Caterwauling

The D.C. metro region had its first snowfall yesterday. *hairball*

Just two weeks ago, I was gazing out my office window and marveling at all the pretty colors of the leaves that were still on the trees. Yesterday? Those leaves had a layer of white powdery shit on them. Odd to see snow before the leaves have died off.

Anyway, it took two attempts to get to work. I cleaned off the cars, headed to the Interstate, and sat. I turned around at the first opportunity, parked it and did some work. Within a half-hour, I walked outside and the cars were even more covered in snow than they were the first time. *headslam*

I would like to extend a special middle finger or two to the state of Maryland for the drivers it chooses to license. It’s either “ride our breaks for 10 miles because something wet is coming out of the sky” or “I’m way more important than you; let me wipe you off the road and make the scaredy-cat drivers even MORE nervous.”

I’m somewhere in the middle, hence why I think THAT finger is appropriate to wave at everyone. 🙂

The other thing I hate about winter, outside of Maryland, is the fact that my house is cold. I took this place because the windows looked so sturdy. They ain’t. So I come home, go to my bedroom and get under my deliciously warm IKEA comforter that is supposed to be the warmest blanket you can buy there. Although I need a new duvet cover and sheets to match, I’m currently in 400-TC so my bed is comfy-cozy.

Anyway, the problem is that I turn on the TV and promptly fall asleep the second I get warm. Which means I’ve missed all kinds of good TV this week. Then again, the programs that knocked me out the soonest have been “October Road” and “Private Practice.” So, is it the bed that lulls me into a coma, or shitty shows?

Either way, those are two shows whose writers can STAY on strike!!!

Apparently knowing the city in which you are driving is an optional skill for cab drivers.

Also, apparently knowing the hotel layout when you are a hotel employee is also a “nice to have” skill.

*bonk*

Dinner tonight was at Charlie Palmer’s, which was absolutely lovely. I will rave till the end of time about my French onion soup. And I hate onions. But it was filled with delicious beef brisket and it was covered in a piping-hot puff pastry shell and a layer o’ cheese. Dear God. Yum.

Anyway, it was a centralized meeting place for our airport arrivals and those of us who were already nestled in our hotel rooms. The address is Second Avenue. Fine — I went to Jack in the Box on Fourth Avenue today — how hard would it be to get there?

So I ask the cab driver to take us to Charlie Palmer’s. He said, “Where’s that?”

I’m like, “The steak place. Charlie Palmer’s. East Second Avenue.”

He said, “I’ve been driving cabs here for 11 years. Doesn’t exist.”

“It has to exist. It’s also known as CP’s. Does that ring a bell? They have a sister restaurant called Fin Fish — it’s in the same building.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

So much for making it on time for the reservation. I said, “Go downtown,” because I had seen — gee, I don’t know — Second Avenue down there.

This is where I *~*heart*~* my iPhone even more than usual, as I called up the Web site and said, “Grand Sierra Resort.”

He looked blank. “You mean the Hilton?”

*bonk*

“No, not the Hilton. The Grand Sierra.”

“You mean the Resort? The Grand Sierra?”

*bonk*

“Yes, please.”

“Well, that’s not downtown!”

Blah. Anyway, we get to the Grand Sierra, whereupon we get lost inside.

So, I stopped a hotel employee. “Can you point me toward Charlie Palmer’s?”

She was incredulous. “CHARLIE DANIELS IS PLAYING A CONCERT HERE TONIGHT?!?!”

*smack*

No, not Charlie Daniels, you oaf. And don’t worry — I said it silently.

I’ve never had such a challenging time trying to find a freaking restaurant. But I did have to laugh when I got “Devil Went Down to Georgia” in my head — although in my mind, it was “Goddess went down to Reno, she was looking for a steak to eat.” 🙂

So I’ve been thinking there was something wrong with the car (other than the driver). My regular mechanic failed to catch it because they’ve hired a bunch of lazy assholes and the service has been rapidly declining, and my recent trip there was no different.

