An online diary about a thirty-ish, underachieving perfectionist, master procrastinator, extreme knitter, kamikaze cook, confectionery engineer and amateur foodie with aspirations to take over the world, one craft at a time.
I have much love for this blog, Franklin over at The Panopticon is truly a delightful read (for knitters and non-knitters alike.) He is a master craftsman as equally with a sentence as he is with heirloom lace.
Today, he outdid himself with a post about the world/society not understanding of knitters. Read it, you’ll thank me.
I went to the lake this weekend in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains with my lovely and adoring parents who had been on vacation at their cabin on the lake for about a week. I had an extra day off on Friday since we worked on Memorial Day so I was going to float and read and get my drink on with my Mom and Stepdad. We had a wonderful trek to Young Harris to this phenomenal vineyard, beautiful view, tasty wine, just a delight- and that is when they sprung it on me. Their recently divorced friend (divorced after 25 years) had invited himself (and a date) up for the weekend. I was a tad tipsy and as my mother’s daughter was going to make the best of it. But dudes, the cabin is cozy and accommodates the fam quite nicely, but who is this woman? Is she cool? Is she fun? Not to mention that I felt that “our” time was being infringed upon- I don’t get to spend so much time with the parentals to have them all to myself, you know? But, I’ve known the man since I was a child (let us just call him “Dick” for the sake of the story) and Dick was a tad wounded. Wounded, lonely, newly-divorced man. A nice man that probably hasn’t had the opportunity to get a word in edgewise for going on 25 years, so we felt like Dick needed some friends and support. So enters Dick and date “Jane” (and that is only because even after two days, I still can’t remember her name.) So, there we are in this tiny cabin.
Warning: Content Below not recommended for anyone under the age of 18.
Why Ross Sucks and I won’t be shopping there ever again and “Pllllllbbbbbbttttt” to them.
Here is my letter to customer service of Ross: Dress for Less
To Whom It May Concern:
I recently visited the Ross located at XXXXX on Friday, May 23rd at approximately 6 PM. I would be remiss if I didn’t report my experience as by far the WORST encounter with customer service personnel store-wide that I have ever had. First of all, the store was in shambles, racks of clothing looked ravaged, shoes were missing their mates, stuff on the floor, just overall dingy and sloppy. Now, I don’t really mind so much as I was bargain shopping but the experience only got worse from this first impression. I went to the dressing room to try some things on, the lady manning the station was irritated (I gathered that she was supposed to get off work soon) and she handed me my number while on the phone with her boyfriend (who was to picking her up.) I went into a fitting room. I could hear her complaining to herself loudly as she entered each booth, CURSING, and directing anger at previous customers that left items in the room. Angry, filthy language was spewed as she slammed the doors in booths adjourning mine. As I left the dressing room with items I was going to purchase and a few that didn’t work, I asked her if I should put the unwanted dresses on the loaded rack nearby. She scoffed, only if I could find room, and that she had been telling people to put their own unwanted dresses back on the racks where they had gotten them. (I declined as I found space on the rack and felt that this was, after all, her job.)
I proceeded to check out after a brief glance at shoes, and I previously mentioned that many pairs were strewn on the floor and even more were missing their mate entirely. I waited in one of only two open lines with about thirty other people. I waited quite a long time. When it was just about my turn the woman working the register stopped talking to the woman at the CLOSED customer service desk long enough to ask me if I was paying in cash. I said, no, I will probably write a check to which she stated that the system probably wouldn’t take it. I then suggested my card, which the system was apparently not taking either. No apologies. No excuses. No announcement or warning to the fifteen people in the line behind me that unless you carried cash (which by the way most people don’t anymore) you weren’t going to be able to make your purchase. At this point she began to reprimand another worker for being late and I was appalled to discover that she might actually be the person IN CHARGE at this store.
