

She asks for my address to manually check. I provide it. Then I add, "THAT'S NOT THE ADDRESS TIED TO MY EBAY ACCOUNT. I HAVE MOVED SINCE THEN."

"Oh, that's the problem!" she says. If the credit card is not tied to the mailing address on file with my eBay account, it won't verify.

BUT I'M TRYING TO VERIFY MY CREDIT CARD **IN ORDER TO** UPDATE MY ACCOUNT INFORMATION!

Yeah. What a fricking genius behind this eBay thing, I tell you.

NOW WHAT?

She suggests creating an entirely new eBay account. Okay . . . but then I lose all my 7 years' worth of feedback, I point out.

"You can apply to have your accounts merged," she says. HOW? She provides a link.

Wise to the game, I use the link before I thank her and leave-- good thing, because, like the Contact Us form, this form is also defunct in my browser.

"What browser are you using?" she wants to know. SAFARI, I tell her. I ALSO TRIED FIREFOX AND IE WITH NO LUCK. She suggests getting the "latest version of IE" as eBay is designed to work best with that browser. THEY DON'T MAKE IE FOR THE MAC ANYMORE, I tell her. LATEST VERSION IS 1+ YRS OLD.

"6.0?" she responds.

I smack my forehead. No, really, I did.

THE LATEST VERSION FOR **MAC** IS 1+ YRS OLD. BILL GATES GOT PISSY WHEN STEVE JOBS CAME OUT WITH HIS OWN BROWSER, PICKED UP HIS MARBLES, AND WENT HOME. NO MORE IE FOR MAC. STUCK WITH OLD VERSION.

She laughed, anyway. (Well, "LOL," which, despite its meaning, almost never involves an "out loud" component.)

SO WHAT DO I DO? I can't use the link to merge accounts.

"Use this e-mail address," she says, and provides me with one. I wanted to ask why I couldn't have that to begin with. Why must I navigate forms and bubbles and boxes and buttons when I can send off a simple e-mail so easily?

But I didn't. I already know. I am, after all, the Lightning Rod for Customer Disservice™.

(I have not yet e-mailed them. I'll let you know what happens . . . in the meantime, perhaps I'll go bid on some blood pressure pills.)

Where My Business Is Your Business

2005-08-19T13:42:00.000-04:00

Last night we went to dinner at a certain Italian chain restaurant whose initials are O.G. and rhymes with Bolive Rarden. As I've mentioned before, my daughter has numerous food allergies and because I still breastfeed her, I must follow her dietary restrictions as well. I can't order restaurant food, so I ate before we left. We were treating friends, Emily and Carlos, and a friend of theirs, Kristi, as a thank-you for helping us move last weekend. (THANK YOU!!!)

I had ordered myself a soda with the rest of the drink orders, but when the food orders came, I smiled and told the waitress, "I'm not eating tonight, thanks." She had been reaching to collect menus, but stopped dead and said, unsmiling, "Why not?"

My smile disappeared. WHY NOT? Did I miss the part where that was her business? At any rate, while I usually do not bore people with the details of what my kid can't eat or why I follow her diet, I was shocked into bluntness.

"My daughter has many food allergies, and because I breastfeed, I can't eat any of those foods either," I informed the waitress. Woe unto me, that did not shut her up. Rather, it opened the floodgates for the Slew of Unsolicited Opinions.

"Well, I'd give up breastfeeding then," she informed me. She tsk-tsked at Aurora (captive in the highchair) "Bottle time for you!" She went on (FINALLY taking the menus from everyone else), "I just like food too much for that. Time for formula." I shrugged, "We're happy breastfeeding." She said, "I just hate to see you sit there not eating!" "I'm just fine, thanks," I told her. She finally left.

I exchanged wide-eyed "Okaaaaay" comments with everyone else. Emily said, "She's a toucher, too. Did you notice she touched Aurora's head and she touched my arm twice?" Great. A touchy-feely nosy waitress.

When T-FNW returned with drink refills, she stopped again and asked me, "So what do you eat?" I humored her with, "Fruits and veggies, pork and poultry, rice-based pasta and breads." Her eyes brightened. "We have wheat pasta! You want that?" "Um, no. Can't have wheat. Really, I'm fine," I told her. "How about soup?" she asked. "No, soup usually has stuff in it we can't have," I told her firmly. "I ate before I came, I'm not hungry, thank you."

"Well," she said, "if you're not going to eat, I don't think you should have a drink, either!" She reached over and took my drink off the table. "Thanks for the unsolicited opinion," I retorted. She put the drink back down and said, "I'm just kidding," and took off again. Emily gave us an updated touch count.

Several minutes later (I kid you not) the waitress was back again, this time for the SOLE purpose of crouching down by my chair and asking, "Really, I want to know, what do you eat?" I really wanted to throttle this woman. "Fine, for dinner last night, I had chicken breasts breaded with millet and sorghum flours and fried in canola oil." Her eyes widened, and she left without a word.

Kristi then said, "Hey Meg, next time she asks you what you eat, could you tell her _I_ want more tea?" Poor Kristi had been trying unsuccessfully for several minutes to get a refill. Each time the waitress had returned she had ignored the others (except for Em, whose arm she seemed drawn to touching!) while she interrogated me about my diet.

After awhile, the kidlet was fussing and I took her outside to walk around a bit, so I missed out on spending much more time with the waitress . . . however, she did return later to stick around by our table while we discussed how much Rora looks like my husband. "You must have given her the allergies, too, then," she said to my husband. He blinked. "Maybe so," he said. "Well, you contributed everything else," she said, and elbowed Em in a heh-heh-heh dirty old man-type way.

I didn't see how much we tipped this lady, but I hope not much. In retrospect I really wish I had told her something extremely personal/gross/untrue to shock her into shutting up. You know, "I can't complain too much. With this diet I've lost enough weight that now I only need weekly enemas!" or "I would give up breastfeeding but nothing else cures my itchy nipples." Somehow, though, I don't think even that would have stopped her . . .

Wendy's Lives!

2005-07-04T19:12:00.000-04:00

I don't eat there anymore, but yesterday on the way to an event Jared asked if I could stop and get him some fast food. I asked him where, and he said "Surprise me."

"Are you sure?" I teased. "My blog needs new material!"

"You pick," he assured me.

So, being the blog-seeking sadist that I am, picked Wendy's! (Everybody wave to Ineptitude Incarnate!)

I pulled up to the speaker at 3:09. By 3:11 I was saying "Hello? Helloooo?" to the speaker. By 3:13 I asked Jared if I should just pull up to the window. But at 3:14 I was finally greeted with, "Welcome to Wendy's would you like to try a combo?"

"Hi," I said, "I'd like a mediterranean chicken salad and a medium Diet Coke."

"What kind of dressing do you want with that?" she asked.

"Uh, it comes with a vinaigrette?"

"I know what it comes with," she snapped, "I wanted to know if you wanted a substitute." Gee, how nice of her. Funny, my special orders in the past have never been so accommodated!

"No thanks," I told her, "just what it comes with."

"Want a drink?"

Oy. "Yes, a Diet Coke."

"Okay, $5.something at the window."

The drive thru has 2 windows; the first one is usually open, but was apparently closed. I paused to make sure nobody was there. As I did, I saw the second window . . . where a hand clutched a bag containing Jared's salad, DANGLING IT OUT THE WINDOW. Not quick enough for her, apparently!

I pulled up, took the salad, handed her my money. Then she handed me . . . a tiny drink. Kid-sized.

"This isn't medium," I told her.

"You didn't ask for medium," she snapped.

"Yes I did," I said, politely but firmly.

"No, you just said 'Diet Coke.'"

"Actually," I corrected her, "I ordered a salad and a medium Diet Coke, and you didn't understand me, and asked IF I wanted a drink, so I REPEATED myself."

Wordlessly, she yanked the drink back inside and a moment later returned with . . . a super jumbo soda. I took it. "Thank you," I said with raised eyebrows. She ignored me and closed the window.

Have a nice day, indeed.

So there's this scene in Aladdin...

2005-06-07T20:35:00.000-04:00

One of my favorite lines in the Disney movie Aladdin is when the obnoxious parrot, Iago, replies to a very obvious comment with, "There's a big surprise. I think I'm gonna have a heart attack and die of not surprise!"

It damn near came out of my mouth when Rob of Whole Foods informed me that-- guess what?-- no sorghum flour was there today.

I had shown up in person, since I also needed millet bread. (Good news: they had millet bread.) Apparently "their supplier" was also out of sorghum flour, and they expect to get some next week. I asked to speak with a manager, and Rob informed me he was it. I gave him a quick run-down of all the trouble I'd had. He asked for the names of the employees I'd dealt with (LUCY and MILES, for the record.) And then he told me when it does come in, I can have it for free because of all the trouble I've had.

Hmm, suddenly I think I intended to buy the whole case! :p

Partial Foods

2005-06-06T15:02:00.000-04:00

Well, Saturday, a.k.a. Sorghum Flour Day, arrived. I drove to Whole Foods without calling first-- hey, I needed more millet bread anyway.

I approached the customer service bar and gave them my standard special order line. They paged someone. The woman who originally helped me place the order appeared. I said, "Sorghum flour?" She took off. I followed. She led me to the flour aisle, where she started scanning items. "I special ordered it," I reminded her. She snapped, "Well you didn't tell me THAT." I replied, "Well, YOU'RE the one who ordered it for me!" She paused, then said, "Oh, yeah. Well, hang on."

