I had some dreams ... they were klowns in my koffee.

(With apologies to Carly Simon)

This is my journey through job transition from a toxic environment to a better life. Join me for a few thoughts and a few laughs along the way.
What are "klowns in my koffee"? They are the factors large and small that make you less than you are. A "klown" can be a grossly incompetent boss,
a short-sighted policy or a moronic coworker. They won't kill you, at least not immediately, but they abrade the soul
as you scrape past them to get through the day. Sometimes it's best to dump them out of the cup.


Day 84 - Kustomer Service

Another day of gardening. If my freckles all join together, I could have something approaching a tan. This would be a first for me. Like the Woody Allen quote, "...When I go to the beach, I don't tan, I stroke."

Gardening, and weeding in particular, is almost zen-like in the way that it promotes reflection. So, after a day spent in contemplative thought and applying sunscreen, I was thoroughly at peace, albeit greasy. This lasted until I took the kids to Michael's for their "Decorate a T-shirt for Father's Day" promotion. Turns out that T-shirts for smaller people are $2.50 and those for larger people are $5.99. I was told that this was not questionable because "that's what they do at Wal-Mart." I'm not sure when Wal-Mart became the benchmark for either customer service or ethical marketing. The Gospel according to Sam must have been one of those that was in a scroll way at the bottom of the jar. Then they only had black, brown and red paint to decorate a black T-shirt. Black on black is the new black.

I must have still been reasonably mellow since I neither screamed, swore nor threw anything. I've been very successful with that assortment of tactics in the past, but it's depressing to think that one must go full drama queen with sirens and all lights flashing to make it more palatable for someone to do his or her job than not. I spoke to the manager - -the term "manager" appears to be a synonym for "mammal" in this case. She was not helpful so we made an ugly T-shirt and I wrote to Michaels' corporate office demanding my money back.

Some writers have as their legacy an anthology of poems or short stories. My genre seems to be complaint letters. I have dozens of them in my files and some of them are amusing in a mildly psychotic kind of way. I envision them pinned to bulletin boards in numerous customer service offices with little obscene drawings and exclamations added by the staff there.

As the ultimate "gotcha" I was thinking about gathering them for potential publication, but I have been one-upped by Ted L. Nancy, who published his fanciful correspondence under the title Letters from a Nut. Mr. Nancy -- rumored actually to be Jerry Seinfeld and a consortium of his friends -- sends odd complaint and request letters to major organizations and awaits the response. He poses as one of a set of Siamese twins offering his services as an employee to Kinko's to improve their efficiency. He informs a Los Vegas casino that he is planning to visit them dressed in the way that he is most comfortable for gambling -- in a giant shrimp costume. He tells a hotel that he lost a tooth while staying there and implores them to look for it; the hotel responds with letter detailing the exhaustive extent of their search. Excellent book for a chuckle.


What a troubling world when two little girls can be arrested for having "jazz hands"!

No comments:

Post a Comment