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Driving to Laurie's tonight, I got annoyed because traffic was moving really slowly on a certain section of road where there's generally no traffic at all. Many cars were crawling by a house, so I figured there might be an accident or something going on.
As I got to the house, I realized that there was a police car sitting in its driveway, with the door open, but no lights flashing. An officer was hunching down slightly, holding his gun in one hand while making an "away" motion towards someone near the house, who turned out to be a frightened-looking woman, not dressed for outside (it was below freezing tonight), shivering and skittering away from the front door, which was open.
That was all I saw. I suspect that there was some sort of domestic dispute going on, and I was interested to see how it all turned out (which, I suspect, is what every driver in front of me was doing as well). If I could have parked my car on the side of the road and watched, I probably would have done it (just out of that ugly sort of curiosity everybody has when something is clearly going Very Wrong), but I knew that it would interfere with whatever the police officer was trying to do.
I didn't see anything in the news about it tonight, though. I would figure it'd be a big story if there was, say, someone with a gun or a hostage inside the house, so my guess is that there was something bad going on between this woman and whoever was inside (my guess, a husband or a boyfriend), and she was scared because he was making threats. The police officer looked like he was being very cautious about the situation. Since there wasn't a big murder story at the beginning of the local newscast, I guess everything ended well. (Or as well as these things can be expected to end.)
In much less exciting news, I spent the day waiting for the cable guy.
Mom wanted to turn our den into a home office for herself, which makes sense, as the "home office" for my brother's business has been the dining room table for the past four years. I called the cable company, so that we could have a splitter for broadband and cable TV put in, as well as cable TV for my bedroom. I was told the cable guy would arrive between 8am and 11am. I spent last night moving furniture (the entertainment center, the desk, the filing cabinet) and equipment from upstairs to downstairs, and vice versa.
I also had to drive to Wrentham, to go to the Corelle outlet store to pick up an entire set of everyday dishes for Mom. She likes Corelle because it doesn't chip that easily and is really thin (we don't have much cabinet space). The best place to get Corelle is in the outlet store in Wrentham, which is about 55 miles away from where I live. Not too bad a drive, especially if I left at around 1pm (which is what I thought the worst-case scenario would be, if the cable guy showed up at 11am and took a long time to get the job done).
I spent the better part of the morning online, chatting with Terry from work and with Laurie's mom (who is a riot on AIM). It got to be 11am, and no sign of the cable guy. At about 3 minutes after 11 (I'm no slouch when it comes to punctuality), I called the cable company and asked if there was an ETA for the technician. I was told that he was on a job, but I was the very next person on his queue, and that he'd give me a call as soon as he finished his current assignment to give me an estimate of travel time. I thanked the rep, hung up, and resumed chatting with Mrs. Laurie's Mom.
12:30 rolls by, and the technician calls me. He tells me that he's sorry he's running late, but that he'll be to my house as soon as he's done with the next job in his queue. I told him that I was informed that I was the next job in his queue, and he said that wasn't correct, that his assignment sheet clearly stated three jobs, with mine being the last.
I know enough not to piss off the technician, because he's the one who is going to be doing the work in my house, and I want him to do the best job possible. I don't have any qualms, however, about pissing off someone in the customer service department, especially someone in a customer service department that has blatantly lied to me.
I called the cable company back, and spoke with a different representative. I told her that I was very upset, and needed a resolution that would suit me, or I would go directly to the competitor and have them install our cable, telephone, and broadband this week. She asked what the problem was, and I told her that I had been informed that I was next in line for tech service, and the tech told me that I was third on a list of three. She said that, according to her screen, I was next on the queue. I told her of course I was now next in line, because the tech had finished the first job out of three. I said I had been deceived about when the timeframe would be, that I'd wasted four and a half hours waiting for someone to come within a three-hour designated block of time, and that I wanted some satisfaction. She told me that all she could do was offer me the twenty-dollar "on-time guarantee." I said that I hadn't been informed of this guarantee when I called in the first time, and asked her if they only offered that sum of money to people who kicked up a fuss. She assured me that it would have shown up on my bill, but I told her that I wasn't inclined to trust her at this point, and would like a little bit more done for my trouble. She said she would get a supervisor.
