It should come as no surprise that many Americans are obsessed with losing weight. We're constantly bombarded with endless advertisements promoting diet foods. And it seems that there's a low-calorie, low-fat alternative to almost every type food. It's about time that this nonsense ends........
I'm tired of hearing about how great tasting low-calorie foods can be. You know as well as I do, that diet foods generally have about as much flavor as a cardboard box. To make them even somewhat palatable, you have to dump a half pound of salt on them.
Tina is always trying to prepare some kind of new "healthy" meal. Every now and then, she'll try to pull the old bait and switch trick and serve me a turkey burger. When the jig is finally up, she'll try to convince me that there isn't much difference between a turkey burger and a traditional cheeseburger. Are you kidding me?? An Angus cheeseburger is delectable, satisfying staple of Americana while a turkey burger is a sacrilegious waste of bird flesh. Big difference!
Other times, she'll serve up something called cous-cous. First off, the name itself sounds downright silly. This tasteless concoction is like bland, light rice. If you injected rice with helium, you would have something similar to cous-cous. You could probably eat a 50-gallon drum of this stuff and still be hungry.
Several years ago, a co-worker told me that he had recently lost some weight by going on something called the Atkins Diet. He told me that his new diet consisted of mostly steak, burgers (sans the roll), fried chicken and bacon. Yes, bacon! It was like an angel appeared before me. I immediately wanted to join the Atkins team.
So, I head off to the store to buy some "diet food". When I get home, Tina looks in the bag and asks why I bought ten pounds of bacon. I tell her that I'm going on a diet. She tells me that I'm an idiot and then asks me to please increase my life insurance policy. I can't win!
The low carb craze from a few years ago also gave a boost to light beer sales. A light beer, although pretty much tasteless, only has a few carbs. I always get a kick out of the light beer advertisements. They all claim to taste great. As a bit of a beer connoisseur, I can tell you first hand that all light beers suck. Yes, I drink them occasionally, but there's not a light beer out there that can hold a candle to a good ol' Samuel Adams Boston Lager.
Along the same lines, Americans consume massive amounts of diet soda every year. I'll admit, they're not quite as tasteless as "diet beer". But just to be safe, I like to add a heaping dose of Captain Morgan to my Diet Coke. It enhances the flavor and, at the same time, makes me forget that I'm actually consuming a "diet drink".
On another note, I was shopping at a local wholesale club a while back. On the way out, I grabbed what I thought was a hot dog. Upon further review, it turned out that I had actually bought a fat-free hot dog. I knew that there was no way this was going to be good. So, I reluctantly took a bite. It tasted like compressed sawdust! Fighting the urge to toss it in the trashcan, I loaded it up with a mega-dose of mustard and somehow finished it off. That would be my first and last fat-free frank.
I might not live as long as someone who lives off of broiled fish and green tea, but that's ok. As long as my heart continues to pump blood through my arteries, I plan to eat real foods with real flavor. I think there's a filet mignon and a good draft beer waiting for me somewhere tonight.......
KW
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Picking Up The Trash
There are quite a few unexplained mysteries in the world. A few that immediately come to mind are the pyramids of Egypt, the Bermuda Triangle, UFO sightings and perhaps even Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster. However, being the simple man that I am, I have become intrigued with the mystery of why trash men can't stand a trash can back up.
The other day, as I was driving up my street, it was kind of like driving on an obstacle course. I had to swerve around endless abandoned trash cans as I made my way towards the main road. Although I somewhat impressed myself with my deft driving ability, it quickly took it's toll on my nerves.
The icing on the cake was when I returned home a few hours later. As I go to turn into my driveway, I notice my trash can blocking the path. Instead of just getting out and moving it, I sit there like an idiot and curse under my breath, hoping that the trashcan will magically disappear. After a neighbor walks by and gives me a strange look, I finally get out and move it.
Ok, maybe I'm making a little too much out of this. Some people might say that I'm being too hard on the poor trash men. But let's stop and examine this for a second. A few years, in the never ending attempt to be politically correct, someone came up with the idea to give the traditional "trash man" a new more respectable title: Sanitation Engineer. (This idea was likely dreamt up by the same people who thought that manhole covers were sexist.)
