So I was obviously irritated as heck after talking to the cable company. (Yes, I know it's the satellite company, but it takes longer to say, and isn't as satisfying.) After all, Stephanie Plum, and the entire Trenton clan all swear and curse out the cable company throughout the course of a book, so if it's good enough for them, it's good enough for me.
But really, that's not what brought me back. Today I had a fun encounter up at Yellow Dog Designs.
We get a lot of donations of in-kind items here, and it really helps us operate well at camp. And Yellow Dog came through with an offer the other day, which landed on my desk. I'm not complaining right now, but almost everything lands on my desk.
Shoe laces. All sorts of them.
That was fun.
And then when we called and found out we could drop by and get some for trick or treat treats, well, it was a short trip up to Greensboro. Where we were greeted by a yellow dog.
Named Sugar.
And then a black dog named Batman.
And then another black dog named Will.
And then an itty bitty dachshund who's name I can't remember.
And then another yellow dog.
It was a lot of fun to walk into a business where the dogs come to say hi. And then I leave with a car packed with cases and cases full of shoe laces. Heh. That rhymes.
Will was my favorite dog though. He's a big black lab, bigger than the other labs there, and when he's happy with you, he growls. I decided to think of it as talking, because it wasn't a mean growl, what with the tail wagging and the perky ears. When he was a puppy, it seems he got confused and started equating big growls with being happy. The owner said it was the guys in the shop who got him trained oddly way back when, and no one tried to fix it.
So I was standing on the loading dock eye to eye with about 100 lbs of growling, writhing, delighted dog when I rubbed his ears. And it's a little odd, I will admit, to be growled at and licked at the same time, but that's just part of Will's charm.
I offered to dog sit.
I was given dog collars, lanyards and shoe laces instead. I can't complain.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Oh, so you meant it was 24 months, but you said 12 months...
Stupid, stupid Directv.
Stupid.
The camp is now providing cable tv into my house, because "they didn't know" my house never had it. So that got fixed. After I paid for satellite at about $700 bucks from January until now. Nice timing, camp, really. Nice.
So I call Directv to cancel my service, expecting a fee, because I wasn't doing my 1 year commitment. And then I find out they're telling me that I have a 24 month commitment.
That's when I went ballistic. Because I know that the dude on the phone I talked to way back in January, who had to deal with me after Directv lost my account installation information, told me it was a 12 month commitment. Tweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelllllllllveeeeeeeee. Twelve. 1-2. Twelve. And I checked with him.
Yep, still twelve.
So I went for it, and had the installation done.
And now, when I call to cancel, I'm being socked a massive fee because the tweaknuts down there say I have a 24 month commitment.
No way in hell would I have made that commitment, given the fact that I was on a new, low paying, unknown job. I had no idea how long I'd be here, and though I HOPED it would be for years and years, I wasn't betting the farm on that.
But that's okay, because Directv bet the farm for me.
Know what it costs to cancel your service? Twenty bucks a month. That's not much, really. It just means I don't go out to eat twice each month, and then it's paid off. But three hundred dollars at once, to cancel, is really hard to swallow.
And there's a hell of a double standard going on, too, because it IS possible to merge 2 accounts. Say mine and my significant other's, once we get married. No, I'm not getting married. What I'm saying is that the idiots at the satellite company will allow me to merge my account with my spouse's account, but I can't merge my account with my parents' account. What's the difference, really? It's probably some obscure legal technicality along the lines of same sex partnerships, but I don't want to think about that.
All I have to say is that North Carolina has not been kind to me. It's cost me a small fortune to work here at a camp making no money. This can't go on.
And if I ever get my hands on a directv executive, I'll be exacting my three hundred dollars worth of fee out of his hide. More than once, just for good measure.
Stupid.
The camp is now providing cable tv into my house, because "they didn't know" my house never had it. So that got fixed. After I paid for satellite at about $700 bucks from January until now. Nice timing, camp, really. Nice.