Several minutes went by. She came back and informed me that the sorghum flour was NOT in yet, but would be arriving on their truck "tonight." I checked my watch. "It's six-thirty," I told her, "how much later is 'tonight'?" "Eleven," she replied. The store closes at 9. Yippee. I stalked off to the freezer, where I observed that the millet bread was gone. Asked at the bakery; nope, no more, not until Monday.

Sunday, yesterday. I had Jared call Whole Foods, because frankly I'm sick of them. He hung up and approached me timidly. He had bad news.

APPARENTLY THE ORDER WAS STILL NEVER ACTUALLY PLACED!!!

It did NOT come in on the 11 p.m. truck. They ordered it (everyone laugh!) and it should arrive on "Tuesday."

You know, for awhile I was afraid that my restricted, no-Wendy's allergy diet would negatively impact my blog. Never fear . . . Whole Foods is here!

Whole Pain

2005-06-02T17:05:00.000-04:00

With the allergy-related dietary restrictions around here, I have discovered new and exciting ingredients. That's sarcasm. What I have discovered are hard-to-find, expensive, poorly-textured, half-flavored ingredients. In this case, I needed sorghum flour. Whole Foods did not carry it, but the employee I asked told me they could order it. She disappeared, reappared and informed me that an entire case had been ordered and it would arrive on Tuesday.

Guess what silly little me did on Tuesday? That's right. I naïvely drove right over without calling. Poor, sweet, trusting, stupid little Meg.

Naturally it was not there. Call tomorrow, they told me. I bought a $4 bag of potato chips (corn oil-free) and left.

Wednesday I called. Nope, it hadn't arrived yet. Call tomorrow.

Today ("tomorrow") I tried again. First John answered, then transferred me to grocery, which rang and rang, and then John picked up again. Still waiting, I told him. Hang on, he'll page them again. Holding (obnoxious music in my ear.) "Hello, bakery!" "I'm waiting for grocery," I said. Click, click. Silence. Pause. Dial tone. Drat.

Redial. John answers again. He transfers me to grocery. A different person answers. He takes my name and puts me on hold. Pause. Then yet ANOTHER person answers. I give him my name and spell S-O-R-G-H-U-M for him. Pause. Somebody answers, "Hello, grocery!" "I'm on hold with someone else," I tell him. "Oh sorry, I picked up the wrong line." *smacks forehead*

S-O-R-G-H-U-M man answers again. He has a speech problem which makes it very hard to talk with him. I'm trying very hard to hear over the baby who is screeching in her high chair and the static on the cordless. We manage to communicate that I ordered the flour on Friday. He informs me that my name does not appear in his special order book.

Now I'm ticked. I ordered in person, I showed up on Tuesday, and I called on Wednesday. If the order had never been placed in the first place, somebody should have picked up on that tidbit before now. I describe the woman who took the order. She is sitting right next to him. He begins to chew her out, then thinks to put me on hold. More obnoxious music.

Finally he comes back, has me spell S-O-R-G-H-U-M again, takes my name and number, and tells me the F-L-O-U-R will be here on Saturday.

Fifteen minutes wasted.

Not Like It's Important or Anything

2005-05-24T15:08:00.000-04:00

There are 2 types of food allergies; one usually manifests as "intestinal upset" (that's the polite description. The realistic one is more like "meconium mixed with snot in my kid's diaper") and is not life-threatening; the other manifests as hives, wheezing, tongue swelling, and/or other symptoms leading up to anaphylactic shock, which can be deadly. People with these types of allergies must carry an EpiPen which is a thingy of epinephrine (adrenaline) that self-injects and can stop the reaction.

My kid was diagnosed with the former type of allergy (less-serious, more-gross) when she was 11 weeks old and we've avoided those foods that make her sick. This weekend, however, she had an outbreak of hives after eating something, indicating that she now has at least one food that causes the more serious type of reaction.

We already have an appointment with her allergist, but not until late July (he's very good, thus very booked up!) I decided to call the pediatrician to see if they would prescribe an EpiPen to keep on hand until we could have a full workup with the allergist.

I should have known better than to go this route. Here is how the conversation went:

ME: "Hi. My daughter is a patient there. She has food allergies. The other day she had a serious reaction. I have an appointment with her allergist, but I can't get in to see him for 2 months. In the meantime I would like to know if her pediatrician can prescribe an EpiPen in case she has another serious reaction."

RECEPTIONIST: "Um, you want to schedule an appointment?"

ME: "No, I want to know IF they can prescribe an EpiPen, since I cannot see her allergist until July."

RECEPTIONIST: "Okay, an Ecky-what?"

ME: "EpiPen. It's an autoinjector of epinephrine."

RECEPTIONIST: "Okay, that's E-C-"

ME: "No. E-P-I-P-E-N."

RECEPTIONIST: "Okay, I'll have to take a message and have them call you back. Is she a patient here?"

*smacks forehead*

Then I called the allergist's office. I explained to THAT receptionist what had happened, and she took my name, Aurora's name, our phone number, AND the name and phone number of our local pharmacy. She said she would give the message to the allergist. Now it's a race . . . will the Clueless Peds office call back before the Adept Allergist calls to say my EpiPen is waiting at Safeway for me?

New Tires

2005-05-24T11:08:00.000-04:00

Our car needed new tires, so Jared made an appointment with some place we'd never been before. (I'd tell you the name of it, but we could never figure it out. He found it through the NTB website store locator, but the sign on the actual building said Merchant Tires, and the posters/brochures inside sang the praises of Tire King.)

Our appointment was for 1:00 p.m. We arrived at 12:55 (I'd like to say we're always punctual, but in reality, it was a total fluke.) We spoke with Dean, who ascertained what tires we wanted, signed an estimate, etc., etc. By the time that was completed, it was 1:15. Dean told us it would take approximately an hour and a half.

Well, that was cutting it close-- we had plans to meet friends for "lunch" at 3:00-- but it would be okay. In the meantime, we had the stroller and diaper bag, and there were some stores nearby to wander . . . including a Dollar General, which happily stocked a new kind of pregnancy test I'd been seeking (www.PeeOnAStick.com). We wandered for an hour, before we finally walked back to the tire place and sat in their customer lounge.

La-dee-dah . . . another 45 minutes passed. Rora sat in her stroller, calmly eating Rice Chex and sipping her juice. Right. On Planet Not. In actuality, she sat in her stroller eating one Rice Chex (Check?) for every two she threw overboard before turning her sippy cup upside down and banging it on her stroller tray. When I finally released Her Highness from the Royal Restraints, she naturally gravitated toward the 2 Chex that had escaped my noticed and stepped on them, grinding Chex Dust into the dark blue carpet.

At this point, we were already late for lunch. I left Jared to chase Kid while I exited the building to inspect our car. It was up on a rack, in the same condition it had been 45 minutes earlier when we returned from roaming: 2 tires off completely, the other 2 the same old ones. A stack of 4 new tires sat on the ground underneath it.

A mechanic was filling out something on a clipboard nearby, and I asked him, "Any idea how much longer for this car?"

He looked at me with raised eyebrows. "Well after these tires go on, it still needs to be aligned, and there are 2 cars ahead of you." My eyes bugged out. "So, how much longer are we talking about? Like another hour?" "Oh, at LEAST," he replied.

I thanked him icily and stormed into the building, where an employee noticed my sour face and asked how he could help me. I explained that we were given an estimate of 1.5 hours, it had now been almost 2, and we were facing "at least another hour."

"Who told you an hour and a half?" he asked, as though that were a crazily low time frame. "Dean," I replied. "Well," he continued, "I'm sorry he told you that, but we're really busy, there are lots of cars ahead of you."

"Ah," I said, "but I had an appointment."

Time for HIS eyes to bug out. "An appointment?"

"Yeah, at one o'clock."

"Oh," he said. "I'll be right back." He walked away, with Kill Dean clearly written in his eyes.

Bottom line: Dean incorrectly marked/filed the paperwork, putting several walk-in cars ahead of us despite our appointment status. Our car had been neglected the entire time (save the removal of 2 tires.) They bumped us to the head of the crowd, but it still took another hour. We ended up meeting our friends for dinner at 5.

Naturally, the toddler who did not get a nap as a result of the extended tire expedition was incredibly well-behaved during dinner and definitely did not shriek, throw two meatballs, and toss her juice cup at a passer-by.

Burger King: Our Way, After Awhile

2005-05-14T19:32:00.000-04:00

Why are drive-thru order-takers so all-fired eager to cut me off and announce my total before I've even specified which soda flavor I want with my combo? It seems to me that the rate at which they take my order is inversely proportional to the rate at which my food is actually prepared.

At any rate, she got terribly hasty and hit the "Complete Order" button after I'd ordered only Jared's combo. When I said, "I'm not done yet," and gave her my order, she gave me a second total-- as in, "Your first total is $4-something and your second total is $5-something." When I pulled up to the window, she said "$4-something" by way of confirmation. I handed her my debit card and said, "That's for two orders." "Yeah, I know," she replied. She closed the window. A minute later, she opened the window again and asked, "Are you paying for both orders with the card?" That's what "That's for two orders" meant. Yes, I told her.