On Saturday, I tried five different mechanics. Five. One place was OK, just backed up and asked if I could come back Sunday, so I said no. I tried another place, a dealership that has several prominent locations, and I sat in the waiting area for 20 minutes with not a soul coming out to talk to me. Bastards. So I tried a Shell station (I’ll give you the name because I love to bitch, but I also don’t want to talk about where I’m spending my weekends in this public forum).

Anyway, there’s a reason the base word in Shell is HELL.

It was 11:30 a.m. and I had to hunt down the station manager, who didn’t look the SLIGHTEST bit busy. I purposely went to this never-busy station so I could get help. But alas, they close at 12, which was the first thing the asshole told me. I looked panicked, so he said, “Your car will be fine for another couple of days, right? Nothing’s going to fall off or you’re not going to get in an accident, right? Because we close at noon.”

KILL.

I knew the car needed work. Expensive work. But I wasn’t giving his miserable ass the business. I said, “Fuck it, I’ve already tried four places. I’ll try five. But you may want to step out of the way when I pull out — wouldn’t want my car to lose control while I’m driving at, I mean PAST, you.”

He said, “Well, that answered that.”

I pulled out at 100 mph and he stayed out of my way. I flipped him off as I left.

I forget where I went next, but I finally ended up at another prominent dealership. Where I did get help. Go figure.

So the guy at the service desk asked to see my license so he could copy my address. I said it’s not a current address but he didn’t care. So he says, “You’ll just go home and wait till we call?”

I said, “I just told you I don’t live there. However, I will go hang out at the coffee shop up the road till you call.”

So an hour and a half later, I get the call that the car will need several hundred dollars’ worth of work and they’ll need another 2 1/2 hours. Christ.

I said fine, as I was desperate. And I proceeded to figure out how to waste a whole lot of time, as I’d surfed the Internet and listened to the iPod in my phone enough that the battery was halfway gone after a mere two hours of using it.

Anyway, I thought terrific, I’ll grab lunch. So I go to the restaurant next to the coffee empire, and I couldn’t even get waited on there. The cashier actually grabbed a mop and started cleaning while I read the menu. I finally pulled out some money and stood there, looking pitiful, and the idiot kept his back to me and the other four non-busy employees managed to never turn my way. Morons.

Seriously, the next time I’m picking a mechanic, I’m finding one next to a goddamned movie theater.

The car’s all better, and by “all better,” I mean that I had to save another round of repairs for a time when money starts growing on trees, as the latest batch ensured that I will be missing the next car payment and probably part of the rent. (The rent check I wrote yesterday is RUBBER.)

Blah.

It kills me how HARD it is to spend money, and lots of it.

Don’t think I don’t have visions of burning down half of these establishments. I’m someone who not only goes the proverbial extra mile for my job, but I’ll go the extra goddamned DAY if that’s what it takes to produce quality work. Sure, I’m possibly paid better, although judging by the fact that the car parts cost next to nothing and the labor alone was well above $300, I’d say I’m not impressed by anyone else’s work ethic right about now. Why can’t everyone be as fabulous as me?!?! 😉

I took my car down to my old mechanic in Alexandria today because I needed an oil change and because the stupid thing is making weird noises. So I go into the waiting area and stood at the desk, where the girl proceeded to ignore me. She even left and went outside to rearrange the doormat. I’m not kidding. I was livid.

I made some snarky comment to the hot guy in the Steelers T-shirt who was sitting next to me that I’ve never been ignored when I go into that place. And finally the girl said, “Well, you’re IN the computer.” Well, DUH.

At that point, I had already decided not to go back, but I went outside to talk to my mechanic about the sound. So he said he’d change the oil and take it on a road test and he’d check back with me. So 20 minutes went by and the bitch at the counter tells me, “Your total is __.”