So I call Directv to cancel my service, expecting a fee, because I wasn't doing my 1 year commitment. And then I find out they're telling me that I have a 24 month commitment.
That's when I went ballistic. Because I know that the dude on the phone I talked to way back in January, who had to deal with me after Directv lost my account installation information, told me it was a 12 month commitment. Tweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelllllllllveeeeeeeee. Twelve. 1-2. Twelve. And I checked with him.
Yep, still twelve.
So I went for it, and had the installation done.
And now, when I call to cancel, I'm being socked a massive fee because the tweaknuts down there say I have a 24 month commitment.
No way in hell would I have made that commitment, given the fact that I was on a new, low paying, unknown job. I had no idea how long I'd be here, and though I HOPED it would be for years and years, I wasn't betting the farm on that.
But that's okay, because Directv bet the farm for me.
Know what it costs to cancel your service? Twenty bucks a month. That's not much, really. It just means I don't go out to eat twice each month, and then it's paid off. But three hundred dollars at once, to cancel, is really hard to swallow.
And there's a hell of a double standard going on, too, because it IS possible to merge 2 accounts. Say mine and my significant other's, once we get married. No, I'm not getting married. What I'm saying is that the idiots at the satellite company will allow me to merge my account with my spouse's account, but I can't merge my account with my parents' account. What's the difference, really? It's probably some obscure legal technicality along the lines of same sex partnerships, but I don't want to think about that.
All I have to say is that North Carolina has not been kind to me. It's cost me a small fortune to work here at a camp making no money. This can't go on.
And if I ever get my hands on a directv executive, I'll be exacting my three hundred dollars worth of fee out of his hide. More than once, just for good measure.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
It's been a busy few weeks around here. I started this little episode two weeks ago, as we finished up a family weekend, and ended up surrounded by 800 motorcycles here at camp. I didn't get much farther than the vroom, vroom though, when I got a call on my day off telling me that the order from one of our esteemed arts & crafts donors had arrived, and that I had 6 pallets of supplies sitting at maintenance, with a forecast of rain in the coming days.
I have to tell you, six pallets of anything is huge. But it wasn't just those six pallets. I also got tagged to organize a volunteer crew who came to help get ready for the garage sale we had at camp this past weekend. Didn't know about them but that was another 6 pallets of supplies, in a different location. That was the day I was shuttling TV reporters down into camp, too, as a helicopter landed with some NASCAR peeps here to shake some hands. I imagine the list of people who have to hang up on their mom on the phone because of reporters and helicopters are few and far in between when it doesn't involve a natural disaster.
So I had some volunteers for 6 of the 12 pallets. And then I had 2 co-workers who busted their butts with me to get the arts & craft supplies into the craft building. The rest of the team... not so much. Everyone on the team did get together on Friday to help development set up all the stuff I'd previously helped organize for the garage sale fundraiser camp has. I've never seen so many die cast cars, of all sizes, in one place. And then the day of the garage sale, I fielded a million phone calls, like "how does the popcorn machine work?" and "do we have a hot dog costume?"
The machine works by heating up a kettle, to which you dump in corn and oil and let it do it's thing. And no, we don't have a hot dog costume. I can hook you up with a Slim Jim costume, a pizza slice, a milk shake, or an order of fries, but we don't have a hot dog. "Are you sure?" I'm positive. "Hey, how does the popcorn machine work? They just asked me to make some and I don't know how." Turn it on, let it heat up, dump in the seeds, dump in the oil, repeat as needed. "How do we play music in the ... (pick one) dining hall, the bowling alley, the theater or over the jumbo tron?" I'm pretty sure I worked that day, even though I was off.
This week started off calm by comparison. I had a busy Monday, with an unproductive trip to the eye doctor. (They were busy, and people who had appointments after me complained so they got to go first.) I rescheduled. And then a group was coming through from some foundation I've never heard of, for some sort of tour or something, that no one cared to deal with, so it got handed to me.
