Corporate Responsibility

I bought a new cell phone a few months ago. It's small, lets me check e-mail, and lets me talk to people who are far away. In short, I've been pretty happy with it.

One thing that attracted me to said phone was the price tag. It was fairly inexpensive, and with the rebate, I was getting 1/3 off the price; plus, all I had to do was sign a two-year contract. No problem; I'm generally happy with my carrier, so two years is fine by me.

So a few nights back, I checked the rebate's status and discovered it was declined.

Huh.

Following the instructions on the web page, I called the listed phone number, and was told to call a different number. Because apparently, the number listed was the customer service number; I didn't have a problem for them - it was the rebate they offered. Steam started leaking from my ears at this point.

I called the new number, and waited. And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

All the while, I passed time by looking up rival phone companies' plans and phones, and figured I would save them a lot of trouble by simply dropping them and going with someone else. Meanwhile, every six seconds, a recording came on, telling me how they appreciated my business. Right.

Finally, a human voice spoke through the phone. She asked for account information, which I gave, and when I asked why the rebate was declined, she said it was because I didn't sign up for a two-year contract extension.

"Wrong," I interrupted her pre-programmed sales droning. "I signed one the night I bought the phone. Check your records, because I'll fax them to you tonight if you don't find them there."

"Hmm. Let me check." A minute or so passed. "I checked and you were right, sir. I don't know why this happened. I'm expediting your check."

I thanked her and hung up.

Now, I may not be the brightest soul on earth, but two years ago, I purchased two phones through this company, and they tried pulling a similar trick. Unfortunately for them, I keep pretty good records and was able to prove that they were full of crap. It seems awfully strange that the same damned thing would happen to me a few years later. I wonder why they're losing business in droves.

I've long thought the cell phone industry in this country was a joke; phones that are way overpriced so that the discounts can draw in new customers; service that's lackluster at best; oh, and a small honesty problem on top of that. It doesn't take a lot of imagination to envision them declining all rebates automatically, gambling that a fairly small percentage of customers will call in and fight them.

I had already considered going to a new carrier when the contract was up; thanks to this little incident, I'm not considering anymore.

Cursed? I Think Not!

My fingers are numb; my tongue, even more so.

Several years ago, I burned myself badly while cooking. As a joke, my mother purchased me a set of oven mitts. As an even bigger joke, they might be able to hold out the heat from an ice cube, but a cookie sheet? Forget it.

Needless to say, when I was pulling the cookie sheet with the bread on it out of the oven, I burned the bejeesus out of two fingers. Not fun. Fortunately, I have much experience with this, so I immediately immersed them in water. A few minutes later, I was functional again.

Until I decided to try the spaghetti sauce. The spaghetti sauce that had been simmering in the slow cooker for several hours.

Perhaps I was overwhelmed by hunger. Maybe I was distracted; who knows? All I know are blisters on the roof of the mouth aren't much fun.

This is not the first time I've burned myself while cooking. Nor is it the first time I've cut myself, crushed a finger, banged my head off of something. Maybe it's clumsiness. Aaron thinks it's because he cursed me many years ago. I don't buy it. And I still laugh at him!!!!!

No, I think it's mainly because I subscribe to the extreme school of cooking, where no knife is too sharp or no pan is too hot. Like all great composers, I suffer for my art.

I just pray I live to enjoy it.

Karma is a Harsh Mistress

While technically not a Halloween story, this is a tale of monsters and spirits gone awry.

Once upon a time, I worked as a counselor at a summer day camp. For some reason, my employers decided it would be wise to put me in charge of a group of 12 six-year-old boys. Yes, I was ten years older than them, but I was just as mature as they were.

One of the keystones of being male is the utter inability to admit to fear. Fear is not an emotion we admit to. Sure, in the dark hours of the morning, after the fourth beer, we might sit and dwell upon mortality, but in front of a crowd fear is not an acceptable emotion.

I’m happy to report that one year, the kids in my group were the most utterly fearless six-year-olds to walk the Earth. No threat of violence (non-enforceable, of course), restriction of privileges or dire happenings could prod them into doing something they didn’t want to do, and God help you if they decided they wanted to keep playing on the playground – no force known to man could pry them from the sweet siren song of a sandbox.

And if they decided to run into the woods? You were in for a long period of yelling and searching, hoping they chose not to go home (many of them lived nearby).

Enter Mr. Moto. Mr. Moto was an escapee from an insane asylum. He lived in the woods, where he would tie the bad children to trees and would eventually eat them. Like the idea that I was actually in charge of these kids, Mr. Moto was pure fiction – the nuclear option we (the boy counselors) used if the kids were being especially uppity. The mere mention of Mr. Moto guaranteed instant compliance, as no child wants to be eaten while tied to a tree.

St. Louis in mid-July has all the ambiance of a steam room. Clear blue skies and the hot sun shines down as humidity blows up from the Gulf to guarantee that your clothes will stick to you by 9:00 AM, and finding a cool spot to relax is a treasure indeed. For me, excessive heat also makes me cranky. Add cranky to my general laziness, and you begin to see how chasing bratty kids around isn’t always a fun way to kill an afternoon.

One day, after a particularly long playground session, we had to move on, and the kids fought like crazy, not wanting to go. I invoked the spirit of Mr. Moto.

And was rebuked.

I tried again.

And they laughed at me.

Good Lord, I thought, we’ve gone nuclear one time too many. It no longer works. I could feel my control of these kids slipping away – soon, anarchy would reign, and my fellow counselors would shun me, because no one wanted to associate with someone who had no control over his group.

I then hit upon the solution. “If you all don’t get moving now, Moto’s coming out of the woods for you!” I said.

They laughed some more.

“Okay. Your funeral. I want no part of this.” And I ran off.

Straight into the woods I ran, around the trails lining the park. One trail let out next to the playground. As I approached the opening, I pulled my shirt over my head and ran out, screaming “YYYYYEEEEAAAAHHHHH!”

I pulled my shirt down, chuckling. And realized my kids had scattered to the four winds. Uh-oh.

Fortunately, I found them before they ran into traffic or straight home. After much whining and crying, I finally calmed them down (and promised them lots and lots of ice cream the next day).

But when I was climbing into my car to go home that night, I realized my wallet was no longer in my pocket. Egad.

I slipped back into the woods, and found it. Two hours later. With no cash in it. The next day, I loaded up on treats and ice cream and made up to the kids. Oh, and I also got my ass chewed up one side of the park and down the other by my boss.

I’m a different person than I was back then. More mature, more confident. And if I’m ever in that situation again, I would do it differently.

I’ll keep my wallet in the car before going out to work with the kids.

Yahoo Can Bite My Crank

I haven't been able to access my e-mail for 24 hours. Whenever I try, I get a "Temporary problem accessing your mailbox" message. To fix it, the message helpfully offers up these nuggets:

• Click Refresh
• Log out then log back in

Of course, when these "solutions" don't work, you're hosed. I had the same problem earlier in the year, and all it does is causes my blood pressure to spike.

Yahoo's Customer Service is next to useless, offering up some great tips like clearing cookies and clearing out the cache, assuring me it's a "transient" problem. Hint to Yahoo: how about giving real answers and helping your customers out instead of hoping it will go away.

Any suggestions on how to deal with this? Other than bombarding Yahoo's customer service with complaints until someone gets up and actually tries to be helpful -- I'm already doing that. Failing that, any suggestions on other e-mail service options? Because I've just about had enough of Yahoo.