It was the total I usually overpay for an oil change and I asked what the mechanic had to say about the noise. She looked confused and rang me up. I went outside to see my car and couldn’t find the guy who worked on it, so I left. I ran some errands (the Harris Teeter across the street sells wine. Guess where I went). The car refused to start when I picked up my delicious bottle of King Estate Pinot Gris, but as I did get her started again, I left town.

So an hour later, I hear the same fucking noise I’d complained about. ARGH. At that point, the shop was closed and I was already in D.C. again, so fuck me on that. I really need to find a local mechanic. This is the second time I’ve left that shop with more wrong than I took it in with.

But hey, at least they’re not Comcast, whom I cannot escape because they’ve got the goddamned monopoly in this region. *sigh*

So, Comcast. When I moved in the spring, my bill went up to $120 for basic cable and Internet. It was $100 before the move, and I’d made no changes to the service. So I called a month ago, telling them we need to do a deal before I go to RCN, it’s kid-brother competitor. RCN can run cable over Comcast’s wires, but admittedly, Comcast has the better Internet service. And because my job is 100% time-consuming Web-based, well, sick days become work-from-home days and now I have a shiny new laptop so I can work from home more, so I can’t settle for less than broadband.

Anyway, they said they couldn’t do anything about the price, but they could kick in a digital converter/DVR thing. Great. Sold. So the guy said they’d have to deliver it to my place, which I said wouldn’t work because I spend my life away from here. He says, “No problem. You don’t have to sign for it. They’ll just leave it for you.”

Awesome. Really, I live in a very safe, secured area. I wasn’t worried about it getting stolen. So he gives me the UPS tracking info and that was that.

So I let a week or so go by before I tracked the package. The shipping info didn’t work. So I called the idiots in India — er, customer care — and gave them my tracking number. The girl says, “Oh, that’s our internal order number. That’s not the UPS number.”

I’m like, fine, when’s the package coming?

“Oh, it was delivered early last week but it says no one was home so they couldn’t leave it.”

*headslam*

So I’m like, uh, that’s not what the previous jagoff had told me would happen. I asked if I could just come and pick it up in person, and she said of course.

Which I finally just did, a month after the fact.

I have yet to hook it up because I have to call when it’s connected. And I HATE calling there.

I lost my username/password when I moved from Virginia to D.C. because the idiots weren’t competent enough to TRANSFER my service and I had to lose my good username and get one randomly assigned. So I tried their online live help the other night, which was EVER so helpful.

I start out as number eleventy billion in the queue, and when I was second in the queue, I suddenly became third, then fourth, then second, then next. Because apparently second and next are different things. And the girl gets on and tells me that their systems won’t let her tell me my information right now. I said, um, is there a better time to check back in, as I’ve just killed an hour waiting for nothing? She said she wasn’t sure.

Anyway, I’ve had just about enough stupidity for one day. I’ll save hooking up my new wireless router and my new cable box for tomorrow. If every day has to contain misery, I’d like to spread the wealth instead of adding more shit to the already-steaming pile.

I was in a sales meeting where everyone was bragging about some successful promotion some other company did, in which it enticed people to buy their products with a coupon, but if the customer didn’t use the coupon, the discount wasn’t deducted. They claimed the customers who basically got screwed didn’t even complain/notice. And that those who did call in to ask WTF, still didn’t get the coupon honored because they were too dumb to fill out the form correctly.

And some people thought this was a brilliant idea because, wow! Look at all the “extra” revenue they got! We should try that, too!

Yeah, sure. And when it comes time for a refill, guess what? Customers aren’t going to go back because they got screwed and they KNOW it.

Which means we should rent their mailing list. 🙂

Seriously, though. If a customer comes in through a certain promotion, even if they’re too lazy/busy/oblivious to take that action step that gives them a reward, it should automatically be configured to reward them anyway. Whether it’s a big reminder that, hey, we need you to check this box or whether we just automatically tabulate it on the back end, it wouldn’t kill anyone to send an extra note to say that you forgot to take advantage of the special offer and we went ahead and did it for you because we love you so.