First she handed me one bag. I peeked inside, confirmed it was Jared's burger and onion rings, and handed it to him in the passenger seat. (He refuses to drive on weekends because of his loooong weekly commutes. I don't have a control fetish or anything ;) Then she handed me one drink. In the cupholder it went. Then she handed me another bag and disappeared. I peeked inside . . . the bunless burger looked correct (imagine that!) but she had given me a spoon with which to eat it. I waited for her to reappear. "Can I have a fork and knife to eat this with?" I asked. She rummaged and handed me a fork. "Um, and a knife?" I repeated. Here it came. Jared said, "And MY drink?" I turned to the window again, which was now closed. Waited to be noticed. "And my other drink?" I asked. There it came.

Since I can't drive and eat a bunless burger simultaneously, I parked so we could eat. First problem: my Diet Coke was tea. And not just tea, but sweet tea. Look, I'm from SoCal, folks. Sweet tea is a regional abomination. Jared had ordered tea, so I asked if we could switch-- except he didn't have my Diet Coke, he had a second tea. Since he had not expected sweet tea either, he took the drinks and began climbing out of the car to go exchange them for Diet Cokes. I lifted the lid off my burger bowl . . . and recoiled. "EWWWWWW!" Jared stopped in his tracks.

A big, long, thick, black hair was nestled among my lettuce. This was even worse than sweet tea.

"I'll go in," I sighed.

I juggled the burger bowl and the two drinks. When I came to the counter, the man who had helped the drive-thru girl hand us our food saw me. "Are you missing something?" he asked. I could see the irritation on his face. I announced loudly, for the benefit of maximum embarrassment and chagrin, "No, actually, I seem to have gotten extra hair on my burger."

The manager came over, examined the hair, poked at it (ew!) and went to rectify the situation. She did refund my money (both orders! :p) and replaced my drinks.

When I got to the car, I discovered my burger was also ketchupless.

I'll take what I can get.

Roach Patrol, Take Two

2005-05-09T11:43:00.000-04:00

This morning Michael called. He wanted to make sure it was okay if the roach guy showed up in about five minutes "since you were not satisfied with his work last week." I said fine. He added, "He did spray last week, he just used a gel that's hard to see." I was thinking okay, YOUR maintenance guy said he didn't spray, but fine. Have him come back.

Roach guy came over, squirted some gel in my cabinet hinges . . . I asked if he were going to do the pantry. "Oh," he said, "no, we don't need to."

"Well, the notification flyer said we needed to clean out our pantry and bathroom closet completely."

He shook his head. "I shouldn't tell you this, but really, you can ignore that part."

Oh gee. I've had my entire kitchen pantry living in my dining room for 8 days with no reason! Thaaaaanks.

P.S. They successfully recaulked our tub on Friday. They used a different kind, and it has set beautifully. Which begs the question . . . Why wait until the 5th time to use it?!

My Kingdom For A Mortgage

2005-05-04T17:56:00.000-04:00

Every now and then I remember why apartment living sucks. Now is one of those thens.

For about a year, our apartment has had a mold problem. It grows on our bathroom ceiling, our bedroom wall, and all of our window sills. And for about a year, I have been trying to get management/maintenance to take a peek and make sure it's not that toxic flesh-eating furniture-ruining death-causing kind of mold. Otherwise, I don't care, I can spray Tilex as well as anybody.

And, for about a year, every single one of my complaints has either fallen on deaf ears, or resulted in the token visit of a busy maintenance man, who invariably comes when I am not home and sprays my window sills and leaves. Not once have they ever so much as peeked at the walls or ceiling. And they often leave irate little notes informing me that sometimes, when it's cold outside and warm inside there is condensation that causes moisture that results in mold that I, too, can spray away. This has literally happened about 7 times. Last month when they came to inspect for lead-based paint, I mentioned it to the groundskeeper escorting the paint guy. Two days later, we came home to a note on the door informing us that our window sills had been sprayed again. Good fricking grief.

Finally, I went to the leasing office and explained, in person, that I do not give a rat's fuzzy rump about the sills, I am concerned about the WALLS AND CEILING. The rep assured me that they would immediately look into it.

The next day . . . yes, it's true. There was a note on the door informing us that our window sills had been sprayed again.

I was on the phone in an instant, fairly pissed off. (Cough cough.) I informed Michael of the above scenario. He gave me the routine about how all the important, competent employees were relatively new, and I couldn't hold them accountable for a year's worth of neglect. I also told him that in my opinion, they were not living up to the lease agreement, namely that the management would maintain a safe, healthy apartment building. He disagreed. We went through an entire song-and-dance of me being pissed and him being defensive. This lasted, according to my cordless phone's digital display, a bit over 32 minutes. It ended with him agreeing to come see the mold in person, with the head of maintenance, in a few days.

Second issue: we also received notice that our apartment would be sprayed for roaches on May 2 and please empty our entire kitchen pantry and bathroom linen closet. (At that time, we had not seen any roaches. In the next few days, we saw five. EW.)

May 2: my kitchen pantry looks like it barfed itself onto the dining room table and floor. The bathroom is ankle-high in cotton balls and Tampax and about six thousand generic variations on NyQuil. We are ready for the Great Roach Faceoff of 2005. The exterminator is due between 9 a.m. and 6 p.m. (Don't you love those specific time slots they give you?)

9:30 a.m.: baby is down for a nap, I jump in the shower.

9:43 a.m.: I get out of the shower.

After getting dressed, I discovered a calling card on my kitchen counter from the roach dude. It had the company name and said "Your Pest Service Has Been Completed On _________." The blank is still blank. I check my front door-- it is unlocked. The guy obviously came and went while I was in the shower. I know he didn't come in the bathroom . . . and my daughter's high chair was still blocking the kitchen pantry door. A peek inside told me he hadn't touched it.

I called the office again, got voicemail, and nobody called me back. 2 hours later, I called again, and spoke with Michael (who, by this time, I'm sure, had decided I was his least favorite resident.) I explained the roach situation. Michael replied that the roach guy had said he successfully sprayed every apartment ("every apartment," by implication, meaning "mine.") I probably just couldn't tell, he said. I begged to differ. He didn't believe me, but replied that he planned to come see my apartment and inspect the mold anyway the following morning "before noon."

May 3: noon comes and goes. No Michael. No surprise. I call the office. "I told you I'd be there today or tomorrow," he says. Right. Jared gets sick of wading through mouthwash and tweezers to pee and replaces everything in the bathroom closet. Dining room still looks like canned goods drive.

May 4: Michael arrives at my door at 9:30 a.m. with the head of maintenance. I smile sweetly and tell Michael that this is NOT our first meeting. Despite his claims that I can't blame him for past lack of service, I spoke to him in person on January 7 about our mold. "Well, January seventh, I only started working here on the first, so you can't blame me for that," he says. Of course not. Michael is above reproach!

We continue. They inspect the mold with a little pronged electronic doodad. There is mold, there is moisture, but it's not the toxic killing kind. That's good. Except for the bathroom ceiling-- the little prongs collapse part of the ceiling and the moisture reading is 100%. The upstairs neighbor's shower must be leaking. They need to rip out part of our ceiling and replace it. Also, our tub needs recaulking. (Side note: you will believe, of course, when I tell you they have caulked our tub four times in the last 21 months? It keeps "melting," no matter HOW long we let the dumb thing sit-- taking showers at a friend's house. Bah.)

Head of maintenance says he will return this afternoon to do preliminary stuff (I pointed out that my husband needs to shower for work in the morning and we can't suddenly vacate our only shower for 24 hours without notice.)

Then they inspect the pantry. No, the roach man definitely did NOT spray. Roach man will return on Monday, Michael tells me. Seems at least genuinely ticked at roach man (ha ha-- get it? ticked? roach . . . ? oh fine.) They leave.

5:30 p.m., "this afternoon" arguably come and gone, neither hide nor hair of maintenance man. I call the office. Michael answers. Oh, he says, maintenance man will be there in the MORNING, not TODAY . . .

I have a headache. I'd tell Michael to go soak his head, but I can't offer him my shower. It's going to be recaulked soon.

FedEx: When It Absolutely, Positively Has To Be There... Sometime In the Distant Future

2005-05-04T17:51:00.001-04:00

Here, I shall simply reproduce the letter of complaint I wrote to FedEx. I never received a reply.

I would like to express my frustration and disappointment with FedEx. The online tracking function has been nearly useless.

My package was scanned exactly three times: once, on April 19 to confirm that FedEx had received the package, again on the morning of the 20th stating that the package was at the sorting/shipping facility . . . and then not again until after I had already missed the attempted home delivery on the 24th.

My confirmation e-mail from [company] stated that my package would be shipped via "FedEx Ground." Because the package was not adequately scanned for tracking purposes, I had no idea where it was or when it might arrive. Knowing that FedEx does not deliver on Saturday, I was away and left no signature or instructions.

When I returned home I found that "FedEx Home Delivery," NOT "FedEx Ground," had attempted to deliver the package, and that because they do not deliver on Mondays, I would have to wait until Tuesday. This several-day delay is very troubling to me. The package is extremely important to my work. I even called the 800# to ask if I could pick up the package myself at the warehouse, but was informed that the independent contractors who perform the "FedEx Home Delivery" do not return the packages to the warehouse between delivery attempts.