There were no apologies for the inconvenience to ANY customer, and by now people had been waiting for quite some time. If I didn’t like the dress I had found so much (and the price) I probably wouldn’t have scraped out the cash that I mercifully happened to have on me at the moment. I have never been so ill treated as a customer by service and sales associates in an entire store before- it was almost as if they would have been happier we had all simply cleared out, customers in this particular instance were treated as if their very presence was a nuisance and the staff was totally inconvenienced to have to be dealing with us. I do not think I will ever return to Ross, but I did believe it to be the right thing to do to report my experience so at the very least someone at the corporate level would know why.
Thank you for your time.
Hey, sometimes they respond to this type of stuff, and sometimes they don’t, but at least I didn’t just bend over and take it. Ok, well since I did purchase the items anyways, I guess I sort of did, but the dress was under $20, with polka-dots!!! Well, I’m still mad and letting someone know, so there.
UPDATE: I was contacted by customer service AND the store manager very soon after I sent this. They were both very lovely and professional and said that the staff had been written up (and that it didn’t sound like a strange complaint.) I will probably go back (they offered me a 20% off coupon- but I probably won’t take it.) The principal was to make sure that someone noticed and at the very least cared.
Well, if you are me, you normally lose more than you win. I’m not so much lucky when it comes to competition- I blame the Girl Scouts for destroying my competitive spirit. Now, many may view the scouts to be a little fascist, paramilitary regime, but I enjoyed it for a time- saluting and all. You see, when I was a scout (like 22 years ago) was the last time I WON something. I must begin this tale with the cookies. I did NOT enjoy selling the cookies. You see, the prizes you got when selling the cookies were so very enticing, but they only went to the power sellers, and I lived in a neighborhood that was going through the cycle of having mostly old people and they didn’t take to kindly to me peddling my sweets (diabetics.) It broke down something like this: sell 50 boxes get the patch (no, not everyone that participated got the patch, you had to sell lots and lots of boxes) then sell 150 and get a stuffed toy, 250 boom box, 1000 new car…. whatever, the point is I rarely broke 100. My mom, who is a saint, was pissed about the entire system of awards (she would be correct into thinking it wasn’t fair for a Dad to take his kid’s sales sheet in to a big corporate office and make her sales for her and that everyone that participated should get the freakin’ patch at the very least.) So she bought something like 100 boxes from me each year then put me in uniform out in front of her Hallmark shop and I’d sell them from a card table (very wise my mother- I was very fortunate she used her mad marketing skillz to ensure that I would get that little scrap of fabric for my sash at the cookie awards ceremony.)
Then came the year of the dog. This stuffed dog that you only had to sell a billion boxes of cookies to get. Well, the dog had velcro on his belly concealing a hidden chamber, and when you are 8- you are all about the little girl secrets that could be concealed within the belly of a stuffed weiner dog. (You know, in actuality, this memory is a little more disturbing than I recall.) This particular year they had some prizes for the troop for randomly selected girls. (Which meant that Allison, the little nazi power seller, might not make off with every single prize that technically DADDY got her by intimidating his corporate minions into buying her smack. ) I won’t ever forget her. She was a smug little girl scout. Well, long story long, I won the dog that year and it was the sweetest, sweetest, most unexpected victory in the world.
Which (finally) brings me to the fact that I actually won something after a 22 year drought. One of my favorite bloggers is Cass at Shut Up I’m Counting. I won some darling little stitch markers with little sheep on them. (This is perfect for the girl that up until recently was using old wine glass charms, stray earrings and washers as stitch markers.) I entered the contest because this lady is damn funny and was asking for advice for her daughter’s birthday and for a suggestion for a pleasurable knit project, so I thought what the heck, I’ll type up a response- I’ve got something to say on all of that. Well I did and I won. Sweeeeeeeeeet – thanks so much for having the contest Cass!
And now to what I lost- I entered the Interweave Magnetic Poetry Contest about a million years ago with my little haiku. I didn’t win, but I’m okay with that because I never claimed to be much of a poet. However, I do have an observation, does any one else notice that all three winning poems make significant use of the word “rhythm”? Just an observation, not a qualitative evaluation or anything but the word positively screams out at me when reading each poem. Personally, I don’t care much for the word rhythm. I don’t hear “rhythm is going to get you” like most people, I tend to let my mind wander to “rhythm method” or “rhythmic gymnastics” or something sort of dirty and pulsating. Is it just me? Really? Well I don’t much care for the words rumba or rhombus either (but I do so like rum) I suppose it is some kind of weird, personal word association thing. Now I fear I’ve revealed too much.
