Sunday, June 26, 2011

Verizon Customer Service Sucks

Verizon customer service sucks, especially customer service rep Nicole Simmonds. She’s an idiot and a liar.

Is that harsh? It’s not if you spent over an hour trying to get some customer service from her.

On a whim last week I bought an iPhone and switched my service from Verizon to AT&T. I love my iPhone and in my apartment I get much better service with AT&T than I ever did with Verizon. With Verizon it was two bars or less (usually less), but with AT&T it’s three bars or more.

So the other night I called Verizon to find out my final payment, with all the intention of paying it right then and there. That was mistake #1.

Mistake #2 was getting Nicole Simmonds as my customer service rep. She could not understand anything I was asking and every time I asked her to explain she came up with a ludicrous answer. She kept telling me the bill I received (prior to ending my service) was sent to me after I cancelled my service, which it wasn’t.

It was like “who’s on first” except this wasn’t funny. I should’ve hung up but something snapped in me and I was determined to resolve it then, with her (Mistake #3).

Unfortunately the customer “service” deteriorated like an open wound that’s so infected with gangrene the only thing to do is to amputate. And yet I continued. Was I getting a perverse thrill with our oral interlude?

After over an hour of idiocy she called me a harassing customer. I called her a stupid lying bitch.

It was then I demanded to speak to a supervisor. She kept refusing and I said I wasn’t hanging up until I spoke to one. Lo and behold she finally connected me to supervisor Jose, who said they never divulge their last names when I asked for his.

Nicole Simmonds lied about her last name? Yes, he said. I then reiterated my customer service experience, and he conceded she lied, but defended her saying all she needs is more training. That poor idiot needs more than training...

Did I resolve my Verizon customer service issue? No. Jose defending her pissed me off so I hung up.

Take this as a warning... if you have to call Verizon and a squeaky little voice says “This is Nicole, how may I help you” immediately hang up.

All I can say is good bye Verizon and good riddance. I’m with AT&T now.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Because the Night... and Patti's Boob

There are certain images that leave an indelible imprint in your mind.

Patti Smith grabbing her own boob on the cover of “Because the Night” did that to me. It mesmerized me then and it still mesmerizes me now.

I wanted to photograph myself grabbing my own crotch but was too damn shy to do it. Years later Michael Jackson made millions grabbing his crotch. (If I knew then what I know now...)

At the time I first saw Patti’s boob grabbing photo I was a sheltered kid living in suburbia where the only daring thing we saw was in the pages of National Geographic at the nearby suburban library.

But the nudies in National Geographic didn’t have the power of Patti’s boob. It unleashed my imagination. It tore to shreds my puritanical foundation. It broke free and spurted my creative juices. It made me think there was something more than suburbia.

There was a new world out there beckoning me, and it was all because of Patti’s boob.

Her version of “Because the Night” is pure raw power and lust. It’s truly one of my favorite songs ever which, surprisingly, she wrote with Bruce Springsteen. There have been cover versions but none of them compare to Patti. She is the High Priestess of Rock.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Bang, Bang, Bang

The other day I went to the gym to continue in my quest to tone and tighten body parts that insist on defying gravity. After spending thirty minutes doing intense cardio I needed to go to the bathroom.

So there I was at the urinal whizzing - with my iPod entertaining me with the songs of Adele - when I heard a loud bang follow by another bang, and then immediately after that bang, bang, bang. I shook from head to toe but was steady enough not to miss my urinal aim. Then after a few seconds it happened again faster and louder.

I thought we were under terrorist attack.

I looked around waiting for others to react, but there was only one other person in the area and he was at the urinal beside me. I pulled my iPod from my ears and was just about to yell out when I heard it again.

Bang. Bang, bang. Bang, bang, bang.

Without Adele singing in my ear I was able to follow the trail of the sound and that’s when I realized the guy at the urinal beside me was farting. They were the loudest farts and he was not the least bit embarrassed or fazed by it.

He zipped up and left the locker room... without washing his hands. That man had bad farting habits, and even worse hand washing habits. I’ve made a mental note to remember his face and to avoid any machine he’s using.