So, now that these folks have been promoted to engineers, you would think that they would be able to figure out how to stand a trash can up. And if these guys really want to impress me with their newly found technical ability, they could put the lid back on. I've never attended a sanitation university, but even I can put a lid on a trash can!
Another thing that drives me crazy is how these guys pick and choose what items to haul away. A few years ago, I left a couple fold-up lawn chairs laying next to my trash can. When I get home later in the day, my empty trash can is predictably in the middle of my front lawn. But the two lawn chairs are left lying on the street. It appeared that the sanitation engineers put their collective minds together and decided that my lawn chairs were too bulky to put in their truck's trash compactor. However, a few weeks earlier, one of my neighbors put a small rowboat out in the trash, and they took it away!
It was later explained to me that you have to slip the engineers a few bucks to keep them happy. Once you get them "on the payroll" they'll go the extra mile for you. I'm not saying that it's true, I'm just telling you what I've heard. Now that I think about it, wasn't Tony Soprano in the sanitation business?
And my gripes don't end with the conventional trash pick-up. I also have a beef with the recycling guys. They never fail to leave at least one empty beer can or soda bottle laying in my driveway. Although they may not have the technical training of the sanitation engineer, I still don't understand why they can't pick this stuff up.
If I ever came home and saw my empty trash can standing up with the lid on, and no recyclables lying on the street, I would probably break down and shed tears of joy. But I'm not not holding my breath......
KW
The other day, as I was driving up my street, it was kind of like driving on an obstacle course. I had to swerve around endless abandoned trash cans as I made my way towards the main road. Although I somewhat impressed myself with my deft driving ability, it quickly took it's toll on my nerves.
The icing on the cake was when I returned home a few hours later. As I go to turn into my driveway, I notice my trash can blocking the path. Instead of just getting out and moving it, I sit there like an idiot and curse under my breath, hoping that the trashcan will magically disappear. After a neighbor walks by and gives me a strange look, I finally get out and move it.
Ok, maybe I'm making a little too much out of this. Some people might say that I'm being too hard on the poor trash men. But let's stop and examine this for a second. A few years, in the never ending attempt to be politically correct, someone came up with the idea to give the traditional "trash man" a new more respectable title: Sanitation Engineer. (This idea was likely dreamt up by the same people who thought that manhole covers were sexist.)
So, now that these folks have been promoted to engineers, you would think that they would be able to figure out how to stand a trash can up. And if these guys really want to impress me with their newly found technical ability, they could put the lid back on. I've never attended a sanitation university, but even I can put a lid on a trash can!
Another thing that drives me crazy is how these guys pick and choose what items to haul away. A few years ago, I left a couple fold-up lawn chairs laying next to my trash can. When I get home later in the day, my empty trash can is predictably in the middle of my front lawn. But the two lawn chairs are left lying on the street. It appeared that the sanitation engineers put their collective minds together and decided that my lawn chairs were too bulky to put in their truck's trash compactor. However, a few weeks earlier, one of my neighbors put a small rowboat out in the trash, and they took it away!
It was later explained to me that you have to slip the engineers a few bucks to keep them happy. Once you get them "on the payroll" they'll go the extra mile for you. I'm not saying that it's true, I'm just telling you what I've heard. Now that I think about it, wasn't Tony Soprano in the sanitation business?
And my gripes don't end with the conventional trash pick-up. I also have a beef with the recycling guys. They never fail to leave at least one empty beer can or soda bottle laying in my driveway. Although they may not have the technical training of the sanitation engineer, I still don't understand why they can't pick this stuff up.
If I ever came home and saw my empty trash can standing up with the lid on, and no recyclables lying on the street, I would probably break down and shed tears of joy. But I'm not not holding my breath......
KW
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Seating Arrangements
Whenever I go to a show, ballgame or even a plane ride, I can't help but notice how uncomfortably small the seats have become. Even an average size man will develop severe back and neck pain by intermission or halftime. I guess, like everything else, it all boils down to money. More asses in the seats translates into more money. If people have to be uncomfortable in the name of profit, so be it.....