I have been ordering crap from a company for the past 10 years. At least monthly, I throw $50 (usually more) their way for a product I adore and need in the house at all times.

They have an ongoing special in which, if you spend $75 or more, you get a free gift. It’s usually decent stuff, too — a hairbrush, a makeup bag, a travel kit for toiletries, etc. But my order never quite comes to $75 because I can’t justify spending that much in one fell swoop. It comes close, like today it was $60, but I just can’t eke out 15 more bucks at this tiime.

So, guess what? They send me the gifts anyway! Amazing, huh?

I’m an active customer. I review items and provide testimonials. I even write to say good job when they impress me. My account must be flagged accordingly, because I have more free gifts sitting in my travel suitcase (as I use all the stuff they send) than you can imagine.

And guess who keeps ordering from them?

It’s hard to find loyal customers in this day and age when we can just go online to find it cheaper or even just wherever strikes our fancy. I used to order my stuff straight from the manufacturer, truth be told, but they were a bunch of fucking morons and it made more sense to go to a third-party distributor — I got my orders faster and the third-party guys don’t LOSE my orders or overcharge me, like the manufacturer did more frequently than I care to recount. I let the middle man deal with the dumb shit and I’m a happy girl.

Anyway, I just say all this to all of you who are making decisions about how to screw people like me out of money. I will part with it on something I want, but be warned — I’m paying attention. Even if I don’t raise a fuss about it. You’ll know it when you don’t hear from me again. Just like that company that made all kinds of dough by making people pay retail price on a so-called discount promotion.

I mean, how do people live with themselves? We all have sales goals to meet, but I’d rather develop a relationship with a customer and get their continued business instead of a quick boost to the bottom line. I’d rather take the hit upfront and have them trust me enough to come back and not go to a competitor for the same thing. People will pay for quality, and quality service is just as important as — and maybe even more so than — a quality product.

Just like with that company that couldn’t ever get my order right. Now they’re getting less revenue from me because I’d rather pay it to the middleman, who gets a nice big cut, too. I get the quality product and the quality service — and all from the same place.

The customer always wins in the end. And the company that lets them win, ends up being a winner, too.

Note to applicants: If you’re going to lie on your resume — like, say, fudging employment dates (or establishments) — be careful when mass-blasting your rez to prospective hiring managers.

In particular, don’t claim you (still) work at Company A when you might just have its sister company in your broadcast rotation. Because if Company B likes your resume and goes into the universal address book and doesn’t see you there (when, according to you, they SHOULD), well, try not to wonder why they don’t give ya a call.

Just sayin’.

I just don’t get the expectation that, if I walk into a restaurant and place an order to go, that I should tip. If I were getting it delivered, I’d tip the driver. If it were coming to the table, I’d tip the server. But if I’m standing around dealing with rudeness and incompetence, NO TIP FOR YOU!

Stopped in at my favorite Italian restaurant the other day. And by “favorite,” I mean the food and not the atmosphere, hence why it’s a pickup job only. The girl behind the counter disappeared in the back (as I learned later, to put in her own lunch order and chat with the cook) for five minutes. Then she came out and proceeded to stare at the walls while I stood at the register where, gee — I don’t know, I was waiting to ORDER.

Then when she somehow became aware that she wasn’t the only person in the room, she acted surprised and grudgingly helped me. (Why I waited that long, I don’t know. Probably because it was raining and I wasn’t going anywhere else.) And the brightest bulb in the box, she wasn’t, as I ordered cheese fries and a sammich, and she said, “You need fries with that?”

Was this McDonald’s? Jesus. I said, “I already ordered fries.” And she said, “Yeah, but do you want plain fries, too?”

*thunk*

The funny part of all this is that the owner came by to charge her for her lunch order. Ironically she had ordered fries for herself and he got mad at her because fries aren’t part of the deal for employees. (I wondered whether she wanted me to order them and donate them to her.)