So, between FedEx's inept (practically nonexistent) tracking service and the incorrect information provided regarding FedEx Ground vs. FedEx Home Delivery, I am extremely unhappy. I will not be voluntarily using FedEx in the future.

Aetna: Free At Last

2005-05-04T17:28:00.000-04:00

I haven't blogged in over a month; I assure you it's not for lack of material. My computer died. Maybe I'll blog about FedEx next. For now, Aetna.

It had been over 3 weeks since I had spoken with an Aetna rep, after the pulmonologist's billing administrator had appealed to me for my help in breaking through the Aetna stall tactics. I called to follow up.

First Val informed me that they were still waiting on the pulmy's notes and the notes from the hospital where the tests were performed. I replied that the pulmy's admin had sent them the notes over 3 weeks prior and they SHOULD indeed have them. She disagreed.

I asked if she was SURE the hospital hadn't forwarded notes along. She was. I asked if she was SURE Aetna was requesting the files for the correct person (remember, until a month ago, they'd been asking the pulmy for "Jared Clarke's" chart.) She was. I asked if this was not terribly strange that after 18 months EVERYONE was ignoring her requests for information. It was, she said, "But you can't blame us!"

Well, I can, but that's beside the point. I asked her to check on something for me (I don't even remember-- that's how ridiculous and tiring these conversations get) and she returned to the phone. "Oh," she said, "I found the information we needed from the hospital."

"You DID?" I exclaimed.

"Yes," she replied, "it was here in your file, but it wasn't put into the computer properly."

"What's the date on it?" I asked.

Pause.

"May 14, 2004."

May 14, 2004?! I was making this phone call eleven months after they received this information, and after ELEVEN MONTHS they were still claiming they didn't have it, desperately needed it, and were holding my $800+ hostage. You know, back in February they told the billing administrator they had found some of this information in my file that had not been entered into the computer properly, but swore it would be resolved soon. Here it was, April, and it had NOT.

Fortunately Val seemed to realize that Aetna had not only dropped the ball, but let it bounce away into traffic, and didn't even have the decency to chase after it like a small child . . . and she promised to call the pulmy billing admin and have the information faxed over ASAP so that the claim could finally be submitted with all the proper information. I thanked her, disbelieved her, and hung up.

I immediately called my now-good friend, the billing admin. I had to wait on hold because she was on a call. When she answered me, she informed me that Val had beaten me to the punch! Val actually called! Val asked for the information to be faxed over, and the admin said, God bless her, "You mean the information I already sent you?"

Two days later there was a message on my machine from Val, informing me that ALL the required info was received (and, apparently, properly logged in the system) and that the claim would be submitted for approval. I will still believe it when I see it.

Irate Receptionist

2005-03-31T11:24:00.000-05:00

2.5 weeks ago I saw the doctor for some problems that turned out to be related to very low estrogen. She prescribed some medicine, but told me to hold off on using it until some test results came back in "about 2 weeks." I also had a question about a possible change in dosing related to some breastfeeding issues. (Is this vague enough? ;)

Well, Monday was 2 weeks, so I called. The receptionist took my name and number and told me the doctor would call me back. Uh-huh.

Wednesday I called. Again, she took my name and number. She also admitted she couldn't find my chart. I called back at 4:45 hoping to catch them before they ignored me again, but alas, they closed at 4:30 and I had to miss another day.

This morning, Thursday. She took my name, then put me on hold. After 10 minutes, I was disconnected. I called back, and she took my name again. After another 10 minutes on hold, the receptionist picked up and said, "Camilla?" "Uh, no," I replied, and before I knew it I was back on hold. 10 MORE minutes. Then she picked up AGAIN and asked for my name AGAIN. This time I snapped, "MEGAN CLARKE."

"Okay MEGAN," she snapped back, "ONE MINUTE." And guess what she did . . . go ahead . . . guess. Yup . . .

Finally she picked up the phone and informed me the test results were negative. That was expected, and the go-ahead to use my prescription. However, I still had this question about dosage/usage. She told me she would have to . . . TAKE MY NAME AND HAVE THE DOCTOR CALL ME BACK. I told her to please pardon my skepticism. I asked if I could perhaps speak with my ob/gyn's partner instead. Nope, she wasn't in the office either. Were there any doctors there, I asked? No, she replied.

"How can a doctor's office be open without any doctors there?" I wanted to know.

"See, how it works is, they deliver BABIES, so they have to go to the HOSPITAL," she retorted.

I conceded defeat and hung up. Now . . . let's place bets. Will the doctor actually call me back?

Sick of Aetna?

2005-03-23T12:05:00.000-05:00

I am!

I called them yesterday to verify that they needed information from all the doctors and hospitals they had told the pulmy's billing administrator about.

Nope. They told ME (at least she TOLD me! No crying HIPAA this time!) that they need only TWO things: the notes from the pulmy (which were mailed out on Friday, once they finally asked for MEGAN's information rather than JARED's) and the test results from the tech who performed the pulmy workup at the hospital. Nothing from any hospitals or doctors in California. I made her double check. She claims that when those two files arrive, the claims will be paid out.

I'll believe it when I see it.

Aetna: It's War

2005-03-21T18:02:00.000-05:00

I am trying very hard to remain calm and rational. This is WAY beyond my usual Wendy's fiasco. This is going to be war.

Remember the Aetna saga? They have neither approved nor denied three separate claims (for $800+, $123, and $300+) pertaining to a pulmonology appointment and a pulmonology workup I received while I was pregnant in October 2003. They keep insisting upon "more information" from myself and various doctors to confirm this was NOT a preexisting condition.

The only helpful person so far has been the office manager of the pulmonologist I saw. She has been going to bat for me-- and trying to get these claims paid out.

Today I got a letter from her. (Note: the pulmonologist will be "Dr. M." herein.)

Dear Ms. Clarke:

I am writing to you to keep you up to date on the pending claim that is still unpaid by Chickering [underwritten by Aetna.] The date of service was 10/22/03.

I spoke with a Chickering representative named Betty today, and was told this claim will remain unpaid and pended because of several reasons. Chickering needs operative notes [note: operative? Needless to say, I did not undergo any operation] from Dr. M., which I will obtain and send to them. They sent 2 letters asking for these notes, but they put the patient's name as Jared. Dr. M. sent back both letters, marked "not my patient." They send a 3rd corrected letter on 2/14/05.

Betty stated that Chickering also needs notes from [the hospital where I had the pulmonology workup and gave birth], a hospital in California, and a Dr. G. in California. She said that letters went out to these entities as well several times.

Lastly, Betty said that the form that you sent to them was incomplete, and that they need a completed form from you. She suggested that you call them to get this claim payment expedited.

I have little hope that this claim will be paid, but I thought that I would let you know the status. If you could please call Chickering, it would be appreciated. I have done all that I can do to get it paid. I have called them several times, and talked to supervisors, and representatives. Their stall tactics are frustrating, and I don't have any other recourse than to ask for your assistance. I will send them the notes from your chart after I receive them from Dr. M.

Thank you in advance for your attention to this matter. I may be reached during normal business hours at [number.]

Sincerely,
[name]
Billing Adminstrator

So, to recap: 17 months after the fact, Aetna has neither approved nor denied 3 separate claims pertaining to the same issue (namely, pregnancy-indued asthma.) Because the claim is perpetually "pending" I cannot appeal it, since there is no ruling. When I have called Aetna, I have been told that they "need more information" from "two doctors." I was told that due to privacy laws, they could not TELL me who those doctors are.

However, they evidently have no qualm telling the billing administrator of the pulmonologist's office who those doctors are. They are: the ob/gyn I saw in California before we moved, a hospital in California where I went with an asthma attack before we moved, and the hospital where I had the pulmonology tests (and also delivered my daughter.) Side note: we had different insurance when we lived in California; Aetna is not being asked to pay for those claims, they apparently just want the records to see if my story is consistent-- namely, that I had no history of asthma before pregnancy.

Additionally, Aetna has sent out letters to these entities "several times"-- but considering they were requesting the records of the completely wrong person from the pulmonologist (Jared instead of Megan), it is not unrealistic to speculate that perhaps the hospitals and CA ob/gyn were also receiving requests for the records of my husband, who, I am fairly sure, has never had pregnancy-induced asthma. (How confused that ob/gyn's office must be . . .)

So. This is war. I don't know whom to call or what to do, but this is ridiculous. When a seasoned insurance billing administrator is expressing frustration with Aetna's "stall tactics," something is rotten in the state of Maryland.

If you are reading this and have any idea of where I should turn next, please PLEASE e-mail me. Because I can't even find solace in a cheeseburger. Wendy's still gets it wrong.

Aetna: So Bad I'm At A Loss For Punny Titles

2005-03-19T23:03:00.000-05:00

Jared called the hospital about the $123 for which we were sent to collections (see archives.) Apparently they realize the bill was sent to us in error-- that they should bill insurance first-- but when they submitted the bill to Aetna, Aetna informed them that Jared and I are not "in the system." That's right, folks . . . they paid out for prenatal care, labor and delivery, postpartum care, pediatric visits, and all the incidentals of normal medical coverage, but now we're not on their radar.

Maybe they could find it in their hearts to cover a few Valium. I think I need them.