I was recently at a show at the old Hippodrome in Baltimore. Although the seats were a bit small, it seemed ok because the seat to my immediate left was (at least temporarily) empty. This allowed me to spread out a little more than usual. Well, before long my luck ran out and a husky guy start to make his way down the row towards the empty seat. When he sits down, my space immediately shrinks to half size. And if this wasn't bad enough, he goes right for the arm rest. Does anyone know the protocol for this? I mean, since I was there first, shouldn't I get first dibs on the arm rest? Or maybe the husky guy should at least ask before he infringes on my turf?
Anyway, as the show began, I could already feel my upper back starting to tighten up. Trying not to snuggle up to the husky guy, I was forced to lean into a twisted position towards Tina, who was on my right. I was in a dilemma. Should I just grin and bear it, and risk permanent curvature of my spine? Or should I tell the guy that he's out line and inform him that I'm taking back my space and armrest? Not wanting to cause a scene, I just let it go and looked forward to the double dose of Extra Strength Tylenol that awaited me after the show.
And what's up with the airplane seating? Every time I fly, I run into a predicament. Basically, you have three seating options: window, middle or aisle. I guess each is a matter of preference, but they all have their issues:
Window seat - This is a great option if you've ever rode a horse in the Preakness. But for an average size person, it's like being stuffed into a small box. The only good thing is that you have a nice view of the flight.
Aisle seat - Although this is my preference, it does come with it's own set of problems. Be prepared to have your elbows pummeled and toes crushed every time the flight attendants roll by with the beverage cart. And if your sitting next to someone with a weak bladder, you'll have to get up every fifteen minutes to let them go to the rest room.
Middle seat - Unless you're traveling with two friends, avoid the middle seat at all costs. Trying to get home from Denver a few years ago, I decided to go "standby" and try to get on an earlier flight. The airline employee informed me that I could catch the next flight but all she had left was a middle seat. I had no idea who would be sitting on either side of me. My goal was to share the row with two anorexic models. So, I rolled the dice and got on the flight. As I walked towards my seat, I felt my back, neck and stomach simultaneously tightening up. My neighbors for the next three hours had the combined weight of a circus elephant! I almost turned around and walked off the plane. Keep in mind, I'm no small guy myself. So, just the thought of squeezing between these two behemoths was a bit unsettling. I could sense that other passengers were watching me and taking some kind of sick pleasure from my dire circumstances.
As I finally sat down, my shoulder blades felt like they had been dislocated. By take off, the pain had hit my upper back with a vengeance. And, to add to my discomfort, my two new friends opted for the customary inflight meal. So, in addition to feeling like my vertebrae were being crushed, I had to absorb multiple elbows to my ribcage as these two shoveled the airline's mystery meat into their mouths. Honestly, I would have rather rode in one of the overhead bins. By the time we landed, I felt like I had went over Niagara Falls in a wooden barrel. Please let my painful experience be a warning for you.....
Moving away from the airplanes, let's talk about bleacher seating. We've all been to sporting events for our kids at the local schools. Although they can be a bit uncomfortable, at least bleachers give you a little room to breath. But there can indeed be issues from time to time. For instance, several years ago, I went to one of my son's basketball games. I was one of the first ones in the gym, so I took a seat on one of the upper bleachers. Well, before long another guy comes in. And even though he had the whole gym, he comes over and sits right next to me. I had never met this guy, so obviously it seemed rather strange. There's got to be some kind of bleacher etiquette. I'd be willing to bet that sitting directly adjacent to a total stranger in an empty gym would certainly be a breach of that etiquette. If nothing else, it's just weird.
Anyway, I think we've covered enough about seating arrangements for one day. If my painful experiences benefit at least one person, I'll feel just a little bit better....
KW
I was recently at a show at the old Hippodrome in Baltimore. Although the seats were a bit small, it seemed ok because the seat to my immediate left was (at least temporarily) empty. This allowed me to spread out a little more than usual. Well, before long my luck ran out and a husky guy start to make his way down the row towards the empty seat. When he sits down, my space immediately shrinks to half size. And if this wasn't bad enough, he goes right for the arm rest. Does anyone know the protocol for this? I mean, since I was there first, shouldn't I get first dibs on the arm rest? Or maybe the husky guy should at least ask before he infringes on my turf?