I guess she had to pay for her lunch, and she started whining that she was working a double shift and NOT ONE PERSON had tipped her. (She looked just past my head when she said it.) Annoying, insolent little brat — is it any wonder nobody wants to give you an extra buck for your oh-so-sunshiney demeanor?

To my delight, one of the servers happily chirped, “You might want to try being nice to the customers if you want tips!”

I don’t know. I remember working those shit jobs where they tried to make you feel lucky for busting your ass for THEM. The wages sucked, the customers sucked and the management sucked even worse. I get that. Really, I do. But even though I used to go above and beyond, when I could, I never got or even expected a tip.

I could have used tips, don’t get me wrong, but it’s sort of a rite of passage to work crap jobs so you can appreciate a good one when/if it ever comes. I used to tell an old boss that I couldn’t wait to get a “real” job. That showed up on my review every year. 😉

Anyway, I’m not above tipping. I appreciate my servers, the drivers, the cabbies, the guy who hails the cab in the rain, the clerks at curbside check-in at the airport, the people who help me with my luggage. I’m not an asshole — we’re all wage slaves. But not only am I not overly compelled to tip the person who merely talks to me 20 seconds to type my order into a register, but I’m sure as HELL not going to reward you just for showing up at your job and not giving me the time of day.

I don’t expect you to remember that you’ve taken my order 20 times in the past year (in the same surly, dismissive manner). I do expect you to get my order right (which is usually hit-or-miss, truth be told) and maybe even take it in a courteous and — gasp! — friendly way.

If you can’t even manage that, and you have the nerve to complain about it in front of me, well, I’ll come back because I like the food. But I assure you, there’s never going to be anything extra in it for you … unless it’s a kick in the ass. 🙂 And there’s ALWAYS more where THAT came from!!!

I don’t get it.

I just, don’t get it.

At all.

I’m mad.

Bullying has gone from a simple “yo’ mama” joke and a shove on the playground at recess to catastrophic, life-or-death scenarios. It spans the ages from pre-schoolers right on up to working adults. But the more advanced technology becomes, the more sneaky and strategic this act of terrorism becomes.

I have a lot of friends who are moms, and I know their teenage kids. Good kids, too — ones full of love and as-yet-untapped brilliance and amazing amounts of potential. And they’re facing the repercussions of terrible acts on the parts of others.

Right after the Virginia Tech shooting, I heard of one of these good kids being called in to the principal’s office because his asshole peers spread vicious rumors that he had brought a gun to school. So he’s introverted and isn’t a typical captain-of-the-football-team type. So what? I celebrate his individuality, I understand him for all the things he’s gone through in his short life so far. I celebrate him for the man he’s trying to become.

And for kids to prey on the nerves of an already-frantic administration and embarrass this poor child in front of his peers and teachers? Ludicrous. This is a time when, even if you can’t ask everyone to band together and be there for each other, we should at the very least not exclude people. We’re all going through this life, these tragedies, these times together — to not only ostracize someone, but to do it in a way that there are formal investigations being done and reputations being ruined, damn. Makes the case for home-schooling, doesn’t it?

Then another kid I know got the scare of his life today. His mom is a teacher at a local high school, but she has to start her day about 45 minutes earlier than him. So, they drive in together and he waits in the car, playing with his BlackBerry until it’s time for homeroom. He’s a senior at that school — and graduating from it in less than three weeks. Meaning, he’s shown that he’s a responsible citizen.

But remember the sitting in the car thing? He got hauled into the principal’s office and was told that he is to never, ever sit in that car again on school property because it creeps people out. The HELL? Someone made claims that he’s shooting videos from his BlackBerry — read: stalking people and recording it. Yeah, sure. Whatever. He’s sitting there surfing the Internet, killing time.