I waited through their hold music for about five minutes, and the service rep came back. She said that the supervisor couldn't talk to me personally, but all charges associated with this service call would be taken off the bill, and apologized profusely for the trouble I'd been through.
It sounds like I was a raving bitch through all of this, now that I re-read it. Honestly, everything I said on the phone was handled in an entirely professional manner, with maybe a hint of an edge to it. The thing is, I know what good customer service should be, having worked in the customer service sector for quite some time. I also know how to effectively communicate with someone in a call center, stating the problem, my needs, and what I expect to happen, then let them do what they can for me. If twenty dollars off was all I could get, I might have taken it and then switched to Comcast the next week, or I might not have. But I demanded to know what accomodations would be made for what was truly a bad bit of customer service from a company that supposedly prides itself on the level of customer service they provide, and they responded well. Better than I expected.
I ended the conversation with the customer service rep by telling her that I thought she handled everything in a very professional manner. I asked for her name, and said that I would send a letter mentioning her great performance to her supervisor (which I will). I then told her that I'd worked in a number of call centers, and I know it's not an easy job. When she said, "I hope you have a nice day!", I believed she was sincere. And if not, it doesn't matter, because that's what customer service is all about.
The cable guy did eventually arrive around 1:30pm, and he was apologetic about the mixup. I told him it wasn't his fault, and we had a really lively discussion about small businesses and the Big Dig and the funeral I'm attending tomorrow (my suit jacket was on the bed). He took about 20 minutes to get everything installed (including tacking down the wire along the baseboard of my room), and once we checked that everything was up and running, he was on his way.
Now, I had ham and Delmonico potatoes planned for dinner, with Mom's best friend invited to partake. (Spiral-sliced hams don't come in small sizes, and she hasn't been over to dinner forever.) The potatoes were boiled and ready to assemble, and the ham could be put into the oven on a timer, but I had about three hours to shower, dress, get to Wrentham (55 miles away), find the Corelle store and get back home.
It turned out not to be so bad. The drive was much shorter than I expected. (The last time I went it was with Diego, who knew the "back way" into the shops. And while we got there, we took many, many wrong turns along the way). I arrived early enough and found the Corelle store fast enough that I had a few minutes to hit Harry and David for some cheesecake, and stop by the Rockport shoe store for some laces. They didn't have any laces for sale, but they did have a clearance rack that was on sale with half-off the clearance price. I don't normally buy expensive shoes, I'm a Payless kind of guy, but a hundred-dollar pair of shoes marked down to 59 dollars, then marked down to 30 dollars? I'd have to be insane not to buy them. I felt like Carson Kressley was standing behind me, saying, "these could go with a suit, they could go with jeans and a nice jersey, they're great for dressing up or dressing down!"
One thing I haven't mentioned is that I removed the claddagh ring that Diego gave me when we thought we'd be together forever. I'd been wearing it, reversed (a sign that a person is not attached and is looking for love), since we broke up. However, I've always felt like it was a connection between us, even if it was just a piece of jewelry. I've thought of selling it or putting it away in a drawer, or maybe giving it to someone, but none of those options seemed right. Selling it seemed vindictive. Putting it away would mean I'd still be holding onto it, and giving it to someone else isn't in the spirit of the claddagh. (It's to be given in love and friendship, and giving away something that's associated with such a bad breakup isn't really kosher with me.)
One thing Diego and I had planned to do on a regular basis was to go outlet shopping. Actually, it was more his idea than mine (I don't much care about clothes shopping or shopping in general, unless it's for books). He seemed excited about the prospect of heading off to Wrentham and stocking up on shirts and socks and the like.
The ring was in my jacket pocket, and as I was walking towards the parking lot, I took it out, gave it one last look, and left it on the sill of a telephone booth. I figured it would be picked up by someone who might realize its value (not the sentimental, but the monetary...it was quite thick, white gold) and take it, without knowing where it came from. That way, it's just a nice item for somebody to feel lucky about finding.
It felt good to let that go.
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Patrick's Daily Journal