Turkey Tuesday

Greetings!

This will be my first blog post heavily medicated, so strap up and enjoy the Turkey-tastic ride!

Maybe don't strap up. That sounds weird.

Mmm, yeah. Now show me some ankle, baby...

Quite the eventful week we've had, Mr. Biffles and I. I've been under the weather with bronchitis for the past week and a half, (you know, for a change of pace, also, hence the medication,) and Mr. Biff has been on the mend from his manhood removal surgery. Additionally, what with the impending holidays, there have been a million chores and errands, all of which, surprisingly, seem to be getting done.

The best errand by far has been shopping for Mr. Biffles.

You see, Mr. Biffles hates his carrier.

Whatever you've envisioning of his carrier temperament, amplify it by a million. Seriously. He really, really, really, really hates his carrier.

The morning of Snip Day, he used his polydactyl thumbs and know-how to reach outside the carrier, open the effin' thing, and bolt. While we were outside in the dark, wee hours of the morning, no less. During the drive, he would grab the cage with both hands, and his teeth, and rattle it like those freaking apes at the beginning of 28 Days Later.

The last straw came the other day when, on the way to the vet for a follow-up, he pressed his adorable kitty face against the cage so hard that he actually injurred himself. (His nose, specifically; He pressed it too fiercely against the metal cage door.) :c

No one made you do it, Marsha Brady.

It was just far too stressful for him and for me. So, I did what any normal person would do. I decided Mr. Biffles would be trained in the art of leash-walking.

So far, it's gone about as well as you'd expect.

Oh well. Even if I have to carry him to and from the car when we travel, it's still not as stressful for either of us as that carrier. And while he hates the leash, he doesn't really mind the harness itself. Although, come to think of it,  he has been particularly aggressive to his toys since he began wearing it...

I may or may not be sleeping with the door locked for a bit.


Among other holiday preparations, I decided to put up my Christmas tree a little early this year. I know, I know. Give Turkey Day it's due. And I usually do, I swear. This year is flying by, though, and I want to be able to return from Thanksgiving and just chill. So, up the tree went, much to the delight of one Mr. Biffles.


I almost didn't put the tree up this year because I assumed he'd make it impossible, but so far, there haven't been any inciden.....

Oh, so that's what instant regret looks like.

...No. NO! No nibbles!


Okay, so maybe I just won't plug it in. *sigh*

Another big part of holiday prep for me this year has been budgeting and cutting costs. I decided one area where I really needed to be a grown-up and sacrifice was in the TV department. So, I called my old pals, Comcast. Considering we were now "forever friends," I assumed the experience would be a pretty smooth transition.

But then again, I also forgot that Comcast is rated worst customer service in America. For many reasons. Including the following:

I called to downgrade the package. The first gal I spoke with (let's call her Fannie) told me the price I saw online was an online special only. She advised that I place the order online, and finish the order by talking to their live chat team. Fine, Fannie. I shall do just that.

Upon finishing my order online, I pulled up the voice chat and talked with a guy (we'll call him Stoolie) who said the order could only be placed via phone. "But Stoolie," I appealed... "I was on the phone for almost 45 minutes, only to have Fannie tell me I must complete my order with you. Now, I've taken additional time online, and you'd like to send me back to Fannie?" Stoolie typed some gibberish about valued customer and blah blah blee blah and basically yes, I had to call back in.

Fuck.

This time, I called in under the cancellation line, because, as I had remembered by this point, the only way to talk to someone who a) speaks English and b) gives a shit is to threaten to cancel. So I talked to person number three (Fart. His name was Fart.) and got things straightened out. Now, Ol' Fart seemed like he knew what he was doing... but given all the confusion, I decided to live chat later that night. Just to make sure.

The following chunks of conversation are verbatim, from that live chat. I copied and pasted it to Word, for ease of reading, since their transcript button sucks almost as much as their customer service.

Almost.

So.... What? What, now? My question to you is "Can you please verify what you see there," and your answer is, "Could you please tell me what I should be seeing here, so I can tell you what you want to hear?"

Grr.

And at this point, he disappears for another five or ten minutes... I'm not entirely sure. I know I got a couple rounds of Plants vs. Zombies in while I was waiting, to quell my anger at the fact that the 6 month cut-off for this price was not mentioned to me online or on the phone, with any of the three people I'd spoken to that afternoon.

After a more than reasonable amount of waiting...

 ....Go back and re-read my question. Now re-read his answer.

My patience is wearing so, so thin, Michael John....

What kind of black magic is this?? So not only was I not informed about the initial price hike, I was not also informed there would be a second price increase? Sigh.

By the way, if you're wondering why I haven't scribbled all over these pictures, it's because the comedy really writes itself, doesn't it? If you think there's any room to disagree with me on that, prepare to find yourself corrected in three... two.... one....

And that was the end of my patience.

Now... Now, it was Michael John's turn to be on hold for a moment, so I could gather myself. I took a couple deep breaths, closed my eyes, and clawed for the moral high road. I tried not to let my frustration at his complete incompetence get the better of me, and to unleash a firestorm of snarky comments at him.

I tried.

I failed.

I finished typing in an irate frenzy, and hit that last enter key with a triumphant smirk that would make even Alex Trebek proud.  My prize? Seeing this on my screen for the next few minutes, while Michael John tried to formulate his reply:

 (And yeah, my Plants vs. Zombie's handle is Mr. Deez. Actually, most of my gaming handles are Mr. Deez.)

He eventually came back and said "Amanda, I am sorry for the experience you had with the bakery," and proceeded to ramble for a paragraph or two about service and quality and what makes it all worth it and other bullshit which is fantastic to preach, but apparently, not to practice.

Having acquired what I wanted, namely, account information and a small, meaningless victory over a corporate giant, I decided to wrap up the conversation.

But there was, however, one last burning question on my mind:

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I'll say that I'm so grateful that I won't have to deal with them again for, hopefully, another 6 months, when the price inevitably goes to something other than what we discussed. C'est la vie.

Oh, right. Thanksgiving. This is Turkey Tuesday, and here I've been gobbling on about Comcast and my cat and whatnot. Hmm.... Hey, I know! I'll share the hand turkeys I made this year:

Don't fucking judge me. You are just jealous that you don't have any hand turkeys.

I call this one, Space Helmet Dradle Turkey Commander: 

He wears two hats. One is a birthday cake.

 And this one is titled, TurkEyVIL (Subtitle: I Will Gobble, Gobble, Gobble Up Your Soul:)

Not to be confused with "Turkeyville," which is probably adorable.

 And lastly, Hank, the Hanksgiving Squidopuss:

Long story.

Speaking of Thanksgiving, I should mention that I will be off in the booniest of boonies, visiting my parents, and completely cut-off from all communication until Sunday. Which means it'll probably be at least a week until I'm back. Don't you weep too hard, fellow Meteoroflgists. I'll be back with tales of travel, turkey and tomahawks.

Maybe not tomahawks, but I'm still medicated, and I like alliteration. Plus, the Indians probably brought tomahawks to the first Thanksgiving, so it kind of works, right?

Right???

...Okay, I have looked all over and I cannot find a picture of an Indian wielding a tomahawk. So.....

Good enough.


Happy Thanksgiving, folks! And don't get your pretty faces trampled on Black Friday, either.











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