Wackos, Weather, & Wasted Effort

It was a goofy afternoon to say the least.

With the mercury hovering at 94, I got the yard mowed. I was having some issues with the hose (still don't know why the water pressure is so weak) when I saw someone pull up at the neighbors' house. They were still gone on their long weekend jaunt but I was minding my own business and didn't say anything.

I look up to see a man with a clipboard staring at me. He says he's friends with the neighbors and that he was getting signatures in his bid for the presidency. "That's nice," says I. "Good luck." I told him that I'd sign his petition but I thought I'd be wasting my time. At this point, I was boiling hot, exhausted, soaking wet, aching, and hungry. I was not to be trifled with. But I was polite.

Then, this clown starts telling me his life's story ... and hitting on me. Yeah. I was filthy, with my hair pasted to my head with a combination of sweat and dirt. The dog has never smelled this bad (except for maybe the time many moons ago when he rolled in poop.) He came close to guessing my age, and said he was 63. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he was just a few years younger than my parents. But then he gave me an out. And I was getting very cranky.

"That tree needs to come down," he observed. I wanted to tell him he had a gift for the obvious but instead said, "Try convincing my mother of that." (The battered pine has never been right since the hellatious storm of nearly two years ago. She has been close to giving in on it, but always backs out at the last minute.)

"Your mother lives here, too?" Oh yes, I tell him. And she's sixty-five. Luckily, he got less chatty after that and finally left. Later, my neighbors returned from their trip and when they came to get their mail I related the tale of the presidency petition. My neighbor looked at me dubiously. "You're kidding, right?" I assured him I was not. "He's crazy, you know."

Yeah. Tell me about it.

I decided to get cleaned up before taking the clippings to the dump. (A leisurely shower courtesy of the new water heater.) I loaded four bags up and drove off. When I got there, I found the fence closed up. It was 5:30 p.m. and the sign said the hours were noon to 6. I've wasted time, effort, and gas in 90-degree heat. Now I have to take them home and unload them. Nice.

I stop to pick up my allergy drugs at Walgreens on the way back. The pharmacy tech pushes a single script across the counter. There should be two. "We have to call the doctor on this one. It's no longer available so he'll have to prescribe something else."

Great. After a variety of experiments, I finally get a winning combo -- and they have to change it. Lucky me.

Now That's Customer Service

Do you know why JCPenney (or, for the more chic set, Jacques Penoit) has been in business so long? In two words: customer service.

I was kind of mad at them for a while. I'd made some purchases and then a rather substantial one and EACH time I would get a promotional postcard in the mail afterward for money off what I just bought. It seemed to be more than coincidental. And it made me mad.

Then, the day my most recent substantial order arrived, so did a postcard offering 10 percent off what I had just purchased! I was really mad. So I called them on it. They waffled -- initially. But then they came through.

Not only did they make good on the 10 percent -- they nearly TRIPLED it! I was really excited to say the least. It made up for all the other promotions I'd been cheated out of in the past. I can mark them off of my running list of retailers with whom I have scores to settle. (Top of the list right now are The Home Depot, Staples, and Walgreens.)

Then, Mom decided she didn't like the rug she'd bought for her bedroom after all. So we took it back to JCPenney's. While there, she ordered something else and the clerk asked if we had a promotional free shipping code. We did not. All I could think was "Here we go again." But, the clerk just keyed one in anyway. Turns out, that saved about $16. Cha-ching! Money that can be used on the next disaster at This D*mn House. And rest assured, there will be one.

The moral of this story: ASK. All they can say is yes, right?!