Call Centers from Hell

So, our Kodak printer went on the fritz two days ago. Well, actually, it died. It refused to turn on after a few problems with the paper catching and printing. We looked online to fix the problem, followed the steps and nothing. This printer refused to turn on. ahhhh! So, the dreaded call to the call center in some foreign country. After being disconnected 4 times, I finally got through to the right area. "Your estimated wait time is 5 minutes." Okay! Not bad. Then, the inevitable elevator music started, interrupted every 30 seconds with the same 4 advertisements advertising their website help center (oh so helpful!!!). Five minutes passes and I get the message, "Your estimated wait time is 10 minutes." WHAT?!! I just waited five minutes! Now I have to wait longer? Honestly, sometimes these call centers do it to themselves. They make us wait longer than any normal human being should wait to talk to another human, aggravating us. No wonder people loose their cools while talking with the call center. Any way, another five minutes has passed and I get the message, "The next available service representative will take you call!" YAH!!! Then a few minutes pass and I get the message, "Your estimated wait time is 15 minutes!" Okay, now I'm going crazy! Finally, I get to talk to another human being...who barely speaks my language. On top of that, the phone system is terrible and I can barely hear them speak. Great!
Then the inevitable information exchange happens. You know, where you have to tell them your name, phone number, email address, address, security code, birth date and the length of your right arm. All the while having to spell out each letter with the "H as in Hotel" mode of information exchange. Then finally you get to tell them about why you are calling.
A: My printer won't turn on. I've tried the information on the web page and its still not working. The web told me that it can't be fixed and I need to call you guys.
TC(Tech center): Unplug the AC Adapter
A; uh...I've already tried that.
TC: Please remove the AC Adapter from the back of the printer.
A: Fine, but it doesn't work. We've tried. Okay, its unplugged.
TC: Now wait 30 seconds before...
A: Plugging it back in. I know. And then wait thirty seconds after plugging it back in before pressing the on button. I know. I've tried and it doesn't work.
(i humour the guy and do what he asks)
A: Nothing.
TC: Can you try a different outlet.
A: What good will that do. I get some lights on, but not the on/off light. A new outlet won't change that.
TC: Can you please try plugging it into a different outlet.
A: Okay. Nothing (I didn't move...I'm not stupid. A new outlet would change anything).
TC: Okay, then. Your printer is shot. You'll have to get a new one. Where and when did you purchase the printer.
A: It was gift and we got it last Christmas.
TC: So where was it purchased?
A: IT WAS A GIFT!
TC: Do you know where it was purchased?
A: NO! It was a gift.
TC: Okay. Then what I will need you to do, is send in a proof of purchase....
A: It was a GIFT. I have no proof of purchase. (can you sense my aggravation growing?)
TC: Well, do you think you could call up whoever gave it to you and get it from them.
A: Hmmm...NO!
By this time, I've lost my cool. I'm done talking to someone who doesn't understand what the word gift implies. Basically, after explaining what the word gift implies, he told me that there was nothing he could do for me. Knowing that I was under warranty still, I knew he had to replace the printer. So, I asked to speak to his supervisor.
TC: I'm sorry, there is no supervisor and nothing he can do for you. (hello, contradictory statement).
A: I would like to talk with your supervisor or manager please.
This conversation goes on for a while, until I ask him for another number to call so that I can talk with someone who will help me. He gives me the number for the tech center, which I currently am calling, to talk with him. I tell him I didn't want to talk with another person from the tech center. I want to talk with someone who can help me. He finally gives me the number for someone in Canada. the man on the other end of the Canadian line is understanding and promises to send me a new printer. Yah!