Anyway, as the show began, I could already feel my upper back starting to tighten up. Trying not to snuggle up to the husky guy, I was forced to lean into a twisted position towards Tina, who was on my right. I was in a dilemma. Should I just grin and bear it, and risk permanent curvature of my spine? Or should I tell the guy that he's out line and inform him that I'm taking back my space and armrest? Not wanting to cause a scene, I just let it go and looked forward to the double dose of Extra Strength Tylenol that awaited me after the show.
And what's up with the airplane seating? Every time I fly, I run into a predicament. Basically, you have three seating options: window, middle or aisle. I guess each is a matter of preference, but they all have their issues:
Window seat - This is a great option if you've ever rode a horse in the Preakness. But for an average size person, it's like being stuffed into a small box. The only good thing is that you have a nice view of the flight.
Aisle seat - Although this is my preference, it does come with it's own set of problems. Be prepared to have your elbows pummeled and toes crushed every time the flight attendants roll by with the beverage cart. And if your sitting next to someone with a weak bladder, you'll have to get up every fifteen minutes to let them go to the rest room.
Middle seat - Unless you're traveling with two friends, avoid the middle seat at all costs. Trying to get home from Denver a few years ago, I decided to go "standby" and try to get on an earlier flight. The airline employee informed me that I could catch the next flight but all she had left was a middle seat. I had no idea who would be sitting on either side of me. My goal was to share the row with two anorexic models. So, I rolled the dice and got on the flight. As I walked towards my seat, I felt my back, neck and stomach simultaneously tightening up. My neighbors for the next three hours had the combined weight of a circus elephant! I almost turned around and walked off the plane. Keep in mind, I'm no small guy myself. So, just the thought of squeezing between these two behemoths was a bit unsettling. I could sense that other passengers were watching me and taking some kind of sick pleasure from my dire circumstances.
As I finally sat down, my shoulder blades felt like they had been dislocated. By take off, the pain had hit my upper back with a vengeance. And, to add to my discomfort, my two new friends opted for the customary inflight meal. So, in addition to feeling like my vertebrae were being crushed, I had to absorb multiple elbows to my ribcage as these two shoveled the airline's mystery meat into their mouths. Honestly, I would have rather rode in one of the overhead bins. By the time we landed, I felt like I had went over Niagara Falls in a wooden barrel. Please let my painful experience be a warning for you.....
Moving away from the airplanes, let's talk about bleacher seating. We've all been to sporting events for our kids at the local schools. Although they can be a bit uncomfortable, at least bleachers give you a little room to breath. But there can indeed be issues from time to time. For instance, several years ago, I went to one of my son's basketball games. I was one of the first ones in the gym, so I took a seat on one of the upper bleachers. Well, before long another guy comes in. And even though he had the whole gym, he comes over and sits right next to me. I had never met this guy, so obviously it seemed rather strange. There's got to be some kind of bleacher etiquette. I'd be willing to bet that sitting directly adjacent to a total stranger in an empty gym would certainly be a breach of that etiquette. If nothing else, it's just weird.
Anyway, I think we've covered enough about seating arrangements for one day. If my painful experiences benefit at least one person, I'll feel just a little bit better....
KW
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
An Unproductive Doctor's Visit
Several weeks ago, Tina got sick. She had the usual cold symptoms (congestion, body aches, fever, etc.). So, on Saturday morning, I roll her up in a blanket and take her up to one of those 24-hour healthcare facilities. The doctor quickly diagnoses her and informs her that she does indeed have the flu. He gives her a prescription and sends her home.
There must have been some magic in those pills, because the next day she's feeling 100% better. All's going good until Monday when I start to feel the same flu symptoms that she had. By Monday night, I felt like I had gotten run over by a bus. I suffered through this for a couple of days before I decided to see the magic doctor myself.
So, I drag myself into the car and head off to the clinic. Aside from the usual flu-like symptoms, I'm also light headed. So, I stagger through the front doors like Lindsay Lohan on a Saturday night. I get a strange look from the receptionist but I don't really care. I sign in and wait to be seen.
Although there was only one other person in the waiting area, I still had to wait for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually the receptionist comes out with her clipboard and starts yelling, "Kenneth Wilson! Kenneth Wilson!"