And then today I was walking down the street and in front of me, about ten feet, was an older man slowly walking. Just as I was about to pass him he started farting. Not once but fast and furious like a machine gun. My instinct had me jump out of the way and hurry past him. He looked at me and didn’t utter a word, while his chorus of farts continued.

Let’s be real. I fart. You fart. We all fart. But has it become trendy and fashionable to fart loud and proud and without remorse?

A self-deprecating giggle and an “excuse me” seemed appropriate, don’t you think?

Wednesday, June 08, 2011

When the Sun Shines...

The other morning I was outside my apartment building waiting for a friend to come and pick me up. I was sitting on the retaining wall minding my own business when I happened to look to my left. Coming down the street was an older woman walking her dog.

She was carrying a plastic bag with dog poop in it, so I knew she was a conscientious dog owner.

But there was something peculiar as my eyes changed focus from the dangling poop bag... something that made me blink and question what I was seeing.

The sun was shining brightly and as she strolled towards me I could see right through her mid-calf length skirt. The sun’s reflection on the material made is see-through.

She wasn’t wearing any panties. Her sagging little ass was jiggling like Jello as she sashayed along with her dog. She had a happy face. Was she happy because she left her thong at home and was feeling the breeze tickling her nether region? Or was she completely oblivious to her fashion faux?

As she approached she entered a shady area and the see-through skirt was no longer. I wanted to say “Good morning middle-aged lady. Do you know the sun is making your skirt a see-through skirt and I can see your bare bouncing buttocks and your recently groomed temple of love?” but I didn’t.

We exchanged hellos and I commented how I was admiring her pooch. I might have intentionally mumbled cooch, but she petted her pet lovingly and thanked me, oblivious to my wordplay.

As she walked away I watched as she left the shade and entered the sun.

She had no tan line.

Sunday, June 05, 2011

Sarah is Coming! Sarah is Coming!

The Supreme Queen of Idiocy has struck again.

Oh yes, Sarah Palin recently visited the Paul Revere House in Boston and this is what she said when asked who Paul Revere was:

He who warned, uh, the British that they weren’t gonna be takin’ away our arms, uh, by ringing those bells, and um, makin' sure as he’s riding his horse through town to send those warning shots and bells that we were going to be sure and we were going to be free, and we were going to be armed.

In her delusional world she wants to be president. President of what? The Idiots Club?

Still she continues crisscrossing the highways and byways polluting our glorious country with her presence.

So please... when you smell her approaching your neighborhoods - it’s a rancid odor - jump on your scooters, pedal your bikes, mount your horses, rev your engines, and hurry through the streets warning everyone that “Sarah is coming! Sarah is coming!”

Saturday, June 04, 2011

Smack the Teacher

It was with a little bit of horror and little bit of envy that I read a headline this week about an eleven year old student who punched his teacher in the face breaking the teacher’s nose.

Without reading any further I sort of paused and reflected on times in my life when I wanted to smack the teacher in the face.

Years ago when I was assigned to substitute teach a high school history class the head of the department warned me one particular student was no good, nothing but trouble, and to send him to the principal’s office. I was shocked, and a little frightened not knowing what to expect.

When class started I zeroed in on the “trouble” student but a wee little voice inside my teacher’s soul said to give him a chance. I then preceded to start a discussion on the New Deal and lo and behold he was the only student actively participating in the discussion. He was a nice kid, a delight. I felt a teacher/student connection.

Not five minutes later the head of the department came in and kicked the kid out of the class. I protested but as a substitute teacher my protest fell on deaf ears.

I wanted to beat the shit of that department head. He was hateful and mean and he humiliated the student.

I often think of that student and wonder what happened to him. Maybe he became a historian.

And then I remembered my tenth grade English teacher - Ms Romano - who loathed me as much as I loathed her. On numerous occasions she told me I was an absolutely horrible writer. I thought she was an absolutely horrible human being in desperate need of a flea dip.

If I had listened to that bitch Ms Romano you wouldn’t be reading my beautiful words of wisdom here today. Instead I’d be frightened of putting pen to paper and not living my dream. Well fuck her wherever she is, and I hope she’s in a place with a lot of heat.

Sometimes teachers need to be smacked.

I didn’t bother reading the rest of the article.