Now we start with a new day and a new attitude. I am surprised to receive my new printer in the afternoon. The delivery man says he took it off the plane an hour ago. Talk about service! (just a note..the service is good from DHL..NOT KODAK!) Anyway, I unpack my new printer to find a COMPLETELY different model. It doesn't look as nice and I'm worried that the cords aren't going to fit. Anyway, I call Kodak to sort this all out. And the aggravation starts again!
Once again I am forced to spell out my email address in the "H as in Hotel" form of communication. I got so frustrated that when I got to C it turned into "C as in Can you spell that?" I was tempted to turn "I into Idiot" but I refrained myself.
Then, I was put on hold so that he could look over my records. The elevator music began and in the background, I hear a strikingly familiar voice-my own! He was listening to the conversation I had with the other tech center man from yesterday. (Did I mention that I was quite forceful in my insistence to talk with a supervisor?) It was like reliving the pain from yesterday all over again! AWFUL! Once he was done listening to my conversation from yesterday (you know, recorded for quality assurance), he came back to talk with me.
Unfortunately, there was no record of my call with the nice man in Canada, so I had to explain to the man that I received the wrong printer. He assured me that this model is better since it has WiFi and more features. I wasn't going to fight with him. I'm so done talking with tech center people. I then proceeded to have to have to ask him for printer ink (the Canadian was supposed to send me a few), since there was none in my package and the brand new ink cartridges were full and stuck in my old printer. He told me that he could only send me one. Not a few. This makes me mad, but I'll let it go. But he offers me paper instead. I'll take what I can get.
Then I have to ask for a new printer head. The tech man tells me that he can't send that to me, since I should just use the old one. I tell him that I can't turn on my old printer, so he would need to send me a new one. He tells me that he will have to charge me for it. I refuse to pay and insist that he send me a new one.
Then there was the whole issue with my "case id number." That statement is apparently hard to say in his native language, coupled with the fact that his phone kept cutting out and he was hard to hear due to the lack of volume on his end. At the end of it all, we got things figured out. Probably until the next package arrives and I have to go through this all again.
Somewhere in the midst of all of this, I figured out that hell is probably being permanently stuck talking to someone in a call center.
Have I ever mentioned that I hate call centers? (its no wonder people just go out and buy a new item rather than use their warranty to replace the item).

Shopping is bad for my self esteem

Normally, I'm pretty happy with my body type. I don't find myself overweight (although I could stand to loose a few pounds). But whenever I go shopping, I begin to feel like a hippopotamus-monkey. Today I went to go find myself a winter jacket. I needed a new one, as the old one had worn thin and on Sunday, I found myself jammed in the jacket as the zipper failed. Since it was non-fixable (I had to actually cut myself out of the coat), and there was a bit of money left in the budget, I went in search of the perfect coat.
Now most woman get excited about shopping. Probably because they can go to the ladies section, find something cute in their size and go home. Not me! I start in the ladies section, and find the XL (which isn't really my normal size...I'm actually only a medium/large, depending on the size of the garment) and see if it will fit me. No such luck. I have broad shoulders and long monkey arms that refuse to fit into ladies clothing. (I actually get surprised when the sleeves reach my wrists)
So I'm off to the men's section. Now, not only do I have to find a size that will fit me (and some what flatter a Lady's figure), I have to find a design that can pass as feminine. This isn't that easy, especially when you are on a budget. So there was three coats in the one store that fit me. But two of them were manly patterns (and reminded me of the crazy walking dude on our street). So I had one choice. Just one. When I put it on, I felt like a hippopotamus. It felt large, which makes me feel large. This isn't good for a woman's self esteem.
I went to another store, and there was just ONE coat in my budget that fit. It's not too manly, and could pass as a unisex jacket. I feel okay in it. Sadly, I don't get to have much choice. I get to make do with what you can afford and what "fits."
Every time I go shopping I feel like this. Apparently, feeling like a woman is not for any one who is almost six feet tall. You get to feel large and like nothing is made for you. I always hear that I should "tailor" things. That would be great, but there isn't enough fabric to make the garment fit. I would need to find two items and sew them together!
There must be a reason my parents named me A-MAN-DA. Yep. I'm just a man stuck in a woman's body. Or, the textile world has neglected the tall woman. (aren't we considered models in the textile world? Something must be wrong.)
Meh. I guess I'll just stay away from the mall. It's better for my self esteem.

Christmas Cookies

Our care group decided to bake cookies and bring them to a few select people in the church. Mostly those with young kids, or people whom we knew the names of. We decorated cookies and then headed out in search of their homes.

It was surprising how thankful people were for such a simple gesture. We got comments such as, "I was craving something sweet and didn't have anything in the house! Thank you!" Or, "We were making lunches and realized there weren't any cookies or sweets. We are thankful for these cookies." Or my personal favorite was overheard as I answered the phone, "Mommy, can I please have another cookie?" Followed by a grateful parent.

As a care group, it was a fun opportunity to spend some time together, enjoying each others decorating skills (or lack there of). We enjoyed driving down the same road numerous times trying to find someones address. We liked guessing if people would answer the door at 9 or 10 at night to sometimes "strangers." We thought it was funny as we wondered if raccoons or dogs would eat the cookies if we left them on some one's door step since they weren't home (the recipient got them just fine). We relished in the requests for carol singing, yet spared everyone the horror. But most of all, we enjoyed the service experience. Spreading a little bit of cheer to people who didn't expect it.