The clincher is that he was told to not sit in the car but to walk to the local store (which is closed when they get there at 6 a.m.) or to go walk around the local park. (Yeah, that’s safe. I know he’s a boy and all, but I’ve heard too many scary stories about people being attacked there to list THAT as a viable time-killing option.)

What they’re basically telling him is to not use his phone. No text messaging, no nothing. And they demanded to see his list of recently dialed calls, recently sent text messages and recent Internet use. And here’s the fun part — when he handed over his phone (as asked, because he’s a good boy like that), they told him to show them how to use it. He laughed and said nope, I’m not enabling you to accuse me of something lewd that I didn’t even do.

Almost makes you miss the days of having someone throw gum in your hair or steal your lunch money or call you a stupid name, eh? OK, not really of course, but how freaking insane that people think you’re a terrorist or a perp just because someone out there has a problem with the way you look or how you spend your free time.

I hated high school. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck away from it. And that’s my advice to them both — life does go on, and it gets better. Everyone who bothered me in school is now shitting out babies every nine months and living in poverty while I’ve got a job (and maybe even a life) that they’d give anything to have instead. You don’t have to go back … you don’t have to LOOK back. It’s all onward and upward from that moment on. Leaving high school is the ultimate do-over — you don’t have to be the person you leave behind, and you don’t have to associate with the people who did nothing but waste your time.

I feel bad for these kids, though, in the interim. Individuality is anything but celebrated, and the torture is more intense than any of us could have imagined dealing with at that age. And now that torture comes from not only those in your age group, but anyone in power who can make your life miserable. Which, I suppose it always did, but I mostly stayed out of trouble so I was spared of the latter.

But yeah, my mom had her fair share of “Harper Valley PTA” moments when she was called in to rescue me from school because of something or another that I’d said or done. But what I always loved about her was that she was always on my side — no matter what others did to make me hurt or to get me in trouble, she always believed in my rationale, my reaction, my right to react (or to not).

I know it sounds hokey, but love is what gets us through the insanely impossible times. And I hope it will be enough to heal them and make them forget these terrible events that are being forced upon them to deal with at such young ages.

Lots of people don’t get over stupid shit like that, or they grow up and take out their aggressions on the people they date or end up supervising. Every day, I’m conscious of not making people feel small and unloved. (Unless they REALLY deserve it, and even then, it’s not worth my aggravation.) Just goes to show, though, that even though people might have some authority, they’ve never really actually grown up enough to handle it.

I’m Google-bombing these bitches. Value City Furniture sucks donkey’s balls.

OK, so I’ve had no furniture for the past year. Money’s been tight and well, really, I have a 32″ television and a bed — what more does a girl need?

That doesn’t mean I haven’t been looking. Because I have. Especially in the past month or so since I’ve moved — I have a 1,000-foot apartment that’s looking mighty sparse. And I don’t want to unpack books and knickknacks because I may want to move the shelves, depending on where the furniture will go. So, I continue to fall over my boxes in the interim. Joy.

I’ve been to every furniture outlet known to man — or, at least, the names familiar to D.C. denizens. Marlo Furniture was a waste (and my friend had a really bad experience with them). Sticks ‘n Stuff was a big fat disappointment. Nationwide Warehouse wasn’t worth the drive. Z-Lights had cute stuff but it was a little on the pricey side for the quality, I thought. The list of stores I’ve visited goes on, but I don’t want to give them the airtime.

So, I’ve bought a few things from that shithole Value City Furniture in the past, when I lived in Pittsburgh. Other than the idiot VCF delivery guys who couldn’t fit my overstuffed couch through my second-floor apartment door and left the thing SUSPENDED IN MIDAIR instead of taking it back to the store (no shit, it was wedged and we had to walk under it to get to our apartment. Classy), I’ve loved the stuff. I still have an entertainment center from there.