Oh, and I had that stuffed dog for years until I took him to camp with me and filled his body cavity with jolly ranchers (not my most shining moment) and his insides became a sticky sweet feast for ants and I had to dispose of him. But the memory of my gigantic victory over Allison stays with me always. (YAY for victory!)
Hey, I’m one for two today. I think I’ll go and purchase a lottery ticket on my lunch break- tomorrow’s Mega Millions is up to 166 Million!
I had a Dirt Devil I purchased in 2001 for around $75. It followed me to four apartments and it finally gave it up in the fall. I was dismayed, but understanding- I mean six years and moving and kitties and crap- yay Dirt Devil! Unfortunately, Lowe’s no longer carries the brand so I bought a Eureka Vacuum cleaner in October. Let me tell you, Eureka blows donkey balls. I upgraded to a $150 model thinking I was due for an upgrade. It had a pretty orange color and some neato, nifty attachments (like this static brushy thing for dusting) and it sucked adequately for about a month or two. Then it started making noises of the not so good for a vacuum cleaner type. Jeff, who informed me about said noises as he is the head honcho vacuum master, replaced the belt. It was quieter-ish. But it churned my rug something awful (I suspect it actually melted it or something…) So Jeff went to the one repair place in town to see if they had parts. Come to find out, Eureka was bought out or something by a craptastic Chinese company and has been producing shiteous vacuums ever since. Luckily, I filled out the warranty card and kept the receipt, Jeff was able to return the steaming piece of… well, I think you might get where I’m going with this one, for store credit. (Thank you Lowe’s.) But now, he is back in the vacuum aisle, dilemma, dilemma, dilemma. What to get? We would really like a Dyson (although we’ve heard they aren’t so awesome from the vacuum repairman.) My pal Shari sings the praises of her Kirby (they have been in a committed relationship for, like, 18 years or something.) Glad Jeff is handling this one, what a fine man I have!
In my world, I sing songs I like with the radio (loudly and with passion) regardless of whether or not I actually know the words. I’m a verbally inclined human, I start my day talking up a storm and don’t usually stop until it is sleepy time. I am pretty good with grammar and writing and such, but I also make up my own words because sometimes they just happen to work better.
But I must now fess up that I have run into some embarrassing situations with the following phrases:
During my last move I wrote the following across several boxes: Various Assundry Kitchen Items. My mother cracked up for a full ten minutes before she told me what I had done.
Spazz Says: Various Assundry Translation: Various and Sundry
No, I don’t know what assundry means, but in my head it was me cleaning out the “Dammit Drawer,” which is full of crap I don’t need but can’t live without and can’t find a better place to store and dumping it all in a box with what I believed to be a good label. I have many drawers and cabinets like this in my home, which causes much laughter and irritation for Jeff who can’t find the Motrin because it is with the vitamins and the beef jerky behind the measuring cups and the potato ricer.
This one is extra special fun for me, because I still can’t get it in my head correctly.
Spazz Says: For all Intensive Purposes Translation: For all Intents and Purposes
I’m hoping that when I say this either someone hears the latter or thinks I am just trying to be clever. Because I am oh so very clever.
Now don’t even get me started on my Chester Drawers.
We went to Harbor Lights on Friday, the new Elvis performer was very entertaining and we enjoyed our evening quite a bit. I think I did a very good interview too, we shall see how it comes out in the next edition of the Nooze (a new arts and entertainment newspaper sort of like Creative Loafing that is up in these here parts of Georgia.)
The Falala Bash on Saturday at Jack and Tara’s house was decidedly a perfect evening. Good friends, good food, good times. We had a ball (photos forthcoming.)
On a more panicked note, I’ve done run out of time this year. Christmas Eve is NEXT Monday and I’ve just been informed that I’m having a Christmas Eve brunch at my apartment. Crap. I haven’t wrapped a thing (although the shopping is pretty much done.) I have a scarf, two hats and a bear to finish knitting this week. All is definitely NOT well. Not well at all.
