Repeat After Me: "Customer Service"
09.19.05 (1:40 pm) [edit]
"In truth, politeness is artificial good humor, it covers the natural want of it, and ends by rendering habitual a substitute nearly equivalent to the real virtue. ~ Thomas Jefferson
The children (my stepson and his wife) were in town this weekend to see Hubby's performance. I went out to dinner with them and we had a pretty good time, I think. I'm measuring that by the number of times I couldn't think of something to talk about. I managed to come up with several topics: Hubby's co-author losing his fucking mind, what's going on at my workplace (always good for some laughs) and I also managed to work in some comments about the breast cancer problem. Of course, there was some conversation about them. We had a brief foray into the reasons why I don't have children. I said one of the big reasons was because I already had two--my parents. Then there's that craziness issue. I didn't elaborate and no one asked for additional info. Too bad because that would have taken care of the entire evening's entertainment. I can definitely dredge up some funny anecdotes from my childhood in hell. It's all in how you phrase it. Really. Since no one asked, I also pointed out that I got to hang out with my stepson while he was growing up. I told them he was a very sweet little boy. No joking there. He was an absolutely lovely child.
When we got to the performance space, daughter in law and I got out to get the tickets while stepson parked the car. We went up to the "will call" window and I asked for tickets under my last name. The woman asked me if they were paid or comp tickets. I said, "Comp." She informed me, in a decidedly unfriendly voice, that I would have to stand over at the side of the window until after all the the paying guests arrived. The shit was most definitely about to hit the fan. I paused for a moment and gave her my scariest hateful look. Before I could begin the verbal assault, my DIL (daughter in law) pointed out that my hubby actually wrote the book upon which the performance was based and he also wrote the script for the actual performance. The bitch hands us two tickets. DIL said, "We need three."
We got inside and I noticed there was a table with VIP tickets. Maybe our tickets were actually there and I had gotten irritated for no reason. (And yes, I most certainly would have gone back to apologize.) We got our VIP tix and I proceeded to go to the bar to get some water. Yet another bitch told me that the VIP ticket was not going to get me into the theater. "You need tickets," she said. DIL, who had been put in charge of our tickets, came right over and handed them to the aforementioned bitch. (Also known as Bitch Number Two.) Finally, I was allowed to go over to the bar and just get a fucking glass of water.
Here's the thing. I used to organize enormous events and I understand exactly how stressful and overwhelming it can seem to a staff member. However, I never, ever, ever would have allowed any staff member to adopt such a surly attitude. If I saw it or heard about it, there would be a serious come to jesus meeting with the staff member. Smile. Speak in a friendly tone of voice even if the patron is annoying the hell out of you. Appologize for any misunderstanding. That's all that's required. I can't even blame this on the infamous younger generation--these were ladies from the over-60 set. This is one of my all time pet peeves.
Be friendly. Apologize. Say please and thank you. Surprise! Most of the time, people will actually return the good vibes. Well, unless it's Christmas. Then all bets are off. Even recounting this little adventure raises my blood pressure.
The performance may not have been sold out, but there weren't any empty seats that I could see. There was a balcony area up above where I was sitting, so I wasn't able to get a look at the number of people who were up there. Even though the performance went on for 3 hours, no one seemed to care. No one planned for it to be three hours; the director had just crammed too much entertainment in and was unwilling to cut it at all, even though everyone kept telling her that it was going to be too long.
I knew that one of my hubby's close friends was going to be there, so I worked extra hard to look fabulous. My husband was suitably impressed with my sultriness. I love it when that happens.
There was an after party, but I hate parties and I was lucky enough to have a diabetic dog to blame for leaving. He really did need to eat and have his insulin, but I wouldn't have gone anyway. It just makes me seem more gregarious than I am. Sometimes I wish, for Hubby's sake, that I weren't quite so introverted. I don't wish it for long, though.
On Sunday, I missed seeing the children because I was doing my usual grocery shopping for the week and I scheduled in some serious shopping at end of season sales for cute clothes. I got a ton. Now I have to cull even more clothing from my existing wardrobe. I hate that. It's so hard. At least I know they'll go to some soon to be well dressed evacuees.
All in all, it wasn't a bad weekend on the face of things. Underneath it all, though, I was working hard to come to terms with my mastectomy. The reconstruction won't occur until roughly a year after the operation. I have no idea why. There will be nothing there but a flat incision where my breast used to be. I'm trying to embrace the perfection of even this. It would make things much easier for me if I could. I've got plenty of time do change my mind, though.
America held hostage day 1354
Bushism of the day:
"Wait for us to succeed peace. Wait for us to have two states, side by side—is for everybody coming together to deny the killers the opportunity to destroy."