Disfunctional Family Christmas

There is a lot of pressure at this time of year. Between shopping for the perfect gift, numerous family gatherings, Christmas Concerts, decorating the house, baking cookies, wrapping gifts and regular household duties, there lies the pressure to create the "perfect" Christmas. You know the one; full of happy faces, perfect meals, peaceful interactions-straight from the Hollywood movies. Somehow we assume that just because its Christmas, family interactions will somehow change, our finances will miraculously be fixed, people will cooperate, and the house will be decorated without any complaints or arguments. But often there is a chasm between our dreams and reality.
I remember for so many years, I dreamed of having that perfect family Christmas. But my reality was that my dad would watch TV until my mom told him firmly that it was time to start opening presents. This would begin the annual Christmas Eve argument, until one of them finally won out. Then, in a tension filled room, we would open our gifts and disperse as quickly as possible, only meeting in the kitchen to fill our plates with appetizers before heading to our own separate directions.
Then, our family dynamics changed when my parents separated. The second year after their divorce, I was working at the youth center, being somewhat bah hum bug about the upcoming holiday festivities when Al McLean, my supervisor advised the volunteers during our pre-meeting and prayer time that this time of year was often difficult for the youth. It wasn't always a happy time of year due to family difficulties or financial troubles. Dysfunctional families were often MORE problematic due to the stresses and pressure of the holiday season.
Somehow, knowing this, freed me from the dream of the perfect Christmas. That year, I decided I was going to enjoy my dysfunctional family Christmas. Here is an excerpt from my journal that year:
"Here's the scene: Owen is screaming and crying, ready to puke up anything that comes his way. Sarah is frustrated with Owen's crying and looks so dead monkey and ready to fall over at any time because she has the flu. Jon begs anyone with legs to get him shrimp and croquettes. Grandma babbles on and on about who knows what, and Mom rolls her eyes frustrated. Rachel is half naked, trying on every new outfit she got, including her princess attire. James has his paws clinging to my box of chocolates and we have a tug of war until I finally let him win, only to distract him with a toy and steal them back a few seconds later. Dan is sitting back, laughing at the hilarity of the situation and enjoying his first Christmas with my family. Aside from fighting with James for my chocolates, I just laugh. And Smile. I like dysfunctional family Christmas. Its everyone's personalities shining through. When we are dysfunctional, we get to be ourselves. No pretending to be nice, or acting perfect. Just being who we are and accepting each other for their quirks. That's dysfunctional family Christmas, and a perfect one at that." (2005)

Every year since I changed my perspective about Christmas, has been interesting. They all have had something go wrong (goodness knows, we have the 12 days of Christmas to celebrate, something is bound to go wrong). But along with changing my perspective, I've also changed my focus. Now Jesus has become focal, and all the rest can be what it may.

When I first started dating Dan (almost 4 years ago), I made him a deal that I would get to be bah hum bug one year and I would try my best to be happy the next. But he has been lucky. He has yet to suffer a bah hum bug year, except maybe that first year. We choose to celebrate Christmas, with all its dysfunctionalities, and let it be what it is: Christmas.

April did a sermon this week about discouragement. As she introduced her sermon, she relayed how she had been asked to talk about discouragement way back in September, but saved it for this week. She found it fitting to start the Advent season with a sermon on discouragement, as that is often a part of people's mindset at this time of year. While I was listening, I relayed it back to my dysfunctional family Christmas. Then I went a step further and realized that the whole Christmas story isn't all about peace and happiness. Its about struggling and feeling discouraged. I think Joseph found it a struggle to find a place to stay and discouraged when all he was offered was a stable. Didn't all those people know his wife was about to give birth to the Chosen One? And I'm sure Mary didn't find it peaceful giving birth to Jesus (just ask any woman about childbirth!) I find the entire story saturated with dysfunctionalities, lack of peace, frustrations and discouragement. Perhaps, we've injected our need for peace and happiness into the story (don't get me wrong, I know its there), but we have forgotten that its also full of dysfunctionalities.

This Christmas season, lets just enjoy the craziness. Forget that impossible dream of the "perfect" Christmas. Let's trust God and embrace the dysfunctionalities.

Something to make you giggle

While at church on Sunday, I saw a man (okay, it was Anthony), wearing a shirt that caused me to giggle. Instead of describing it, I googled it. So much better. Enjoy!