And that's when angels began to sing and the sun beamed down on me, making up for all the crap I deal with here, on a regular basis. You see, I'm the "go to" person for just about everyone, even though there are people above, below and beside me who should be handling these issues... but they don't, because they can't. So I get crap from all sides to deal with, usually on the fly. And I can deal with it. But. Not my job.
Back to the angels though.... the group that came through wanted to know about what we do here (not an uncommon question). And how we do it. And what they should do. Somewhere in the 3 hours we spent together, I got invited out to learn to ski with them. And I think I got offered a job several times, too. It seems they pay their staff in 1 day what we pay in a week. And they're in the freaking Colorado Rockies!
I'll be brushing off the resume, writing a letter or two, and a strategic plan on how I can benefit their organization. Because the best thing of all is that they are combining care for all my military troops and their families, in addition to kids with special needs. The military side is something I started writing back when I was in Iraq, seeing a need even then. And here it is, landing in my lap again, asking for my help.
I told you the angels sang.
I have to tell you, six pallets of anything is huge. But it wasn't just those six pallets. I also got tagged to organize a volunteer crew who came to help get ready for the garage sale we had at camp this past weekend. Didn't know about them but that was another 6 pallets of supplies, in a different location. That was the day I was shuttling TV reporters down into camp, too, as a helicopter landed with some NASCAR peeps here to shake some hands. I imagine the list of people who have to hang up on their mom on the phone because of reporters and helicopters are few and far in between when it doesn't involve a natural disaster.
So I had some volunteers for 6 of the 12 pallets. And then I had 2 co-workers who busted their butts with me to get the arts & craft supplies into the craft building. The rest of the team... not so much. Everyone on the team did get together on Friday to help development set up all the stuff I'd previously helped organize for the garage sale fundraiser camp has. I've never seen so many die cast cars, of all sizes, in one place. And then the day of the garage sale, I fielded a million phone calls, like "how does the popcorn machine work?" and "do we have a hot dog costume?"
The machine works by heating up a kettle, to which you dump in corn and oil and let it do it's thing. And no, we don't have a hot dog costume. I can hook you up with a Slim Jim costume, a pizza slice, a milk shake, or an order of fries, but we don't have a hot dog. "Are you sure?" I'm positive. "Hey, how does the popcorn machine work? They just asked me to make some and I don't know how." Turn it on, let it heat up, dump in the seeds, dump in the oil, repeat as needed. "How do we play music in the ... (pick one) dining hall, the bowling alley, the theater or over the jumbo tron?" I'm pretty sure I worked that day, even though I was off.
This week started off calm by comparison. I had a busy Monday, with an unproductive trip to the eye doctor. (They were busy, and people who had appointments after me complained so they got to go first.) I rescheduled. And then a group was coming through from some foundation I've never heard of, for some sort of tour or something, that no one cared to deal with, so it got handed to me.
And that's when angels began to sing and the sun beamed down on me, making up for all the crap I deal with here, on a regular basis. You see, I'm the "go to" person for just about everyone, even though there are people above, below and beside me who should be handling these issues... but they don't, because they can't. So I get crap from all sides to deal with, usually on the fly. And I can deal with it. But. Not my job.
Back to the angels though.... the group that came through wanted to know about what we do here (not an uncommon question). And how we do it. And what they should do. Somewhere in the 3 hours we spent together, I got invited out to learn to ski with them. And I think I got offered a job several times, too. It seems they pay their staff in 1 day what we pay in a week. And they're in the freaking Colorado Rockies!
I'll be brushing off the resume, writing a letter or two, and a strategic plan on how I can benefit their organization. Because the best thing of all is that they are combining care for all my military troops and their families, in addition to kids with special needs. The military side is something I started writing back when I was in Iraq, seeing a need even then. And here it is, landing in my lap again, asking for my help.