Now keep in mind, the only other person in the waiting area is a young woman. From that, I would have thought the receptionist would have gathered that I was the one named Kenneth. But nonetheless, I purposely delay responding to her and look around the waiting room as if I'm waiting for the real Kenneth Wilson to stand up. Just for spite, I make her announce it once again, then I say, "Oh, that would be me."
She takes me back to fill out some paperwork. I tell her that I've got the flu and just need some of those magic pills that they gave my wife a few days before. The receptionist doesn't seem to hear anything I say as she steadily pecks away at her computer's keyboard. She finally looks up and says, "You can go back to the waiting area. The doctor will be with you shortly." (Of course, she collected a $20 co-pay before she dismissed me.)
After a short wait, a woman who appears to be some sort of nurse comes out and leads me to the back. She sits me down and proceeds to take my blood pressure, temperature and other vital signs. Then out of nowhere, she mumbles something about a nasal swab and rams an eight inch Q-tip up my left nostril. She now had my undivided attention as I temporarily lost sight in one eye. I think she might have touched my brain with the Q-tip as I began to feel disoriented. I guess she recognized my discomfort because she gave me a rather unconvincing, "Sorry about that".
After having my sinuses assaulted, I was transported to the check-up room. There, I sat for another twenty minutes waiting for the doctor to attend to multiple phantom patients. He finally comes in and introduces himself. He asks, "So, Mr. Wilson, what brings you in here today?" I almost respond, "Oh nothing really. I was bored and wanted to rub elbows with some sick people."
But instead, I say, "My wife gave me the flu. You gave her some pills a few days ago and it fixed her up. I'd like you to fix me up too."
He looks over the chart and informs me that I tested negative for the flu. He tells me that I have an upper respiratory infection. So, I reiterate, "Ok, then give me some pills for that."
He tells me that there is nothing to give me. The infection will just have to work itself out. I'm flabbergasted! Are you kidding me? I remind him that I just gave the receptionist $20. Shouldn't I at least get a couple of pills for that?
The doctor refuses to give in. He tells me to drink plenty of fluids and get some rest. I couldn't believe it. He then sends me on my way with nothing but a headache from the over-aggressive Q-tip.
So, because I technically didn't have the flu, I had to suffer through my "upper respiratory infection" for two weeks. I think next time, I'll just find someone with the flu to cough on me. That way, at least the doctor will have to send me home with something....
KW
There must have been some magic in those pills, because the next day she's feeling 100% better. All's going good until Monday when I start to feel the same flu symptoms that she had. By Monday night, I felt like I had gotten run over by a bus. I suffered through this for a couple of days before I decided to see the magic doctor myself.
So, I drag myself into the car and head off to the clinic. Aside from the usual flu-like symptoms, I'm also light headed. So, I stagger through the front doors like Lindsay Lohan on a Saturday night. I get a strange look from the receptionist but I don't really care. I sign in and wait to be seen.
Although there was only one other person in the waiting area, I still had to wait for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually the receptionist comes out with her clipboard and starts yelling, "Kenneth Wilson! Kenneth Wilson!"
Now keep in mind, the only other person in the waiting area is a young woman. From that, I would have thought the receptionist would have gathered that I was the one named Kenneth. But nonetheless, I purposely delay responding to her and look around the waiting room as if I'm waiting for the real Kenneth Wilson to stand up. Just for spite, I make her announce it once again, then I say, "Oh, that would be me."
She takes me back to fill out some paperwork. I tell her that I've got the flu and just need some of those magic pills that they gave my wife a few days before. The receptionist doesn't seem to hear anything I say as she steadily pecks away at her computer's keyboard. She finally looks up and says, "You can go back to the waiting area. The doctor will be with you shortly." (Of course, she collected a $20 co-pay before she dismissed me.)
After a short wait, a woman who appears to be some sort of nurse comes out and leads me to the back. She sits me down and proceeds to take my blood pressure, temperature and other vital signs. Then out of nowhere, she mumbles something about a nasal swab and rams an eight inch Q-tip up my left nostril. She now had my undivided attention as I temporarily lost sight in one eye. I think she might have touched my brain with the Q-tip as I began to feel disoriented. I guess she recognized my discomfort because she gave me a rather unconvincing, "Sorry about that".