Petco: Treated Like A Dog

2005-03-05T23:06:00.000-05:00

The poor turtles have been neglected for awhile. Their filter has been a lemon from the beginning and desperately needed replacing; their full-spectrum light burned out awhile ago and we hadn't replaced it. So today we put Petco on our errands list.

Our local Petco is kinda cruddy, so we drove farther to a different one. From the outside it looks big and nice. But they lost brownie points right off because they had no carts anywhere to be seen. I had the toddler on my hip and the diaper bag on my shoulder; Jared was carrying the Floppy Seat; we were looking to buy a large filter and large bulb-- we needed a cart. I asked the nearest cashier, "Excuse me, where are the carts?" She looked at me, raised her eyebrow, and said, "Outside?" Unspoken P.S.: Duh, lady. "There aren't any," I replied. She looked around and shrugged. "We've been busy."

Okay, if there were really 30 carts in use, I can understand that. But the store was almost empty and there were STILL no carts. And of course nobody cared to find one for the lady lugging the baby.

Anyway. Jared went to inspect the filters while I looked for the bulb. There was a very distinct smell-- so I kept discreetly sniffing my kid's diaper. (Okay, I lied. There is no way to discreetly lift a child above your head, stick your nose near her crotch, and inhale.) But the diaper passed the test each time. Then I realized there was a very LARGE pile of dog crap right behind me-- I'm lucky I didn't slip in it. It was in FULL VIEW of the cashiers AND the guy in the fish department, and nobody was doing anything about it. Just charming, really. (Not to mention the owner of the dog who did it-- where was s/he?)

I grabbed the bulb and met up with Jared, who was lamenting the fact that the only filter left was in a battered box that had obviously been opened and returned. He was hesitant, but I told him we could always return it if it didn't work or turned out to be missing parts.

Then we decided to give the cat scratching posts a quick peek, for Schrodinger's benefit. (Translation: if Schrodinger keeps scratching the carpet and walls, we will kill him. A scratching post will therefore benefit him.)

So, lugging our loot and the baby and the bags, we made our way to the cat section, this time nearly slipping in a huge yellow puddle of dog pee. Okay, I REALIZE that pets are welcome in the store, but this is getting ridiculous.

Didn't find any posts (that is, didn't find any NOT shaped like a castle priced at $60) and headed to the check-out. As I put the bulb down, Jared said, "Oh, that's a UVB light, not full spectrum." I looked; he was right. I asked the cashier (Jason), "This is the only kind I saw-- do you have full spectrum bulbs?"

He replied, "Uh, I don't know, I just started working here. I buy mine somewhere else."

I blinked. "Do ya think you could ask someone and maybe find out?"

"Oh, okay," he replied. He picked up his register phone and paged Greg. Then we all stood there in awkward silence. A growing line was forming behind us. Greg was nowhere to be found. As Jason paged Greg again, I noticed It.

Underneath the word "Jason" on his name tag was the word "Manager."

I burst out laughing. I pointed it out to Jared (while Jason was looking over his shoulder vainly for Greg.) ONLY ME. I rubbed my temples. "Never mind," I told Jason, and we left without making a purchase.

We ended up back at our cruddy local Petco, which actually had the filter in a nice new box, had the proper light, AND had cute baby ferrets the lady let me hold.

Online Purchase Meet Mr. Credit Card

2005-03-02T21:32:00.000-05:00

Thanks to a nice little tax refund, we decided to buy a new digital video camera. (We bought one in 2002 and it just died in late 2003 . . . right before Aurora was born, naturally. So I have about 6 tapes full of "stock footage" of Disneyland [my hobby!] and none of my kid.)

Being the savvy electronics consumer I am, I did my shopping/pricing online. We selected one, we played with it at Best Buy, and then I ordered it online from a brick-and-mortar camera shop in New York City that retails online. That was Monday. I saw a confirmation e-mail in my inbox ("Your Order Number Is BlahBlahBlah") but didn't bother opening it (I had it sent to my "junk" Yahoo account, the one I use for all online orders, lest my real addy become spam fodder.) Today, Wednesday, I decided to read it and see if it had a shipping tracking number or something.

Instead, I was nonplussed to see it was actually a "random verification" requiring me to call the New York store to confirm my order. I did.

I was informed that my credit card number did not match the billing address I provided. He had me repeat my address, and informed me that no, it did not match. Funny, in the 19 months we've lived at this address, we've gotten 19 monthly statements and made many credit card purchases without incident . . .

Then he transferred me. Ha ha! OF COURSE HE TRANSFERRED ME . . .

The second guy was almost a little too helpful. He had me repeat my address, informed me that it didn't seem to match, but it must be a "a computer error," he was correcting it right now, and the camera would ship today, and he'd call if there were any more problems.

Frankly, my instinct tells me THEY screwed up and were just CTA, because it was resolved without my slagging through a mountain of bull$h!t. Ah well, I'll take it.

Make Up Your Mind

2005-02-23T21:49:00.000-05:00

About a month ago I received (YET ANOTHER) bill in the mail from the hospital where I had my pulmonology workup, for $123. I called the hospital and asked (nicely), "WTF?!" This was the first time I'd seen a bill in this amount.

The woman had looked up the account and quickly informed me that the bill had been sent in error; they had not yet sent the bill to insurance and I was not responsible for it. I was relieved, I thanked her, I hung up.

This week I got a notice that we have been sent to collections for this same bill.

Is it really just me?

Sam's Club Embarrassment

2005-02-23T21:38:00.000-05:00

I ran to Sam's Club tonight. I got there at 7 p.m. and the automatic doors were locked shut. Sam's is open until 8:30. People were inside. A couple joined me at the door, peering inside. A Sam's employee stood near the entrance, staring back at us. We gestured to the door. He stared back. We pointed to our watches. He stared back. We KNOCKED on the door. He stared back.

"What is UP?!" I asked the other people.

"I don't know!" one responded. It was below freezing and we were shivering.

Finally, after a literal 3-4 minutes of us gesticulating, the employee pointed to the exit door. We went around. Those doors were open, and we went in. I stormed to the entrance and demanded of the employee, "What's the problem?" He replied, "The doors were closed."

Huffily, I grabbed a cart. As I walked away, he went over to the automatic doors and unlocked them.

After I got what I needed, I asked the cashier for a manager. When the manager appeared, I told her about the incident. She said to me, "Ohhhhh, yes. I don't mean to downplay your inconvenience, but he's rather slow. Sometimes his mind just doesn't fire, you know?"

I felt sooooo embarrassed. In my defense, this kind of outright disservice is not out of the realm of my everyday experience; however, it occurred to me that I should have realized the man had some mental issues and was not completely obtuse.

Before I could reply, the manager asked me to stay put, and she disappeared. When she returned, she handed me a coupon for a free rotisserie chicken on my next visit for my inconvenience. I thanked her, but I felt pretty bad. I told her I was glad that Sam's gave people the opportunity for employment, and maybe someone should just keep an eye to make sure the front doors didn't get locked again . . . and I made a quick exit, still blushing.

Maryland's Mythical Department of Health

2005-02-23T21:33:00.000-05:00

We are sick of our mold. Our landlord has been kept abreast of the situation for months. Once they sent a maintenance guy out with some spray paint to touch up the windowsills. Great-- but that doesn't help the ceiling or the walls. It's disgusting, and it's probably a health hazard. When I confronted the landlord in person, he said, "If I send somebody out to take care of it, are they just going to come back and tell me you're a bad housekeeper?" I'm not talking about a moldy shower curtain, buddy.

Anyway, we decided to step things up and phone the department of health to report them.

However, I am not actually sure the Maryland Department of Health and Mental Hygiene actually exists. When I dialed them today, I pressed the correct option in the phone tree, then listened to the phone ring exactly 6 times before a recording informed me that everyone was busy, please try my call again later-- followed by a click, and silence.

Oh, right, like I have the time to call them a hundred times a day to attempt to get through? I called ten times today with no luck. Sure, the one time I want to be put on hold . . .

Wendy's: Coup de Grace

2005-02-23T21:25:00.000-05:00

Wow. This one was so good, it's bordering on unbelievable. Fortunately Jared was with me to corroborate.

It has been awhile since we drove thru junk food in an effort to trim our budget. This was our treat.

Some treat! First of all, the speaker was so loud it was painful (I actually covered my ears) and it was so garbled I could hardly communicate with the guy. (Then again, since when has a Wendy's order-taker actually "communicated" with me?)

Order: mandarin chicken salad, #2 combo no mayo no bun with Diet Coke. When we pulled up to the window, the guy asked, "Did you want the Asian dressing with the salad?" "Ummm, it comes with it," I replied. (To Jared: "No, we want RANCH with our Chinese chicken salad.")

What we got: well, I handed Jared the bag containing his salad, and peeked inside my bag. First thing I noticed: I had no fork. I asked for one. While the window dude disappeared to fetch a fork, Jared commented, "I didn't get any noodles or almonds." So when he returned with my fork, I asked for the noodles and almonds. He disappeared again.

While he was gone AGAIN, I inspected my burger more closely . . . only to discover a mysterious white glop gunking things up. ACK!

Window opens, two packets were handed to me. I handed them to Jared and informed the guy, "ALSO, I ordered this no mayo," and extend the burger toward him. He snatched it, gave me a dirty look, and said, "I don't MAKE the food."

I blinked. "That's fine," I told him, "send the cook over and I'll tell him how I want it." He disappeared again with a scowl. (At this point I was starting to worry about them spitting in my food.)

