Monthly Archives: September 2015

Here’s Mud In Your Eye…………

Every family has their legends. This is one of ours, but I’m absolutely certain it’s true.

My mother-in-law was one of the kindest, sweetest women you could ever meet. She was the quintessential housewife. Marie ensured that there was always great food on her table and good food available in her kitchen if she wasn’t there in that moment to prepare something for you.

Her freezer was never empty. In fact, she was so committed to having snacks available, that we deemed her freezer a “hard hat” area, in fear of all the goodies that would fall out onto your head if you opened the freezer door too quickly.

I was never fortunate enough to meet my father-in-law, but by all accounts they had a fine and long lasting marriage.

There were glitches, however. And when I hear stories like this, I am so proud of Marie. Words  like moxie and gumption come to mind.

So one day, John, Marie’s husband, comes home from work and saunters out to his garden.  Marie, who never learned to drive, has been home alone all day long with no one to talk to.  She kind of waits for her husband to come home so that she can have a nice conversation, a nice dinner, and a bit of grown-up human interaction.

There was a time when she used to follow him out to the garden and chit-chat while he was weeding, pruning and picking ripe vegetables. But his grunting instead of answers, or turning his back to her, quickly made her realize he was in no mood for conversation, even though she was dying for a pow-wow, a talk fest, a tete-a-tete.

So when he immediately goes out to the garden, she’s well….pissed. She, of course, would never use that phrase. She might say she was upset, disappointed, or put-out. But let’s be honest, she was pissed.

When John finally comes in to wash up for dinner, Marie is in a tizzy. As her husband is alighting the stairway to go change out of his gardening clothes and  get ready for dinner, Marie can’t contain herself any longer.

She confronts her husband, something like this, I imagine:

“It would be nice if you could talk to me for a few minutes when you get home from work.”

“What?” he replies as every clueless husband on the planet would.

“I would just like to talk a for a little bit.”

“We’re talking now,” he said, seriously meaning it.

“No, like just a few minutes to talk about our day,” she tries to sound like she’s not whining.

“What are you whining about? We’ll talk at dinner,” he responds ending the conversation and turning to go.

“Well, that’s not how I see it.”

And with that John says (in my imagination).

“Well, how do you see this?” And with that he spits in her eye.

Marie chases him around the house inside and out, the whole time the two of them are laughing, knowing how ridiculous this is….. but he never went to that garden first again.

Marie and Jean..2 girls with Moxie
Marie and Jean..2 girls with Moxie

Go, Moxie!

“You Just have to Laugh….”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

Does Anyone LIKE Comcast? or I MIss Old TV…………

I am so ashamed. Yesterday, I said “F$%^@ YOU! to Comcast.

Of course, I’ve wanted to say that to Comcast on many, many, many occasions. But I have controlled myself. I’ve acted like a mature, grown-up and kept my temper until I hung up the phone and then said it out loud again and again and again.

I’ve said that to Comcast while watching TV when my cable box goes out for the 10th time in one night. I’ve commiserated with many a Comcast customer and we’ve concluded with “F&^% YOU, Comcast.”

But this day, I actually said it to the customer service representative.

I know you want the story:

“Hello, this is Cathy. I am the Power of Attorney for my brother-in-law. We need to disconnect his service, as he is now in a nursing home.”

It’s more complicated than that, because he’s only there temporarily, but I knew any other story would slide me right over to ‘upsell land’ trying to get me to buy HBO, STARZ,  SHOWTIME and any other ‘deal’ of the day.

“Oh,” the representative replied, “I’m so sorry to hear that. Okay, let’s get this done. I need his home address, birth date, the last four digits of his Social Security number and your name and relationship to the customer.”

I gave her all the necessary information.

“Well, I see that account has already been cancelled.”

“Really?” I said with surprise, “by whom?”

“By Ryan, do you know someone named Ryan?”

“No, I don’t.” More disturbingly, I don’t know anyone named Ryan who would have my brother-in-law’s birth date and last four digits of his Social Security number.

“And what did Ryan say his relationship to the customer is, exactly?” I inquired.

“I don’t know,” she said informatively.

I paused here. My first thought being: “well how in the hell does some stranger without all this necessary information cancel this contract?”

But quickly followed by, “thanks, Ryan, whoever you are. Now I’m done with this baloney.”

“He does live in an apartment facility,” I tell the representative.

“Oh, well then that must be it, they probably cancelled it. It was done yesterday.”

So far so good, right? What could possibly have led me to swearing, losing my cool?

“Okay, that’s great,” I say, “now, I’m sure you will owe him a refund. How does that get processed?”

“The customer will receive a paper check in 30 days.”

Bill Pay“Excuse me?” I countered. “You have been taking money out of his bank account for five years. I would prefer that you just refund the account that way.”

“Oh no,” she said rather quickly, “it must be a paper check in 30 days. That’s their policy.”

“So let me get this straight, you have had access to this bank account for five years. Now you want to send a paper check to the customer who is cancelling service because they are moving away from the address where you want to send the check?”

“Yes, that’s their policy.”

“Okay, I know this is not your job. So could you please register my complaint to the ‘powers that be’ that this is ridiculous? That when people call to cancel an account, that you should either refund the amount to their bank account, or send it to their new address, since they call because they are moving.”

“No,” she actually said ‘no’, ” I can’t do that. This has been their policy from the beginning.”

Even still….I was holding myself in check.

“Well,” I said, “thank you so very much for NOT registering my complaint.’

“Have a good day,” she siad.

“Fuck you,” I said.