I told you the angels sang.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
The Road to Hell
Man, I haven't written in forever. I've had some good intentions, but they're just paving the road to hell right about now. I figure my personal road is a ten lane superhighway at this point. It's a toss up though, whether the traffic is flying along at 80 miles and hour or snarled in gridlock that will last for the rest of my life on that road.
Anyway, camp ended in August, and I think I did a pretty good job this summer. I didn't have the urge to kill anyone, which is saying something, since I was surrounded by kids who were holding on to the last of their teenage behaviors with a death grip. More importantly than not killing anyone though, is that the kids had fun. Every time I saw them, the campers were having fun. I'm not so sure I did, but I figure that's just because I'm one of the responsible people who are busy fretting over all the details. And around here, there are a lot of details.
After camp I dashed home to Texas for a bit, which made me realize that I miss living in the suburbs. I know, I know. How can you possibly miss living in the suburbs? But I do, because there, I have easy access to all kinds of crap, whether it's a store that sells sunglasses, or Thai food I don't have to drive three hours to find. And a broadway play. Even if I don't go to all that stuff, I miss the access to it like hell. Round about these parts, here in Central North Cackalackee, I can't even find a used book store. Thank God for the internet is all I can say on that one.
And holy crap. I'm watching a movie, in which my boyfriend's son has a few scenes as an extra or something, and dannnnnnnnnnnnng, do they look alike. At least we know what Sam I Am will look like when he's older, and even if I am biased, I think he'll be pretty good looking. Wonder if those strong family genes are going to carry on to the little Sam that's on the way. Not sure the planet can handle three of them at the same time, but we'll find out soon enough.
Even with the hurricane, I bet my favorite Tex Mex dive is still open and going strong. Heck, they were probably only closed for a day or two, before they were back to dishing up some great food to fill hungry bellies. The family came through okay, and everyone is bunking at my parent's house, which is sure to be interesting. I'm kind of glad I'm not there for that one, no lie. I'll be home for Thanksgiving. That's plenty close.
So yeah, I'm going to pack it in and go for a drive on that superhighway to hell of mine rather than blathering on about a thousand other things. It's about the only road I can go for a drive on, with the price of gas right now.
Anyway, camp ended in August, and I think I did a pretty good job this summer. I didn't have the urge to kill anyone, which is saying something, since I was surrounded by kids who were holding on to the last of their teenage behaviors with a death grip. More importantly than not killing anyone though, is that the kids had fun. Every time I saw them, the campers were having fun. I'm not so sure I did, but I figure that's just because I'm one of the responsible people who are busy fretting over all the details. And around here, there are a lot of details.
After camp I dashed home to Texas for a bit, which made me realize that I miss living in the suburbs. I know, I know. How can you possibly miss living in the suburbs? But I do, because there, I have easy access to all kinds of crap, whether it's a store that sells sunglasses, or Thai food I don't have to drive three hours to find. And a broadway play. Even if I don't go to all that stuff, I miss the access to it like hell. Round about these parts, here in Central North Cackalackee, I can't even find a used book store. Thank God for the internet is all I can say on that one.
And holy crap. I'm watching a movie, in which my boyfriend's son has a few scenes as an extra or something, and dannnnnnnnnnnnng, do they look alike. At least we know what Sam I Am will look like when he's older, and even if I am biased, I think he'll be pretty good looking. Wonder if those strong family genes are going to carry on to the little Sam that's on the way. Not sure the planet can handle three of them at the same time, but we'll find out soon enough.
Even with the hurricane, I bet my favorite Tex Mex dive is still open and going strong. Heck, they were probably only closed for a day or two, before they were back to dishing up some great food to fill hungry bellies. The family came through okay, and everyone is bunking at my parent's house, which is sure to be interesting. I'm kind of glad I'm not there for that one, no lie. I'll be home for Thanksgiving. That's plenty close.
So yeah, I'm going to pack it in and go for a drive on that superhighway to hell of mine rather than blathering on about a thousand other things. It's about the only road I can go for a drive on, with the price of gas right now.
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