—Bush, speaking to reporters
Source: The White House, "President Believes Peace in Middle East is Achievable: Remarks by the President to the Travel Pool," June 15, 2003
Website of the day: Parabola Magazine: Myth, Tradition and the Search for Meaning
http://www.parabola.org/" title="http://www.parabola.org/" target="_blank"http://www.parabola.org/
The children (my stepson and his wife) were in town this weekend to see Hubby's performance. I went out to dinner with them and we had a pretty good time, I think. I'm measuring that by the number of times I couldn't think of something to talk about. I managed to come up with several topics: Hubby's co-author losing his fucking mind, what's going on at my workplace (always good for some laughs) and I also managed to work in some comments about the breast cancer problem. Of course, there was some conversation about them. We had a brief foray into the reasons why I don't have children. I said one of the big reasons was because I already had two--my parents. Then there's that craziness issue. I didn't elaborate and no one asked for additional info. Too bad because that would have taken care of the entire evening's entertainment. I can definitely dredge up some funny anecdotes from my childhood in hell. It's all in how you phrase it. Really. Since no one asked, I also pointed out that I got to hang out with my stepson while he was growing up. I told them he was a very sweet little boy. No joking there. He was an absolutely lovely child.
When we got to the performance space, daughter in law and I got out to get the tickets while stepson parked the car. We went up to the "will call" window and I asked for tickets under my last name. The woman asked me if they were paid or comp tickets. I said, "Comp." She informed me, in a decidedly unfriendly voice, that I would have to stand over at the side of the window until after all the the paying guests arrived. The shit was most definitely about to hit the fan. I paused for a moment and gave her my scariest hateful look. Before I could begin the verbal assault, my DIL (daughter in law) pointed out that my hubby actually wrote the book upon which the performance was based and he also wrote the script for the actual performance. The bitch hands us two tickets. DIL said, "We need three."
We got inside and I noticed there was a table with VIP tickets. Maybe our tickets were actually there and I had gotten irritated for no reason. (And yes, I most certainly would have gone back to apologize.) We got our VIP tix and I proceeded to go to the bar to get some water. Yet another bitch told me that the VIP ticket was not going to get me into the theater. "You need tickets," she said. DIL, who had been put in charge of our tickets, came right over and handed them to the aforementioned bitch. (Also known as Bitch Number Two.) Finally, I was allowed to go over to the bar and just get a fucking glass of water.
Here's the thing. I used to organize enormous events and I understand exactly how stressful and overwhelming it can seem to a staff member. However, I never, ever, ever would have allowed any staff member to adopt such a surly attitude. If I saw it or heard about it, there would be a serious come to jesus meeting with the staff member. Smile. Speak in a friendly tone of voice even if the patron is annoying the hell out of you. Appologize for any misunderstanding. That's all that's required. I can't even blame this on the infamous younger generation--these were ladies from the over-60 set. This is one of my all time pet peeves.
Be friendly. Apologize. Say please and thank you. Surprise! Most of the time, people will actually return the good vibes. Well, unless it's Christmas. Then all bets are off. Even recounting this little adventure raises my blood pressure.
The performance may not have been sold out, but there weren't any empty seats that I could see. There was a balcony area up above where I was sitting, so I wasn't able to get a look at the number of people who were up there. Even though the performance went on for 3 hours, no one seemed to care. No one planned for it to be three hours; the director had just crammed too much entertainment in and was unwilling to cut it at all, even though everyone kept telling her that it was going to be too long.
I knew that one of my hubby's close friends was going to be there, so I worked extra hard to look fabulous. My husband was suitably impressed with my sultriness. I love it when that happens.
There was an after party, but I hate parties and I was lucky enough to have a diabetic dog to blame for leaving. He really did need to eat and have his insulin, but I wouldn't have gone anyway. It just makes me seem more gregarious than I am. Sometimes I wish, for Hubby's sake, that I weren't quite so introverted. I don't wish it for long, though.
On Sunday, I missed seeing the children because I was doing my usual grocery shopping for the week and I scheduled in some serious shopping at end of season sales for cute clothes. I got a ton. Now I have to cull even more clothing from my existing wardrobe. I hate that. It's so hard. At least I know they'll go to some soon to be well dressed evacuees.
All in all, it wasn't a bad weekend on the face of things. Underneath it all, though, I was working hard to come to terms with my mastectomy. The reconstruction won't occur until roughly a year after the operation. I have no idea why. There will be nothing there but a flat incision where my breast used to be. I'm trying to embrace the perfection of even this. It would make things much easier for me if I could. I've got plenty of time do change my mind, though.
America held hostage day 1354
Bushism of the day:
"Wait for us to succeed peace. Wait for us to have two states, side by side—is for everybody coming together to deny the killers the opportunity to destroy."
—Bush, speaking to reporters
Source: The White House, "President Believes Peace in Middle East is Achievable: Remarks by the President to the Travel Pool," June 15, 2003
Website of the day: Parabola Magazine: Myth, Tradition and the Search for Meaning
http://www.parabola.org/" title="http://www.parabola.org/" target="_blank"http://www.parabola.org/