P.S. Five minutes later I called the phone company, which is a little tiny podunk town phone company, to cancel his phone service.  That customer service rep asked me this question:

“Where would you like me to send the refund check?”

“You Just have to Laugh….”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

 

 

 

One Man’s Trash or When the Saints Go Marchin’ In………….

There are karmically times when you know you are too distracted. Of course, you don’t usually find that out until karma hits you over the head with a two-by-four.

Yesterday, I had a massage, which although meant to be therapeutic, was also supposed to have the added bonus of relaxing my head, neck and shoulders which love to tie themselves into knots on a weekly basis.

I was feeling pretty zen as I left the masseuse, and then my mind took over.

“Okay…now I have to go to Wawa, get lunch for my brother-in-law who despises the nursing home food. Then go to his old apartment, get his mail, pick up his hand braces talk to the management about closing up his apartment, and get to the nursing home before lunch so he eats the lunch I’m bringing and not their swill.”

For some strange reason, as I get back in my car, I decide this is a good time to clean out all the extraneous trash. I have a cup from the masseuse, who gave me water, I have a napkin with a peach pit in it, which was my breakfast on the go, and some WalMart receipts that I no longer need sitting in the cup holder. I gather up all these items, throw them in the big bin outside the store and drive away. I’m feeling very superior, as I now have a tidy driving space, not like all those other slobs driving around!

On the way to my brother-in-law’s apartment, I remember that I’m passing the post office and need stamps for my daughter’s bridal shower invitations. A quick yank of the car into the post office parking lot, and I reach into my purse for my debit card. No card.  I take everything out of my purse, go through every pocket in the purse, take everything out of my wallet. No debit card.

How can this be? I just had it at Wawa? Oh crap. Did I put it back in my purse, or was it still in my hand when I threw away the trash? Oh crap. I start to pray: “Dear Saint Anthony, come around, something’s lost and can’t be found.”

I don’t even get out of my car, thinking, I’ve got to get back to that trash bin before they empty it or some other superior feeling keeper of a pigsty pours their left over Big Gulp on top of my trash. I’ve got exactly four minutes to get here (I timed it on the way).

AnthonyDear Saint Anthony come around something’s lost and can’t be found. You can say that a lot in four minutes,

When I get to the Wawa, there’s a space right in front of the trash bin. And, of course, a guy sitting in his car watching me. Ugh. Don’t care, I’m goin’ in!

I look in the bin and cannot believe my eyes, The bag is completely clean. The only trash in there is mine and my debit card is sitting right on the top. My first foray into dumpster diving felt so good, I wanted to do a victory dance. But I refrained, that guy was still watching me.

I must’ve been good today. Karma and St. Anthony my new BFFs.

“You Just have to Laugh…..”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski

It’s gettin’ hot in here. So take off all your clothes……

I’ve been so entrenched in caregiving, I decided I needed a girl’s day out. So I went out, all by myself. I need to find a mother-of-the -bride dress, because well, I’m the mother-of-the-bride.

My friends insisted I try to find a gown at  Neiman Marcus. This store is ridiculous. On my way to the evening gown department,  I walked by a “SALE” table loaded with purses. The sale was 50% off, as marked on the price tag. The first tiny clutch I picked up off the table is on sale for $2500.00 TWO THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS! Hmmm. Might be out of my league here.

But my sister bought her mother-of-the-bride dress here and the price was well within all the other places we had gone to. I forged ahead to the snooty, fancy-pants evening gown High Heelsdepartment, which was right next to the shoe department where the Christian Louboutins snuggled every so comfortably next to the Jimmy Choos. Not a pair was under $600.

But, okay. I would not be stopped. I found a few gowns to try. I couldn’t find a salesgirl to save my life. So I stood outside the locked dressing room, struggling to hold these expensive, voluminous gowns while praying someone would come to my rescue.

Finally, a sales person shows up, ever so happily puts me in a dressing room and comments as she leaves. “Oh, I don’t think you want to try on THAT dress, it’s cut way too low in the back.” All that did was piss me off, and I said, “No, I want to try it on anyway.”

I swear to God, there isn’t one damn item in this store for less than $100, and now in the dead of August, when it is over 90 degrees outside, these dressing rooms are NOT air-conditioned. What, they can’t afford the electricity? I’m sweating profusely while taking off my clothes. Now, I’m going to try and put on slinky gowns that stick to me in every possible crevice. It’s hotter than the hinges of hell in here.

Many minutes go by and no one comes by to help me. I peek out of my dressing room completely unzipped and there’s a man chatting with a woman about the Jimmy Choo’s she’s trying on in the dressing room.

First, why is there a man back here, when we are in various stages of undress?  Why isn’t there anyone to help me zip up a $700 gown. And why is it so damn hot in here?

I struggle in and out of a few dresses…nary a sales person in sight, except for the conversation I’m hearing in the next dressing room.

The man and woman are discussing how adorable the shoes are that she is trying on. THEY have a sales woman who is bringing them different sizes of shoes, in the dressing room. Is it me, or is that weird? Go to the damn shoe department, and take that cursed man with you.

And then I hear why I’m getting no help.

She: “So we have about 10 grand in shoes here.”

He: “Yeah, that seems right.”

She: “Well, we have four grand in clothes, so we’re right where we want to be with that.”

He: “Yeah. So the shoes should be okay.”

gown 1Why would anyone help little old me with just a $700 gown?

I’m pretty sure those two had their own air conditioner in their dressing room.

“You Just have to Laugh…..”

©2015 Cathy Sikorski