Some things are best left in the past

We all have those favorite childhood memories, you know playing in the park, eating a favorite meal, general tomfoolery and those things that just made you a kid. This month, we decided to relive some of those favorite meals, inspired mostly by Amanda's cravings (although only one meal was actually eaten by her as a child).
Meal #1: Flipper on a raft (aka homemade Tuna Helper on bread). For those of you who are wondering what this culinary delight might be, its basically homemade white sauce with tuna thrown in, spread over sliced bread and topped with cheese. Mmmmm! Or not. This was a favorite of Amanda's mother growing up, and sometimes was placed over cooked Mr. Noodles (dubbed Flipper in seaweed). Sounds great in theory, however when it came to actually consuming said meal, neither one of us thought too highly of the recipe. Dan detested it so much, he actually called Amanda's mother and proceeded to inquire where the recipe came from and why she would actually serve this to a child. I do believe I overheard the words "medieval torture devise" within the conversation.
Meal #2: Mac N Cheese...Whiz. (Dan's favorite growing up). Okay, seriously, Mac N Cheese Whiz is not good. Especially since Dan seems to think that mixing cheese whiz with milk somehow makes it better. Well, it doesn't. Traditionally Dan served this meal with a breaded chicken patty (we left it out) or with hot dogs (which may have added some much needed flavour).
The point of all this has been to show that some childhood memories are best left in the past. Especially the childhood culinary ones. When its got a name like Flipper on a raft or a main ingredient like cheese whiz, you should back away quickly. Do not make such meal. Nostalgia is not worth all the dry heaves and nauseousness, or questions like "Why did I just do this to myself?" Some things are just best to leave in the past.

So this is what being a parent is like...

Dan and I agreed (what are we insane??!?!) to keep the kids overnight last night. Their parents went to a concert and we had Bible study. The kids were fairly good, only coming out a few times to see what was going on. I had to go in a few times to break up fights, but what can you expect? They are little. They finally went to bed at about 10:30/11ish, which is not abnormal for them. (although, they were bouncing off the walls, and my eyes were drooping...) I had a good nights sleep, until....
5:45am. River wakes up screaming and crying. Something about his leg hurting. I never did find out what the problem was. I just tried to calm him down and keep him from waking up Cypress who is in the same room (probably a cardinal mistake on my part, but I'm still learning)
6am. Cypress wakes up crying, complaining that something hurts. I assume she wants some sympathy after hearing me with Rivs. Then the coughing starts. I pick her up to take her out of the room, so that River can sleep. As I'm picking her up, I feel this gross heave extirpating vomit onto my shoulders, back and hair. By this time, I know what's happening and make a run for the bathroom. I stand her in front of the toilet and instruct her to barf in it. Meanwhile, I'm peeling off my shirt to keep the vomit from dripping all over the place (needless to say, there is a nice trail from her room to the bathroom). She vomits again...but instead of her aiming for the toilet, she turns her head at the last minute and it ends up all over the floor and the bath mat. Gross! We clean her up, change her shirt and put her to bed. Dan and I spend the next 15 minutes removing barf from our floor and bedsheets. We go back to bed, tired yet very awake. We are just about asleep when at
6:30am I hear Cypress complaining that her tummy hurts. I run to her room, just in time to grab a blanket to catch her vomit. I yell at Dan to run and grab a bucket. (he walks) It's dripping through the blanket (which is still wrapped around her), and into my hands. Finally, Dan gets the bucket to me and we yet again clean up. I instruct Cypress to vomit into the bowl if she needs to barf again. I ask Dan to get a towel to put under the bowl (see, I'm getting smart), while I settle her down. We both head back to bed. We are just about asleep when at
7 am I hear her start to gag. Up it all comes, this time in the bucket. But she is screaming. When I finally calm her down to understand her, I realize that she is upset, because the vomit is on her chin. I wipe that up and head back to bed. I'm just about asleep (do you sense a pattern here?) when at
7:30am. She does it again. A quick run to help and an equally quick cleanup and we all head to bed. I'm just about asleep and at
8am. She's gagging again. No barf, thankfully. Just not feeling good. Then River wakes up. He's doing fine until he starts to cough. I grab the bucket and in the barf goes....well at least most of it. It kinda splashed everywhere. Another bed spread into the laundry. It doesn't help that his diaper was all out of place and he wet through the bed. Yippee!

Needless to say, that's the last barf we've had so far. It's currently 10:30am. I'm on my third load of laundry (and there are at least 2 more). Oh the joys. I think at about 6am this morning Dan and I had a conversation that went something like this:

Amanda: So, this is what having kids is like.
Dan: We are NEVER having kids.
Amanda: Nope, never.
Dan leans in to snuggle up next to Amanda.
Amanda: Are you kidding me? Get away from me! No kids! EVER!