While we were waiting, Jared exclaimed, "NO WAY." I looked at him. "These are PECANS," he said. Oh right. Pecans for the mandarin chicken salad. Hoo boy.

Then a different, female, face appeared in the window. I guess the dude got sick of us. She handed me my now mayoless burger, and I handed HER the pecans and said, "I'm sorry, these are supposed to be almonds for the salad." She grabbed the right nuts, handed them to me, and we finally drove out of the drive-thru, feeling shell-shocked.

Then Jared said, in disbelief . . . "I didn't get a fork."

I parked and let him go inside for one.

I think we MUST stop patronizing this Wendy's.

Rite Aid: With Us, It's Impersonal™

2005-02-12T22:30:00.001-05:00

Tonight I ran to Rite Aid to buy some pregnancy tests (for experimentation purposes, for my website darling, Pee On A Stick.) The cashier was talking to a friend on her cell phone during our entire transaction.

As I walked out the door, I set the store alarm off . . . because Ms. Chats-A-Lot had been so distracted she forgot to demagnetize my items.

I just kept walking.

Aetna Again

2005-02-11T12:07:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I got a call from the nice office manager at the pulmonologist's office. She wanted to let me know that they had received "yet another" request for information from Aetna, as she called it. She called Aetna to inform them they had ALREADY submitted the information. And the Aetna lady clicked around her computer and finally acknowledged, oh yes, they had already received all the information they have been requesting for so long, but it had not been properly entered into the computer system. It would take some time to resolve, she said.

So after ALL THIS, it turns out Aetna already HAS all the information they're "waiting for" from the doctors. They just didn't put it into their system right!

Can you hear my frustration causing my brain matter to leak out my ears? Perhaps now we'll get somewhere, though.

At least that's what I was thinking until another form came in the mail only a few hours later. Identical to the one I filled out a year ago, asking for information on this "pre-existing condition," including doctors I saw and medications I took. This time, however, the date of service was not October 28, but rather, October 1. I didn't see ANY doctor on October 1, leaving me to wonder, what condition are they asking about?!

I would say I give up, but it turns out the $800+ bill was from the hospital for use of their pulmonological diagnostic equipment. The pulmonologist himself has a bill for $300+ they've been (kindly) waiting to send me until after the insurance finally gives them an actual payment or denial . . . and the insurance has been stringing them along for 15 months, as well.

Did I mention I hate Aetna? I hate them with the fire of a thousand suns, as my friend Suso would say. No calamity is to great to befall them. Bah!

Insurance, sigh

2005-02-07T21:06:00.001-05:00

Got this e-mail today.

Megan,

I did leave you a voicemail with the results of my search. You have
never been listed as a dependent or purchased [university] dependent insurance.
Just wanted to make sure you got that info.

My reply . . . rather defeatist:

I got the message, and frankly, I haven't been sure
how to respond to that.

I had a[n insurance] card with the [university] logo at the top
with *my* name on it (*in addition* to the [Jared's employer]
coverage-- there was a semester where Jared was not
working enough hours to qualify at [employer] and so we
bought the [university] health plan.)

We wrote a check to [university] for the amount of a student
plus spouse/dependent. If you have no record of this
whatsoever, something is very, very wrong.
Unfortunately, we did not keep old insurance cards in
our move. So I'll chalk this up to another
unbelievable corporate snafu (I have a knack for
finding them) and lose out on $850 reimbursement from
my current insurance company. I don't have the time
or energy to make waves, which would end up fruitless
anyway.

Thanks.

Insurance: Gotta Hear It To Believe It

2005-02-03T13:43:00.000-05:00

Every now and then you hear a really classic explanation/policy/law that really takes the cake. Guess who's got the cake today . . . haha. Here we go.

Recap: while pregnant, I suffered from (rare) pregnancy-induced asthma. My ob referred me to a pulmonologist for a full battery of tests. The bill: $846.37. Insurance, however, kept denying the claim pending "more information from physicians." In the meantime, the pulmy sent us to collections and we paid up to keep our credit report clean. Now, we are seeking reimbursement personally from insurance. (These tests were from October of 2003. 15 months later, we're still getting the run-around.)

The original statement was that the insurance (Aetna) would need proof of prior continuous insurance coverage to approve the claim. Read the previous entries and you'll see why that route is impossible. I realized, however, that Aetna is treating this as a pre-existing condition rather than pregnancy-related. If they acknowledge it is pg-related, they are obliged to pay up in full without proof of prior coverage. So I tried that tack.

Well, in order to confirm it is pregnancy-related and not pre-existing, they are requesting medical records from various physicans to ensure that I have never before been treated for asthma. Apparently they have been sending out "requests for information" to "two physicians." I wanted to know which two, so I could call their offices and gently remind them to please get that information in the mail ASAP.

"I can't tell you," the Aetna lady replied.

Apparently it would violate federal law to tell me which of my OWN doctors they want more information from. I pointed out that obviously, 15 months later, these offices have dropped the ball or Aetna is using incorrect addresses or or or or . . . I'd like to verify, myself, that the doctors have received these requests and are formulating a response soon.

She still can't tell me.

Well, what do I do now? I wanted to know. I have a finite amount of time before Aetna can deny the claim permanently. I find it ODD that TWO doctors are ignoring these requests. I smell a rat, frankly.

"Well, you can try to call the doctors yourself," she said, "and ask them to forward the relevant records to us."

"WHICH doctors?!" I wanted to know.

"I can't tell you," she repeated.

I asked if she could tell me what KIND of doctors they are-- obstetricians? Pulmonologists? Rheumatologists? (Due to some chronic health issues I have seen a boatload of doctors-- I don't know which two they might have chosen, or why.) I was hoping to narrow the field. Nope, can't tell me. Okay . . . if I guess their names, can you tell me? Nope.

So now I am waiting for two doctors to reply to another plea from Aetna to forward my records. Which two? Don't know.

I even got on the phone and called a few myself. All, naturally, deny receiving any requests for information from Aetna.

I think, my friends, that the $846.37 and I are permanently parted.

Insurance Uh-Oh

2005-02-03T13:40:00.000-05:00

Yesterday there was a message on the machine from a woman from our old insurance department at the university. She reaffirmed that they have no record of dependent coverage. I feel despair coming on.

How exactly does one prove this? Assuming the company is missing records, as is the case here-- we paid the student + dependent coverage rate. I had an insurance card with the university name, the insurance carrier, my name, and my SSN. This was over a year ago, though-- I'm betting we don't have any canceled checks or leftover insurance cards to prove any of this. I swear, in this day and age of CYA, one needs a giant vault for all this old crap.

I am grumpy.

In other news, recently we actually opened some junk mail offering a credit card with a low introductory APR. We decided to transfer our current credit card debt to this new card and enjoy 15 months interest-free. They could not tell me over the phone what my credit limit would be, however. Yesterday I got a letter indicating that the new credit card limit would be less than half of the current card. Screw that! I'm not going to keep two cards; we had intended to cancel the first. Now I have to cancel this second card and hope they didn't already begin the balance transfer. (Ha ha-- get it? HOPE they haven't already started something that would make life more difficult for me? Hehehe. Listen to me, all cute and delusional . . .)

Insurance Debacle

2005-02-01T20:47:00.000-05:00

I need proof of past insurance before Aetna will pay out for $830 worth of pulmonology tests from when I was pregnant. Of course, to complicate things, we switched our insurance from Company 1 to Company 2 and back to Company 1 because Hubby Dearest was alternating coverage under school and work. I contacted Company 1 to get the proof of coverage from the two different time periods.

They e-mailed me back today:

Megan,

Our records show that there has never been dependent insurance purchased. The only insurance charges on the fee bill were for student insurance only. Do you want a letter indicating the student coverage and dates?

My response (in part):

No. The relevant information is the dependent coverage. And it WAS purchased. I received medical attention during those time periods, and insurance was billed, and consequently disbursed funds. I had an insurance card with my name on it (as the dependent.)

[Internal Monologue: Like hell.]

At this point, we have paid the $830 out of pocket (because Aetna kept denying the claim until they get this proof of past coverage, and the pulmonologist sent us to collections) and am trying to get this information so Aetna will reimburse us. And now my proof of insurance has gone incommunicado.

We're way beyond MIA ketchup.

MBNA America: Who Am I?

2005-01-28T17:00:00.000-05:00

Our credit company, MBNA America, suckered us into one of those free trials for some credit protection thing. The trial period ended long ago. Jared swears he canceled it months ago, but it keeps showing up on our monthly statement. I called today to cancel it once and for all.

After I made it through the phone tree, it asked for the "4-digit reference number" for my questionable charge. On my statement, next to the charge, it says "500F." Well, I typed in 5-0-0-3, the 3 being the "F."

"I'm sorry," the recording apologized, "that is not a valid reference number. Please enter the 4-digit reference number now. It appears on your statement next to the charge." It was then that I realized none of the other charges has a letter in the reference number. Of course, the system is not equipped to handle them. (I overcame this little hurdle by entering 4 random digits and waiting.)

After 15 minutes on hold, I finally got through to a warm body. And . . . wait, you can guess this part. Yup-- she had to transfer me!

La-dee-dah.