After having my sinuses assaulted, I was transported to the check-up room. There, I sat for another twenty minutes waiting for the doctor to attend to multiple phantom patients. He finally comes in and introduces himself. He asks, "So, Mr. Wilson, what brings you in here today?" I almost respond, "Oh nothing really. I was bored and wanted to rub elbows with some sick people."
But instead, I say, "My wife gave me the flu. You gave her some pills a few days ago and it fixed her up. I'd like you to fix me up too."
He looks over the chart and informs me that I tested negative for the flu. He tells me that I have an upper respiratory infection. So, I reiterate, "Ok, then give me some pills for that."
He tells me that there is nothing to give me. The infection will just have to work itself out. I'm flabbergasted! Are you kidding me? I remind him that I just gave the receptionist $20. Shouldn't I at least get a couple of pills for that?
The doctor refuses to give in. He tells me to drink plenty of fluids and get some rest. I couldn't believe it. He then sends me on my way with nothing but a headache from the over-aggressive Q-tip.
So, because I technically didn't have the flu, I had to suffer through my "upper respiratory infection" for two weeks. I think next time, I'll just find someone with the flu to cough on me. That way, at least the doctor will have to send me home with something....
KW
Friday, February 4, 2011
Customer Service Overload
I think it's safe to say that there is a noticeable decline on the quality of customer service these days. The attitude of "the customer is always right" seems to be the exception rather than the rule. I never quite understood how businesses could have such disregard for their customers.
With this being said, there are times when customer service reaches a little too far in the other direction. Let me explain....
The other day, I stopped off a local Sears to have my tires rotated. (I also asked to have one of the tires checked for slow leak. This will come in to play later.) They tell me it will take about an hour or so to have the work done. So, I figure I'll kill some time in the mall and grab some lunch.
I order my usual meal at the Chic-Fil-A and head to a table to chow down. Now, keep in mind, I usually have a "working lunch" where I'll check emails and messages while simultaneously woofing down my sandwich du jour. So, it should come as no surprise, I like my solitude. Well, as soon a I sit down, the Chic-Fil-A lady comes over and says, "Hello sir, how is everything? Is there anything I can get you?"
I politely say, "No thanks, I'm all set."
I barely take a second bit out of my sandwich and the woman reappears and asks, "Sir, can I get you a refill on your drink?"
Again, I politely explain that I my drink is quite full and that if I need anything, she'll be the first to know.
Not five minutes pass and she's back. "Sir, how are we doing? Is everything all right?"
I nearly lose it. I sooo want to say, " For God's sake! No, everything is not all right! My only wish is to eat my number one with a Diet Dr. Pepper without being asked a barrage of freggin' questions every thirty seconds! Is that too much to ask???"
But, not wanting to cause a scene, I just give her the ol' hand wave as if to say "I'm good."
Eventually, I make my way back to Sears to check on the status of my car. The "mechanic" comes in and asks my if that's my white Acura. I tell him it is. He then starts to give me the scientific explanation of why my tire has a slow leak. He explains that granules of grit have "compromised the integrity of the tire bead".
In the nicest way possible, I tell him that I don't really care about the integrity of the tire bead. I just want him to fix the leak.
As if he's going into battle, he tells me that he'll do his best and he heads back out to the shop. I almost felt like I should have given him a cookie or something.
Anyway, he comes back about thirty minutes later and proudly tells me that he was able to fix it. I'm serious, this guy was acting like he just discovered the cure for cancer. As the cashier is completing my paperwork, the tire guy continues to linger around and tells us both about his latest accomplishment. It was kind of like having Slingblade looming over your shoulder. The cashier even hinted to him, "Ok, I think we've got everything. Do you have any more work waiting for you?"
The tire guy seems to be oblivious to her question. Instead of answering her, he gives more play-by-play on the dying art of fixing a flat. Oddly, he then segued into a speech about the dismal American economy. When I finally completed my paperwork, I bolted towards the door.
And shortly afterwards, for lack of better judgement, I ventured into a local Wal-Mart. of course, I saw the usual mullets, people in pajamas, transvestites, big girls in little clothes and a guy who seemed to be having an episode of Tourettes as he kept yelling, "What up, b*tch!". But other than that, it was pretty much uneventful. So, I quickly gather up my few items and hit the checkout line. It was about that time when the "door guy" offers me a smiley face sticker. I cordially decline his offer of generosity. As I move out of the checkout line, he comes at me again,and says, "Sticker? Wanna smiley face sticker?"
