mighty_aphrodite: (Default)
 I had no problem with them for my wedding.  No problems with picking out my bridesmaid dress.  No problems at my alteration appointment.  Up until today, I rather liked the company.  Then, I got a voice mail, that went something like this:

"Hello, Angela.  This is so-and-so from David's Bridal alterations department.  We have your dress here, which you came in to have altered on February 19 and to be picked up on March 13 at 4 pm, but we don't have the ticket that shows you paid."  

[item: it is their policy that alterations have to be paid for in advance.  They are very politely accusing me of skipping out on the bill.]

"If you paid, we need the transaction number from the top of your receipt, or if you did not pay, we will need you to call back and let us know so we can mark your dress "payment due" before we will begin altering your dress. Thank you, have a nice day."
What.  The.  Fuck.  They are basically holding my $200 dress ransom unless I can prove they messed up.  This is especially stressful as I have lost the receipt, but I check my online banking and I do know the payment went through, so I have that to fall back on.

I was livid.  But, trying to remain calm, I called them to get it straightened out.  Alterations did not answer, not surprisingly, so I called the main number.  I explained the situation to the nice girl who answered, who then asked me to "hold on a minute."  

Three minutes! later a guy with a thick accent answers, whom I take to be the manager.  I guess it's no longer the thing to let someone know they are being transfered? I can barely understand him, and I take it he can't understand me either, as he asks me the same questions several times, all of which he should have been able to look up himself, and several minutes of absolute silence pass before he finds the transaction and tells me he will reprint the receipt and give alterations a copy.  

I politely remarked before thanking him and hanging up that this could very easily have been handled without calling me and making me worry.  He insisted that he had no way of knowing what time I came in, blah blah blah.  I let him know otherwise.  

This is what appointment books and alterations tickets are for.  The alterations ticket has my name and appointment time on it, as well as the price of the alterations.  All they had to do was look in their transactions for an approximate $45 transaction on February 19 around 3 pm with my name attached to it.

Which is exactly what they did, after I called and requested that I do it. But I shouldn't have HAD to. I guess it's just easier to insinuate that the customer is a thief than to admit that you may have made an error.

TL;DR: Basically, whoever rung me up (After the alterations person had escorted me to the register and handed my bill to the cashier, no less) did not give a copy of the receipt to the seamstress as she should have, making alterations think I didn't p.  And instead of looking up the transaction, which they have al the information necessary to do, they decided it was up to ME to figure it all out for them.  At no point are they willing to admit that THEY screwed up.  

ETA: Be sure to check out the parallel post in bad_service, in which I have more people jumping on me and ramming things down my throat than Paris Hilton at a rave party.  Charming people really.  Not only do their reading comprehension skills fail, but when they ran out of arguments as to why this OMG ISN'T BAD SERVICE, they started attacking (with poor grammar, I might add) my writing style and resorting to childish name-calling.  So far I've been called a bridezilla (lol, whut?  not my wedding.), a bitch, an entitleed bitch, various other varietals of bitch... I turned off e-mail notification.  Oh, and I have my own snark community post where they say even more lovely things.    Note that I never once resorted to name-calling.  But I'm the bitch for expecting a company providing a paid-for service to keep accurate records about said service.

ETA2: Now I have been likened to a dog.  Pavlov's to be precise.
mighty_aphrodite: (hippie)
I've had enough. This journal is, regrettably, going friends only, and I am conducting a major friends purge. Something about a friend of a friend coming to my journal and being an asshole... Apparently I'm not allowed to swear and rant in my own damn journal now? Anyway, if you don't want to be cut, plead your case here in the next 24 hours.

guilt post

Sep. 11th, 2008 07:50 pm
mighty_aphrodite: (Default)
So the Cybele update, for those of you who care:

I'm finishing up my second week back at school. On the whole, things are going well, but there have been a few hiccups. First, my degree program got lost. WTF? And so now, mere months before I finish up, it is finally (I hope) on its way to the grad school. And Byron, 13 yr old bundle of sunshine and love that he is got kicked out of school on monday and nearly got us evicted for starting fires in the basement. Great, right? I know I'm thrilled. And in the market for a child shrink.

Other than that things are good. I'm not behind in any of my classes (yet). I'm doing early-morning yoga on Mondays at 7:45, not because I really believe in all that new age crap about psychic energy and aligning energies and certainly not because I love singing the "sunshine song", but because it will be good for my asthma and my joints and hopefully my sanity. I'm teaching mythology again, which is a bit of a disappointment, but that is going very well so far. I keep telling myself all I have to do is put nose to grindstone, finish my incompletes, and get through this semester with no emergencies (for once) and all will be well. Until I have to go and try to find a job. But I refuse to let myself think about that. Denial is sometimes healthy.
mighty_aphrodite: (Default)
I commented in a metaquotes post that I find it strange and wrong to see nurses in large groups smoking outside the hospital every time I visit.