So I checked out the Web site. I was totally digging the black Calypso set. I would have ordered it straight from the site, had they offered that service. But alas, you have to go in person to order. I ran a search for the closest store and got Falls Church. Meh. I hate Falls Church. It always rains when I have to go to that area, so I always know to expect doom, torture and depression. And today’s voyage? NO DIFFERENT.

The second I got there today, a voicemail appeared from someone I wasn’t disappointed to hear from. 😉 So I actually thought it was a good sign. But really, the day would just go downward from there.

I asked one of the vultures sales associates to take me to the Calypso collection. Which she did, but she bypassed it by three couches. She pointed out something to me, and I thought OK, maybe it’s a new piece I hadn’t seen on the site. So I said great, do they have it in black? (The collection is usually shown in mocha, and I ain’t an earth-tone girl.) She said no, it doesn’t, but she’ll check.

Grr.

So I walked over to the Calypso couch (the one she showed me had another “C” name, and don’t think I didn’t have a few “C” names of my own for HER at the end of this adventure) and planted my ass on it. Comfy. Loved it. Overstuffed microfiber seats, backs and arms; pleather everything else. And the throw pillows were microfiber and pleather in a cool geometric pattern. I love squares and straight lines. This was perfect for me. I hated the brown, but the one I wanted was dark-gray and black. Like everything else I own.

So she comes back and says oh, the thing you’re sitting on comes in black. Um, duh. I said I needed a few moments, but I wanted the couch and the loveseat, but I needed to go hyperventilate into a bag at the thought of spending that much money in one day.

I called my mom and wandered around the store. Found a fantastic dining room set that seats six, and I loved the etagere and the sofa table that matched it beautifully. I wanted it all.

And though it was going to kill me, I decided to buy it all. I work for a living; I can earn more money, right?

It only took me an hour and a half to come to that conclusion, however. But yeah, when I was ready, I was ready.

So, I found the girl (I really don’t care about commission, but I figured I should at least try to give it to her) and was happy to give her what was going to be a $1,500-plus sale, before adding in shipping, tax and protection plans. I was thrilled — finally, my house! Will be livable!

Cue the screeching of brakes.

I give her my shipping address and it’s all, whoa, we don’t deliver out there. I said fine, find a place that does deliver it because I’m paying in CASH and I don’t want any delays. And she said no, dumbshit VCF only delivers within 15 kilometers (the hell?) and I am right outside of that. (I don’t know — it was maybe a 20-mile drive to the store.)

So, basically, the Northern Virginia store doesn’t deliver to D.C. proper, is what she’s saying. And the next-closest stores that have it in stock are in Baltimore and Hagerstown, Md. WHICH I WOULD GANDER ARE MORE THAN 100 MILES FROM HERE.

I wasn’t having it. I said, “Fine. I’ll pay more.”

Now, this is where she would think wow, I’m going to rob this customer of $2,000 and she still says to tack on more charges so she can get this shit. Perhaps there is something I can do to save this sale?

Bwahahahaaaaaa.

She said sorry, nobody will deliver it. But you can take it home yourself, no?

*headslam*

Clearly I decided to shop alone, and me and my iddy biddy widdle sports car wasn’t going to handle a dining set for six and living room seating for six as well. And even if I rented a truck from the lot, what army was going to help me load/unload it? Or, for that matter, to DRIVE the truck?

Sure, I could have rounded up some of the locals — I have very good friends who would probably have gladly helped me out of this jam. But why put them out when I can just pay somebody else for the aggravation?

I was so freaking angry, but I tried to control it. I said, “So that’s it? You’re refusing to deliver it? I drove here — to what YOUR WEB SITE said was the CLOSEST store to my house — to buy furniture IN CASH and I can’t actually HAVE it?”

She said, “Well, yes.”

I said, “And there’s NOTHING I can do or NO ONE who can help me?”

She said, “Not unless you pick it up yourself, no.”

I said, “No sale. And I cannot WAIT to put this on the Internet!” And stormed out of there.

ARGH.

So. Very. Angry. Cannot tell you in simple, typed words how PISSED OFF I am.