I think our sleep loss led to this but, needless to say. If' you're going to practise, you may as well have a bad experience. If you can make it out alive, I think you're ready to go forth and multiply....but maybe not until this experience is forgotten.

A cop a day, keeps the criminal away

Or should we say, a cop a minute keeps the criminal away.
We went to return a video to the video store tonight, an eight minute return trip. We literally counted eight cop cars passing by us in that eight minute trip. It doesn't really make the neighbourhood feel any safer. In fact, in this town, it makes you wonder if there is a Bacon Brother running loose. Lets just hope that the cops catch who they are looking for, and that no one gets caught in the crossfire.

H1N1 and the line from Hell

Generally, I have found that there are three different ways that people have responded to the H1N1 flu shot.
1. The "I want the flu shot and I want it now. And I will do whatever it takes to get it" person
2. The "I'm not afraid of the flu, and I'm not sure about the safety of the vaccine, so I'm not going to get it" person
3. The "I'm only getting the shot, because.....I have kids, I have a pre-existing condition etc...." type person

Unfortunately, the type that you meet in the H1N1 line are the number one, aggressive type person. Last week, I took both kids (age 2 and 3) to get the flu shot as their parents requested. Let me say that taking two kids to stand in line for 2.5 hours is not my cup of tea. But then, the line from HELL made it that much worse. I took the kids to Mission, since there was no clinic in Abbotsford that the kids would qualify for (their clinic happened a week earlier, when the kids didn't qualify). People in line, were getting angry and aggressive. They kept saying, "This line is for Mission residents ONLY! People should stay in their own city and get the shot." Unfortunately, not every city had a place for a flu shot, so others would retaliate in angry outbursts. The Health Nurse came around to answer questions, and remove people from line who didn't qualify. Only, she didn't come alone. She came with a body guard. On top of that, there were times in the 2.5 hours that I waited in line, in which I needed to leave the line to gather the children to keep them safe from a delivery truck that was driving by. When I would return to my place in line, people would get angry and refuse to let me back in line. They would force me to the back of the line. I would play oblivious, since there was no way I was going to wait one extra minute in that line. By the time the kids actually got their shot, I was done. We ran out of snacks about an hour into the line, and we were hungry. And tired. Let's put it this way, I felt like going crazy. I laughed when Cypress got the shot, cuz I was DONE!
Needless to say, the next day Cypress got a high fever....a reaction to the shot. Two days later, River came down with a high fever. Now, we all have colds. Probably got them from standing in line with hundreds of other people. (so much for avoiding "close contact" with people who are sick..a slight oversight on the organizers part).

Walking and the Weather

Walking in this weather can be fun. Dan and I were walking home in the pitch black since the power went out around town. It was fun to walk with the wind screeching by and the rain dumping down. Dangerous at times.....some people still don't understand four way stops or that some people are crazy enough to walk in the wind and rain.....but fun.
On Saturday afternoon, I went to the mall to quickly pick something up before returning home. It was pouring and my umbrella broke on the way to the mall. (the handle came off and it refused to open). I decided to take the bus home, since the heavens decided to open up and dump rain like the world was ending. I ran to the bus, only to have an elderly gentleman take his sweet time to close his umbrella and get on the bus. So, needless to say, I was drenched. Happy (since I found the whole rain dumping on me quite humorous), but drenched. Anyway, as the bus starts to drive, I notice that there are fish tails about 10 feet tall coming straight out from the wheels of the bus. I haven't seen any fish tails that huge since I've been in a large boat. I actually joked that I didn't know if we were on a boat or a bus. Then, we passed this man in a bus shelter. The rain dumping on his head and then, to add insult to injury, a 10 foot wave of water splashed on him from either wheel of the bus. The man, was wet. Sorry to the man, but it was hilarious. From the front of the bus, I hear the driver giggling. He said, "I moved over as far as I could, but there was nothing I could do." (I must interject and say that this driver has a good sense of humour, as earlier this week he drove right past me at the bus stop, only to stop about 200 meters away with the comment, "I've always wanted to do that!") The driver continued to giggle and so did a few others (including me) on the bus. It was like a bunch of elementary school kids after someone farted. Giggles followed by controlled silence, and then bursts of laughter. I eventually got off at my stop and noticed a HUGE puddle that the bus needed to drive through. I know that after laughing at the man who got drenched, I probably deserved to be soaked as well. But I'm a smart cookie and waited a great distance from the puddle, so as not to get wet. I even had to run half a block (or the length of the puddle) so that a passing car wouldn't give me the same fate as the drenched man.
I love this weather. Sometimes though, it doesn't love me.