I use my body English to tell him that my hands are full and that I don't want his smiley face sticker. He obviously doesn't speak body English, and proceeds to peel a sticker off of his roll and tries to stick it on me. It's ridiculous! I'm running towards the door as the banjo playing kid from Deliverance is chasing me yelling "Sticker! Smiley face sticker!" If I were in Target, people would have been rolling on the flor laughing. But since I was in Walmart, no one even gave it a second glance.
Good customer service is one thing, But sometimes, going that extra mile isn't such a good idea......
KW
With this being said, there are times when customer service reaches a little too far in the other direction. Let me explain....
The other day, I stopped off a local Sears to have my tires rotated. (I also asked to have one of the tires checked for slow leak. This will come in to play later.) They tell me it will take about an hour or so to have the work done. So, I figure I'll kill some time in the mall and grab some lunch.
I order my usual meal at the Chic-Fil-A and head to a table to chow down. Now, keep in mind, I usually have a "working lunch" where I'll check emails and messages while simultaneously woofing down my sandwich du jour. So, it should come as no surprise, I like my solitude. Well, as soon a I sit down, the Chic-Fil-A lady comes over and says, "Hello sir, how is everything? Is there anything I can get you?"
I politely say, "No thanks, I'm all set."
I barely take a second bit out of my sandwich and the woman reappears and asks, "Sir, can I get you a refill on your drink?"
Again, I politely explain that I my drink is quite full and that if I need anything, she'll be the first to know.
Not five minutes pass and she's back. "Sir, how are we doing? Is everything all right?"
I nearly lose it. I sooo want to say, " For God's sake! No, everything is not all right! My only wish is to eat my number one with a Diet Dr. Pepper without being asked a barrage of freggin' questions every thirty seconds! Is that too much to ask???"
But, not wanting to cause a scene, I just give her the ol' hand wave as if to say "I'm good."
Eventually, I make my way back to Sears to check on the status of my car. The "mechanic" comes in and asks my if that's my white Acura. I tell him it is. He then starts to give me the scientific explanation of why my tire has a slow leak. He explains that granules of grit have "compromised the integrity of the tire bead".
In the nicest way possible, I tell him that I don't really care about the integrity of the tire bead. I just want him to fix the leak.
As if he's going into battle, he tells me that he'll do his best and he heads back out to the shop. I almost felt like I should have given him a cookie or something.
Anyway, he comes back about thirty minutes later and proudly tells me that he was able to fix it. I'm serious, this guy was acting like he just discovered the cure for cancer. As the cashier is completing my paperwork, the tire guy continues to linger around and tells us both about his latest accomplishment. It was kind of like having Slingblade looming over your shoulder. The cashier even hinted to him, "Ok, I think we've got everything. Do you have any more work waiting for you?"
The tire guy seems to be oblivious to her question. Instead of answering her, he gives more play-by-play on the dying art of fixing a flat. Oddly, he then segued into a speech about the dismal American economy. When I finally completed my paperwork, I bolted towards the door.
And shortly afterwards, for lack of better judgement, I ventured into a local Wal-Mart. of course, I saw the usual mullets, people in pajamas, transvestites, big girls in little clothes and a guy who seemed to be having an episode of Tourettes as he kept yelling, "What up, b*tch!". But other than that, it was pretty much uneventful. So, I quickly gather up my few items and hit the checkout line. It was about that time when the "door guy" offers me a smiley face sticker. I cordially decline his offer of generosity. As I move out of the checkout line, he comes at me again,and says, "Sticker? Wanna smiley face sticker?"
I use my body English to tell him that my hands are full and that I don't want his smiley face sticker. He obviously doesn't speak body English, and proceeds to peel a sticker off of his roll and tries to stick it on me. It's ridiculous! I'm running towards the door as the banjo playing kid from Deliverance is chasing me yelling "Sticker! Smiley face sticker!" If I were in Target, people would have been rolling on the flor laughing. But since I was in Walmart, no one even gave it a second glance.
Good customer service is one thing, But sometimes, going that extra mile isn't such a good idea......
KW
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