I decided to treat myself to lunch after that mess, although don’t we always treat ourselves unless we have some nice young man and/or good friends who will do it for us? Anyway, I rested and mentally came up with a vicious blog entry about just how much VCF sucks, and I was fine.

When I got closer to home in D.C., I decided to visit one more furniture store. For the hell of it. I had seen signs along the road that they were liquidating their inventory. And all these fucking stores act like they’re going out of business 365 days a year, but you can come back in two years and they’re still there, using the same signs to draw in customers.

But the place I saw really WAS liquidating. They had brought in a team of salesmen from their main office and they were throwing deals at me that were almost too good to pass up.

Almost, I say.

I found a great set, overstuffed microfiber loveseat and couch, with a retail price of $1,700. Ouch. The deal they offered me? $901 for both.

Dayum.

They had it in hunter green (but the cushions were all southwestern-y and shit, with cacti and orange accents. Weird) and brown (again, not an earth-tone girl) and a color they call oyster. It’s sort of like sand or stone or what I’d call pebble, but that’s just me. 😉 The brown wasn’t too bad, but it had a nail head trim to it. And I don’t dig that, not one bit.

Not to mention, but the dining sets were tragic, but that’s neither here nor there. As far as the couch, I wasn’t opposed to spending that much money on that nice of a set. Boy, was it comfy. And I felt SMALL on it. The thing is huge. I have a huge place, but I’m not so sure about getting it through the front door, which is miniscule. But to fill up that big living area? This would work.

That pale color bugs me, though. I don’t do lights or whites. I did this whole pebble color with my bedroom — the duvet cover, sheets and pillowcases are this “nothing” color, and I hate it because it stains very easily. You don’t wash it for a week, and it looks dingy. And forget it when cat hair gets on it or if I spill something (what do I mean “if” I spill? LOL) — terrible, terrible purchase aesthetically, although I can’t bitch because it’s a 400-threadcount wonder, and damn, that makes for a good little nap here and there.

So, do I want to dump a grand on a couch/loveseat in the SAME FUCKING COLOR?

The good news about the couch is that they deliver it here. 😉 (Had to ask!) And I could just pick up some throw pillows in my color of choice. And the really sad part? THAT FUCKING OYSTER COLOR MATCHED THE FABRIC ON THE SEATS OF THE DINING TABLE I COULDN’T GET FROM THOSE FUCKHEADS AT VALUE CITY.

The dining set was all black wrought-iron and glass, and the seats had a cream color to the fabric. I didn’t love it but then I saw the new couch and god DAMN it, it would TOTALLY work together.

Grrr.

I don’t know. I’m tired and crabby and frustrated over the whole situation. I decided to sleep on it all. I just want a couch, but I want something I love. I told the guys I just want something black, and they told me to get out of the ’80s and pick a damn color already because nobody makes black couches anymore.

*kick*

Decisions, decisions. Why can’t I get what I want, when I want it, especially if I’m paying for it?

Perhaps I’ll just measure the door tomorrow and try to figure out whether that glorious overstuffed wonder in the fucked-up color will fit through the door. But at least the delivery guys can’t be as fucking moronic as the VCF guys who left my couch jammed at the top of a door frame. One hopes, anyway. …

So i get this resume in today, from someone who not only did not bother to personalize her cover letter, but she also sent it with long blank lines where the company name and position title would go.

It was basically a, “Dear Hiring Manager, I am interested in the _______ position with _____ company. … Thank you and I look forward to learning about ________ company’s ______ position.”

What, is it Mad Libs time? *squee!*

*slap*

But that? Wasn’t the worst of it.

She spelled her company name wrong.

The word was “financial.”

To boot, I WORK in the financial field!

Yep, you’re gonna go far as an editor, sister. Something tells me you’re getting fired for your incompetence and you actually think someone else is gonna be dumb enough to hire you!

NEXT!!!