And some moron responds with a bullshit answer about how nursing is a stressful profession. LOL, WHUT?

You know what's REALLY stressful???

ASTHMA (I ought to know).

How does ANYONE in this day and age, much less a HEALTHCARE PROFESSIONAL, think it is a bright idea to purposely inhale carcinogens??

PEOPLE ARE STUPID. There is no hope for humanity.
mighty_aphrodite: (Mine!)
Anyone in the Twin Cities, avoid the PetSmart Grooming Salon at the Quarry like the plague.

So I took my dogs in to the groomer today at 1pm.

Insert epic groomer fail here )

TL;DR: Groomer takes almost twice as long as usual, has a poor attitude about it, cuts my dog, lies about the severity of the wound, and charges me anyway.
mighty_aphrodite: (Default)
Background: For the summer, I'm working at an outdoor music venue. Normally my job is to sell drinks to the hoity-toity patrons of said establishment, but today, I was in charge of tables: wiping tablecloths, keeping the proper number of chairs to a table, that kind of thing. Basically you work your ass off for an hour taking down chairs and putting on tablecloths, then sit around most of the rest of the day because either no one is there (hence no messes) or it's busy and every table is constantly occupied (we try not to disturb the patrons).

Thus, I am bored out of my skull and searching for things to do. Normally I don't wipe occupied tables, but I saw a big glob of sundae syrup on one, so I went up to the table with a smile and asked if they minded me interrupting them for a minute to wipe it up. They say sure, I do, and then rich old music snob lady turns to me, smiles patronizingly and says...

"Good girl."

WTF, lady? I am not your lap poodle. Should I lap up the mess with my tongue next time? Would that earn me a pat on the head? Or maybe scritch behind the ears?

Seriously, my gut reaction was to respond with a "woof" and panting noises.

x-posted to personal journal
mighty_aphrodite: (caution: this is sparta)
I'm having a bad day. But this is not most people's bad day. I'm having one of those days where I can't decide whether to drown myself in the bathtub immediately or to murder the rest of humanity first.
mighty_aphrodite: (Sarchasm)
Sitting in the backseat of the car, driving back from Iowa. Obviously, I am typing this on MS Word and not onto LJ. This was a weird weekend.

Every time I go back to Iowa, I swear to the hubby that I will not be going back and no amount of persuading will avail him. And after a month or so I end up going anyway and the cycle begins again. Already I’ve been roped into coming back father’s day weekend. I don’t know how I get myself into these things.

We left Minneapolis around 5 AM on Saturday after picking up the hubby’s coworker (He’s from CR and we were letting him hitch along). We got into town around noon and promptly passed out. Saturday was spent running around getting all things in readiness for the BIL’s grad party. I was sick and headachy from riding six hours in the backseat of a non-air conditioned car with two dogs bouncing around like friggin’ ping pong balls. That was great.
Saturday night I stupidly decided to go to my parent’s house. I came with food and small gifts I’d gotten in MN: an early Father’s Day present for Dad of a three DVD set of Underdog and LUSH bath bombs for my mom and sister. My dad answered the door and then closeted himself in the bedroom. He did come back out a few minutes later, but didn’t seem glad to see me The only reason I went over is my Grandma had called to guilt me that Dad had, in his dementia-ridden state, been upset and crying that I never came to see him or called anymore.

My mom and sister barely spoke to me except to explain that dad had had a “bad day” and that’s why he wasn’t very social. “So what’s your excuse?” I thought. At any rate, he was the same asshole before he came down with this, so I really can’t find it in me to accept the excuse now. The only one who was glad to see me was the family dog, Maggie Mae, a malamute/husky/timberwolf mix whom my parents are planning to breed next year. *facepalm* Needless to say, I beat a hasty retreat out of there, making a promise to come back the next day that we all knew I wasn’t going to keep. I am coming back in a few weeks, but since I already gave Dad the obligatory present, I have no reason to return.

Sunday was Vern’s graduation. They had it inside for fear of rain. The high school gym was crowded and hot and full of stupid. The salutatory and valedictory were terrible. Half the ceremony was handing out awards to teachers and such. It’s like, way to make the commencement ceremony all about everyone but the students, you jackasses. The highlight was the senior prank: somehow the students had arranged for the fire alarm to go off in the middle of the conferring of diplomas. Classic.