Got a human being again. He asked to verify my credit card number. Never mind that I had to enter it when I dialed and got put on hold, AND verified with the woman I orginally spoke with. Third time's the charm.

"Your name?"

"Megan Clarke."

"Verify your birthdate."

I did.

Silence. "Uhh, is there another cardholder on this account?"

"Yes, my husband."

"Verify his birthdate please."

Silence. "What's his middle initial?"

Gave it.

Pause. "Okay, I have the right account here, but those birthdays don't match. Can you verify your billing address?"

Okiedoke.

"Hmm . . . and phone number?"

Here ya go.

Another pause. "Well, none of this information is matching what I have in the system."

"Are you sure you have the right account?"

Turns out he did. With our mailing address and phone number of 18 months ago, and completely wrong birthdays to boot. (And we're not talking a little wrong, like month and day reversed. No, we're talking different months, different days, and 20 years off.)

I had a little question. "If you have an outdated address, how am I getting bills at my current residence?"

Of course, HIS department doesn't send out bills. HIS department does only this credit protection crap. My next question: "Considering your information is so wildly incorrect, isn't it possible that my husband actually DID call and cancel, and this is just another error?"

Oh, no. Not possible. They record every customer interaction. (I'm thinking yeah, probably about as well as AT&T does . . .) But alas, my spirit has been broken. I used up my Righteous Indignation with AT&T Part VII yesterday.

So this is supposedly canceled, anyway. Stay tuned.

P.S. Part of this credit protection is a sort of "insurance," where in case of hospitalization or involuntary unemployment, we are not responsible for our monthly CC payment. Gee, wish we'd known we were still paying for that during the 3 months Jared was involuntarily unemployed last year. Naturally, it's past their claims deadline. My new motto: pay twice, get screwed all day!

Return of AT&T

2005-01-27T20:42:00.000-05:00

I don't believe it. Oh, well, yes I do. It's me, after all!

Today two AT&T bills came in the mail. Remember, I canceled our accounts and our last day of service was December 20. I opened my bill with trepidation. Billing cycle Dec. 21-Jan. 20 . . . $0.00. I let out a big sigh and giggled. Let them waste their pennies sending $0 bills to former customers.

Then I opened Jared's. Amount due, $39.85.

*Darling* Gabrielle the Supervisor apparently canceled *only* my account, despite my VERY clear desire to cancel both. Totally incompetent or vindictive? Does it matter?

The first person I spoke to tonight, Ekara, listened to me explain rather abruptly that this bill was in error. She pulled up my account and said, "There are no notes here indicating this account was canceled." Wrong answer. I informed her that her that this was merely another example of her company's sheer incompetence and repeated poor service. I invited her to review the bill and observe that the phone was not so much as powered "on," let alone used at any point during the billing cycle.

"I have to transfer you," she finally said.

"Of course you do," I retorted.

Finally I got Cecelia (ID # 729) in Customer Care. I explained the situation, more irate than before. She put me on hold while she "reviewed the situation and made a final decision." Fortunately for all involved she canceled the account (this time, one hopes, for real) and reversed the charges.

HOWEVER . . . because the new billing cycle started January 21, and today is the 27th, I will receive ANOTHER bill for the charges of Jan 21-27. There is nothing she can do about that now; she can make a note on my account and I have to call AGAIN when the next bill comes.

You should see the doodles I made on this bill while I was on hold. Among the nicer things are the little entry I made into the "Amount Paid" column of the "detach and return with your bill" box . . . it says "C-4."

Wendy's: Where the Magic Word is "No"

2005-01-19T22:18:00.000-05:00

"Welcome to Wendy's, would you like to try a combo?"

"Yes, I'd like a number two with no bun and no mayo, with a lemonade to drink." Pause to let her get that. "I would also like a mandarin chi--"

"Wait, I didn't get that. Hold on."

Holding. One, two, three minutes. I could resist. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" Silence.

"Okay, a number two with no mayo and no bun. With what to drink?"

"Lemonade. Also a mandarin chicken salad with a Frosty." [That was for Jared, the nut who wanted a frozen dessert in 20° weather with 3'' of snow on the ground.]

"Chicken salad and what?"

"A Frosty."

"A what?"

"FROSTY."

"Okay, that'll be [total] at the window, drive around."

"Could you repeat that back to me, please?"

Pause. "No."

At this point we just looked at each other and broke out laughing. Sooooo classic.

"You can't repeat my order?" I asked again. Silence.

WHATEVER. I pulled up. I was greeted with a grunt, paid her, and waited. Drinks handed over. Then she stuck her head out and asked, "Did you want anything on your burger?"

I repeated, "No mayo and no bun."

"Yeah, but do you want the other stuff?" At least she asked.

"No MAYO and no BUN. Everything else is NOT included in 'no mayo,' is it?" (I couldn't help it. Repeated crappy service does this to a person.)

It took awhile, but the food was correct when handed over. I did have to ask for utensils with which to eat my burger. I don't understand-- do they think I'm going to lick it out of the bowl? And for the record, their menu clearly states that low-carb diets can be accomodated by requesting a sandwich without the bun, so this is NOT out of nowhere.

(Also for the record I am not on a low-carb diet, hence my penchant for fries. I breastfeed a baby who is allergic to wheat.)

Next time I am tempted to bring a mini cassette recorder with me so I can upload the evidence. If Crank Yankers made it big . . .

Burger King & Wendy's

2005-01-16T19:39:00.000-05:00

I just wanted fries. Mmmmm. BK has the best. So I hit the Burger King drive-thru today. 25 minutes later, I pulled out without having reached the service window or received my food. So did 3 cars behind me. Apparently nobody thought to have the car in front of me pull over while they finished her order. I saw them hand her drinks . . . and five minutes passed. Then they handed her food . . . and apparently something was wrong with the food, because she was trying in vain to get the attention of somebody (anybody) inside the restaurant to come back to the window by honking her horn for another five full minutes. (They just ABANDONED the window.) Then they took back one of her bags, and more time went by . . .

Screw that. Thank goodness their drive-thru is "open" without a curb or anything keeping the cars trapped. On to Wendy's, a few blocks away.

"Welcome to Wendy's, would you like to try a combo?"

"No, but I would like a burger with no bun and no mayo, and a large fry."

"You want a drink with that?"

[Internal monologue: "Why yes, yes I would like a drink to go with my burger and fries, but no, no combo."]

They got the burger right this time, but I did have to beg for a fork, and I didn't get any napkins.

Wow! Starbucks Comes Through

2005-01-15T02:02:00.000-05:00

I guess it's only fair to blog the good stuff, too. (That way you can see the pathetic ratio of good:bad customer service.)

Tonight we went through the Starbucks drive-through. I ordered Jared's grande decaf skinny cappuccino (my God did I sound like a yuppy ordering that!) Then I asked for a tall Chantico (the new "liquid drinking chocolate." I felt adventurous. And chocolate-desirous.)

"It only comes in one size, a 6-ounce cup," said the voice. "It's really rich."

"Hmm," I said. "Okay, I lost my nerve. Make it a grande decaf mocha no whip." (YUPPY! For the love of PETE! I even blushed.)

I pulled up to the window and the young man held out a small cup. "Would you like a sample of the Chantico?" he asked. "This is the actual cup size," he explained. I thanked him excessively-- especially when I realized the cup was about 2/3 full. Very nice "sample"!

As we pulled away, Jared said in disbelief, "Wow. That was . . . customer service. I'm not sure how to process this."

"I know!" I exclaimed. "Who AM I?!"

Incidentally . . . screw the mocha. Chantico is bliss!

Archives: Cingular, 6 of 6

2005-01-14T01:43:00.000-05:00

--Some of you may recall my AT&T/Cingular saga. I have decided it is too good to waste away in the archives of the message board where it was originally posted. Join me for my trip down Memory Lane. Bring an umbrella. With me, it never rains but pours.--

Well, FedEx sent me a tracking number today. Seems AT&T/Cingular didn't see fit to ship my Ogo until TODAY. It was supposed to ARRIVE today.

So I got on the phone. Remember, Adrian told me I could simply ask for "Adrian in Customer Care" and speak with him again. So I tried that. The dude on the phone LAUGHED and said, "We have over two thousand call reps here, ma'am." Long story short: he gave me another number to call. When I dialed, I got the "this number is no longer in service" message. Naturally. So I started back at Square One.

Finally got another rep. I calmly but firmly explained that I needed to speak with a manager. After about 40 mins I got Gabrielle.

She was unsympatheic and told me she "couldn't magically make FedEx appear." I said no, but you can further compensate me for this hellish experience. She said, "Look, lady, they already gave you a $25 credit, I'm not about to give it to you free or something."

I said, "What sort of compensation do you think is appropriate then?"

She said, "I can give you 15 courtesy minutes on your cell phone."

HAHAHA. I said, "I am not trying to get something for nothing. I am trying to be compensated for poor customer service and what is, as far as I'm concerned, false advertising on the website."

I walked her through it and she saw the promo herself.

She said, "Oh, well, I can't speed up shipping NOW, and I can't compensate you for free shipping."

I said, "What holds the company accountable, then? What keeps Cingular from offering deals on their website and not following through?"

"Oh, well, I can offer feedback to the web designers."

HAHAHA.