This is me.
Not only because I got my “elf on” for a face-painting job with Jeff last night (I’m making a pretty mean snowflake this year- with glitter and everything!) but also because I’m booked every freaking night from here through Christmas with little to no exception. I’m seriously buggin’ because I have some projects that need tending to and I haven’t really gotten going yet. Oh, and because someone called in ‘sick’ today and it totally screwed me over- I had to cancel appointments, skip my lunch break and therefore miss running two necessary errands, the usual crap. (Note: There are pluses and minuses to working in a very small office, this would be the latter, but I suppose you can’t help when you get sick, right?)
Oh and Jeff did this last night.
Yes that would be a purple-leopard-harlequin mask themed tree. (He has enough decorations to do several ‘themed’ trees.) I let him do this one ‘cuz he does it so well. I’ll be decorating my Charlie Brown Christmas tree tonight. It will be fun.
No really, it will. Or at least that is what I keep telling myself.
I’ve spoken briefly about missing some of the “girl genes” before. I fear that I’m missing the bride gene (sorry Momma- I’ll try if the opportunity presents itself) and I have had some concern about missing the ‘Mom’ gene as well because infants kind of freak me out (but I’m learning, slowly) but I do know for a fact that I am missing the ‘mall’ gene.
Since the onset of adulthood, I have grown to loathe and despise the mall. I avoid it at all costs. Luckily, the mall in Gainesvegas is a poor excuse for a mall when compared to the massive, virtual cities raised in honor of capitalism (like the MOG.) And I have Target, so my life is pretty full- I don’t feel I miss out too much. I avoid the malls even more so during the holidays because to me, getting trapped behind people that are leisurely ‘window shopping’ or stuck in an endless line in a room with now windows is about as close to the seventh circle of hell as I can get. I do often get dragged in (kicking and screaming) by the promise of a bargain or an otherwise unfindable item. This year, you can forgettabout it. I’ve done almost all of my shopping either at small art and craft shows throughout the year (such as the Yellow Daisy Festival, Mule Camp and the Open House at Happy Valley Pottery to name a few) and the rest of my shopping has been completed online. I am now at an almost-through place with regard to the Christmas list. And I don’t have to go to the mall at all with sites like Amazon.com helping me through the Fala-madness I can get almost everything with a few simple clicks. I love you Amazon.com!
So, I’m sitting pretty smug here on November 28th in almost-finished-shopping land. Very smug indeed. Except for the knitting. I had three finished objects in just about as many days, but alas, I can’t post a bit about them as they are to be gifted and I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. But there is much knitting to be done, 12 projects in total, all for the most part small scale and I need to rip through them as soon as humanly possible.
Since I can’t post the knitting (awwww shucks) here is a glimpse of a normal night at Chez Spazz:
Notice the prerequisites for optimum coziness, pink skully do-rag (check), favorite fuzzy pink blankie (check), glass of milk (um-check- I drank it) and at least two hovering kitty cats (no wonder I dream about being stared at.)
Have a lovely holiday season!
Just when you think that your day is crap, that only crappy, vicious, mean-spirited, cranky people that can’t read and/or follow rules- are going to stumble across your path (and you can’t tell them where exactly they can shove their attitude, because, unfortunately, that is the one thing that doesn’t fall under your job description- and by the way IS there a job where you can tell folks to go to hell? because I’m totally interested just let me know where to forward my resume) and that huge, steaming, heaping piles of crap that you have no control over are just going to be flying your way all the live long day- and that all you can seem to write are ill-crafted, run-on sentences- then you get this:
Aaaaaaaaaaaaah. Suddenly, day not so much like crap any more and much more like chocolate-covered rainbows carried by glitter-encrusted butterflies.
This is a little blanket I made for Ashlyn AGES ago from my grandmother’s pattern. And see, it is actually going to good use. Notice the sleeping child- does she look chilly to you? No- to the contrary- she is delightfully cozy and tranquil and… dare I say- chubbilicious.
Yeah, I helped enhance her peacefulness. Life is good.