But honestly, it’s only at a large public gathering in a relatively small town that you are reminded how truly tacky and tasteless the human race can be. People hoot and holler at their relatives as they receive their diplomas. They bring their small children who scream and holler and kick the bleachers through the whole ceremony. People get up and leave in the middle. They stand in front of people. They holler at people across the room during the ceremony. They show up braless and tube-topped in all their nasty, varicose-veiny, poorly-tatooed with Tweety bird, 300 lb. glory. You get the picture. My own sister-in-law refused to pose for a family picture with Vern because I was the one taking the picture and she refused to look at me. Apparently her hatred of me is more important than her Autistic brother having worked his ass off to graduate high school. Way to be a selfish bitch. I could gleefully strangle her. The only problem is she could squash me with one ass cheek. That and I would have to get close enough to smell her in order to do so. Seriously, the child is an utter stranger to hygiene.

Anyway, we, or rather, I, threw Vern a luau-themed party and invited the neighbors. We had tiki torches and hanging cutouts of the Tiki god, purple leis and tropical music. We had fruit trays and fruit punch, cake and Hawaiian pizza (I just threw pineapple on a CB Tombstone). We gave Vern his very own brand new laptop with the works and a new digital camera. He was thrilled. Especially as we’ve left strict instructions that Vern is in NO WAY obligated to ever let his siblings use it. He can play GH3 on it to his heart’s content and never have to get off to let someone check their e-mail or play Runescape. This amused everyone but the two computer-adicted minors in question.

After the party, I went to my Grandma’s for a much-needed hour of play with my cousin’s baby Dakota. He’s a total doll, just turned one in February. We danced and shared binkies and my sister taught him to say “Arrrrrrr!” That was probably the highlight of my weekend.
Then we gratefully departed this afternoon from the madhouse, just as I was attacked with a menstrual migraine, cramps that feel like the Incredible Hulk has my uterus in a death grip, and the feeling that I am retaining more water than the Hoover dam. And now it is 8 pm and I am in the car pulling into a McD’s in Clear Lake, IA, and I will cut off this narrative.
mighty_aphrodite: (killing spree)
The saga begins... )
But I gues one good thing came out of this: I was supposed to make up an exam today, but I got it rescheduled for Monday so I could sit home in the gloom and wait for the electrician.
mighty_aphrodite: (dark/twisty)

Me?  My family?  We are done.  I've had enough.

I called my dad today to give him the news about my mother in law, and that I may be leaving grad school to come back to Iowa.  HIs response: "No you're not."  Excuse me??  I go on to explain that the hubby and I have dependents to take care of now and that these things take priority over my virtually useless degree.  "You're killing me."  WTF.  Clearly, my father has done too many drugs.  I politely end the conversation. 

About half an hour ago, my sister calls me.  The conversation goes like this:

Sister: Hey, Dad called me.  He said Mary died today.
Me: Yeah, this morning.
Sister:  And now you're going to leave grad school and come back to Burlington?
Me:  Well, it's a definite possibility...
Sister:  Because that would be really dumb.  What the hell are you going to do in Burlington?  It's not like--
Me:  Hey, Becky?  My mother in law just DIED and I have other people to think about.  It really is not your place to tell me what to do about it.
Sister:  Well, you shouldn't have called Dad and told him that!  He's having a PANIC ATTACK--
Me: So let me get this straight-- My mother in law dies, and it's all about you?  I am ending this conversation *presses end button*

WHAT THE HELL was that?  I am so tired of this.  Tired of my family being selfish and expecting me to do the same.  Every time it's come down to a choice of what they think I should do and what's best for my marriage, I've chosen my marriage and they've criticised me for it.  They have NEVER been supportive of my field of study, NEVER been supportive of my husband or my marriage.   I'm tired of it.   How can they NOT understand that I am trying to do what's best for my own family?  How does this even effect them that they should care?  It certainly isn't that they care about me and don't want me to give up on my career.  No, that would make sense.    They've ruined their own lives and want to live through me. They need me to succeed so that they can feel like they did a good job as parents.  If I'm a big success, then that excuses everything they've done, because, hey, I still turned out alright, right?   They want absolution, and  I'm not going to give that to them.  Whatever success I have had in my life has NOTHING to do with them except the fact that I've dont it by working my ass off to try to get myself out of the white trash life I was born into and raised in.

I'm done.  I'm not talking to my parents or sister anymore or ever again.  I deserve better than this.  Mary was a better parent to me in the five or so years I knew her than my own ever were.  She took care of her body, she ate right, she never did drugs.  She was one of the kindest, mos cheerful people I have ever known.   She always put others before herself.  And now she's gone.  And my pathetic excuses for parents are still alive and kicking.  People wonder why I've had such a problem with faith my whole life, why I don't really believe in anything.  Now you know.


mighty_aphrodite: (Default)

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