I said to her, "Obviously, since Adrian offered me compensation he felt was appropriate, but you aren't, it's a matter of discretion. I would just like to make it clear that after 5 days and 3 hours on the phone, complete with dropped calls, downed systems, and an order that STILL has not arrived, I am extremely unhappy with your company. I am giving you the opportunity to give me another $25 credit and mollify me slightly. If you are unwilling to do that, I will cancel two cell phones, which is $100 a month, and there will be no $20 Ogo activation fee and no $18 a month Ogo monthly fee. So, for your discretion in not crediting me $25, your company will be losing almost $120 a month. Just to be clear."

She said, "That's fine ma'am, I'm sorry you're upset."

I said, "What would you do in my position?"

"Well I wouldn't think I deserved a free device, but I guess that's just me."

So I canceled my cell phone and Jared's cell phone, and I guess when my Ogo does finally arrive, I get to kiss it good-bye and sell it on eBay or something. Or maybe I'll keep Ogo but take our phones elsewhere. Or maybe I'll have Jared call and give it his best shot at getting resolution with someone else.

And I don't believe it, but my baby's diaper leaked as I was typing this and that nice warm sensation is spreading aaaaaall over my lap.

Archives: Cingular, 5 of 6

2005-01-14T01:42:00.000-05:00

--Some of you may recall my AT&T/Cingular saga. I have decided it is too good to waste away in the archives of the message board where it was originally posted. Join me for my trip down Memory Lane. Bring an umbrella. With me, it never rains but pours.--

Well, I finally got things "resolved." My Ogo (singular) will ship tomorrow and arrive Thursday. They gave me half off the promo price ($25) and activation WILL be $19.99. This according to Adrian. If it doesn't happen, Adrian's in biiiiig trouble!

Archives: Cingular, 3 of 6

2005-01-14T01:38:00.002-05:00

--Some of you may recall my AT&T/Cingular saga. I have decided it is too good to waste away in the archives of the message board where it was originally posted. Join me for my trip down Memory Lane. Bring an umbrella. With me, it never rains but pours.--

Ha ha ha. I can't even think of a witty way to preface this!

So of course nobody ever called me back yesterday. I don't know why I thought they would. Ha ha ha! Holiday optimism?

Oh well. I decided to live with the stupid charge on the debit instead of credit since it was past the time they overnighted it anyway. That's part of the deal, you see-- free overnight FedEx.

Well, FedEx hasn't shown up today. And when I check the status of my order online, it says my order is "being processsed" and "will ship on or before Saturday." PARDON ME? Furthermore, it says that there will be a "$36 activation fee" when the website CLEARLY says it's only $19.99 to activate.

So 40 minutes ago I pick up the phone and call Cingular. I immediately ask to speak to a manager, telling her that so far, seven people and the Internet have failed me, so rather than be frustrated with her, I can take out my anger on somebody in a position to rectify the situation.

Still no manager. But I have been transferred twice and disconnected once (fortunately for my sanity, she had pulled up my phone account info and called back on my cell phone, rather than make ME call THEM yet AGAIN.) I am on hold now. I have given my web order number three times. When she finally said, "Okay Mrs. Clarke, I have Adrian on the line to discuss your order," Adrian did not answer. HE got disconnected. On hold again.

Now he just picked up and said, "Yes, your order is currently being processed. You can actually check this online, you know." I explained I know, it should be SHIPPED already, and told him a bit of my difficulties-- how the phone order didn't work, either. At which point he informs me . . . actually that order DID go through, he can see it on my account! So when I called back the first time and they told me the lady "didn't do it correctly," they didn't know what they were talking about. Now I have two Ogos being processed and not shipping per the promo.

I just asked to speak to a supervisor. Closing in on 60 minutes for this particular phone call, not counting yesterday's 30+ minutes and the hour+ from the day before.

Shoot me.

Archives: Cingular, 4 of 6

2005-01-14T01:38:00.001-05:00

--Some of you may recall my AT&T/Cingular saga. I have decided it is too good to waste away in the archives of the message board where it was originally posted. Join me for my trip down Memory Lane. Bring an umbrella. With me, it never rains but pours.--

I had to call back today to cancel the order I put on my debit card and place a new on on the CC per Jared's wish. After 15 minutes, the THIRD person I got transferred to informed me that the system was down and told me to call back in an hour! I stopped being the polite long-suffering customer and told him I knew it wasn't his fault personally but this was ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS and demanded to talk to a supervisor.

I never did get the supervisor, but he took my name and number and said THEY would call back ASAP rather than have me call to check back/wait on hold. However, it's now 2:30 (closer to two hours, 2.5 hours now) and because Ogo has next-day shipping, I'm sure it'll be too late by the time they call back. Whatever.

Archives: Cingular, 2 of 6

2005-01-14T01:38:00.000-05:00

--Some of you may recall my AT&T/Cingular saga. I have decided it is too good to waste away in the archives of the message board where it was originally posted. Join me for my trip down Memory Lane. Bring an umbrella. With me, it never rains but pours.--

Well, I went back to the website-- credit card said no, debit card said no. So then I tried Jared's debit card, which is linked to the same account but ends in 4 different numbers, and it went through!

However, Jared is mad b/c we're still on a paycheck lag and he wanted me to put it on credit, NOT debit, so tomorrow I get to call and cancel the order, then reorder using the CC . . . AUGH!!!!!!

Archives: Cingular, 1 of 6

2005-01-14T01:35:00.000-05:00

--Some of you may recall my AT&T/Cingular saga. I have decided it is too good to waste away in the archives of the message board where it was originally posted. Join me for my trip down Memory Lane. Bring an umbrella. With me, it never rains but pours.--

Jared consented to letting me get my wireless IM gadget for Christmas (Ogo.) They are having an online special: only $50. Well . . . the website kept giving me errors ("WE CANNOT PROCESS YOUR ORDER AT THIS TIME. YOUR NAME MAY NOT HAVE NUMBERS IN IT.") Um, well, no, I didn't type M35AN CLARK3 or anything, so that is NOT it. Then it told me my credit card was declined (which it should NOT be) so I tried again with the debit card and it said they were still having problems and to call THIS NUMBER.

I dialed THIS NUMBER. I got a message saying their service line was closed, call back tomorrow.

I tried the website again. This time it said YOU DID NOT ENTER THE ZIP CODE OF THE AREA IN WHICH YOU WISH TO RECEIVE SERVICE. Well, it didn't ASK for that information! This time it gave ANOTHER number, which I called.

The person answers. I explain, "I want to buy an Ogo but the website gives me errors and tells me to call this number." "Okay, let me transfer you to the person who can help you," he says.

You guessed it. The next person to answer the phone is NOT the right person. He transfers me.

So do the next TWO people.

Finally I get someone who says she can help me. She pulls up my account information (I have an existing phone account with them, as does Jared.) She types and asks for my area code. "310?" she repeats. "No, 410," I correct. "Okay, do you know what city that's out of?" (Internal monologue: Do I KNOW? Do I KNOW what city I live in? Um, yes.) "Baltimore."

"Okay . . . do you know what state that's in?"

(Internal monologue: YOU DON'T?!) "Maryland."

"Okay." Pause. Asks me how many accounts I want (one) and which IM provider (Yahoo.) She is MUMBLING through half of this and I keep asking her to repeat herself. Finally I said, "I'm sorry, it's difficult to understand you. You're not speaking very clearly."

"I know," she replies. Um, WTF?! OHHHHHHkay.

Then she says, "Okay, I'm going to transfer you over the the recurrent billing department to set up your billing." Click, click.

Recording welcomes me to Ogo recurrent billing. Please enter my confirmation number.

Um . . . confirmation number? She didn't give me ANY information. I hit 0 for Operator. Nothing. I wait, hoping a real person will help me. Nope. The recording explains that I must call back when I have my confirmation number and . . . disconnects me.

So I dial back. This time I get transferred to three live people, the third of which informs me that, looking at my account, there is NO Ogo attached to it, so apparently the Clueless Mumbler "placed the order incorrectly." At this point I exclaimed, "I know it's not YOUR fault, but for heaven's sake, I am trying to give your company my MONEY and they are NOT making it easy on me!" She sympathized, "I know-- and you are not the first person to complain."

Anyway, she put me on hold to try and reach the correct department to place the order . . . after a long pause (at this point I have now been on the phone for 17 minutes AFTER being disconnected AFTER finally getting to the Clueless Mumbler AFTER at least 20 minutes of random, useless transfers to people in the wrong departments) . . . she comes back and informs me that the service department has JUST CLOSED FOR THE DAY and I will have to call back tomorrow.

--To Be Continued...

A Regular Offender: Wendy's

2005-01-13T20:00:00.000-05:00

I probably eat at Wendy's far too often. That notwithstanding, tonight we drove through for our dinner. (Desperately in need of a supermarket trip. I digress.)

I ordered my usual: burger combo, no bun and no mayo. I peeked into the bag to make sure things looked correct (fast peek, I saw mine was in the little pastic bowl rather than a wrapper, which is half the battle) and asked for a fork as well. She looked confused. I said, "A fork? To eat the bunless burger?" She said, "Huh?" I repeated, "A FORK please?" She said, "I heard you," and handed me a fork. (Well gee, I guess I thought "Huh?" indicated, well, "huh.")

We got home, where I discovered that apparently "no mayo" means no mayo, no ketchup, no mustard, no onion, no pickle, no lettuce, and no tomato. We were not amused.