Matching Tracksuits

complaining

Greenville Drivers

Friday 3 February 2023

I’m sitting at the stoplight. Ahead of me is a BMW that probably costs more than some houses and definitely has twice the power of my little Honda. Were we to race, that car would, in a flash, leave me staring at its taillights in the distance. The light turns green; I’m slowly releasing pressure from the brake, ready to slide my foot over to the brake; I’m ready to go. And nothing. The car in front of me sits there, as if the driver has confused this bit of pavement for a parking lot. 

Is he on his cell phone? Is she in a heated discussion with her partner? Is he scolding his kids? I don’t know. I just know the light been green for a good five to seven seconds now, and she has not moved an inch.

Nothing annoys me more than Greenville drivers at a traffic light. It’s as if the green light is merely a suggestion, as if they interpret a green light to mean, “If you have any desire to move forward, any desire at all, feel free to do so. If not, it’s fine. Just wait. Everyone behind you will wait as well. No rush,” instead of “Go!” When the light turns green, I wonder if that change in the wavelength of the light striking the driver’s eyes has somehow erased his memory, and suddenly he finds himself in a place he’s never been, with this large circular object before him that seems to serve some mysterious purpose that he can’t divine. And those pedals at his feet? Why, they could be for anything. Pressing one of those pedals — especially that narrow one to the far right — could do any number of things. It might propel him into another dimension where he will struggle to survive for a few moments before being crushed into oblivion by the unknown as he cries out, “Why, oh why did I press that pedal?”

I sometimes wonder if there’s a little conversation going on in that car.

“Hey, Bubba, that light. It’s a different color now.”

“Yep.”

“Reckon what we should do?”

“Dunno.”

“Think it might mean something?”

“Dunno.”

“I think it means something. What do you think it might mean?”

“Dunno.”

“Reckon I should do something about it?”

“Like what?”

“Dunno.”

And so the driver sits there meditating while I sit there stewing, my heart rate skyrocketing, my blood pressuring rising like a like a bottle rocket, my face turning multiple shades of red.

One would think it might be a little better once that first car moves out, but it usually isn’t. The second car goes through the same dilemma, wondering what those pedals are for, wondering if he should do something since, after all, that car in front of him has begun moving, wondering what’s for supper, wondering if he paid his cellphone bill, grabbing his cellphone to check.

I’ve driven all over the world. I’ve sat at a traffic light in New York City and learned quickly that as soon as that light turns green, everyone — everyone — goes. It’s a simple process, really: you just watch the brake lights of the car in front of you. As long as the car in front of you is moving, you move.

“Isn’t that tailgating?” some might ask. “Don’t you have to leave at least two car lengths between you and the car in front of you?” That used to be the guideline, but then someone realize that two car lengths at 15 miles an hour is fine while two car lengths at 70 miles an hour will get you killed, so they changed the guideline: pick a point and make sure two seconds pass between the time that back of the car in front of you passes it and the front of your car passes that same point. That means that a distance that is tailgating at a higher speed is fine at a lower speed. Therefore, when the light turns, it’s fine to move the instant the car in front of you moves. You just have to let that distance gradually increase as you pick up speed.

That’s fine advice for the second, third, and fourth drivers at the traffic light, but what about that first driver, who seems to want to go through his entire dental routine including flossing before moving? Why does that driver sit there? Why does that driver infuriate all of us who seem to have even the most basic understanding of safe yet quick driving principles? Could it be because so many people in Greenville County run red lights? Could it be an understandable reaction to many drivers in Greenville County, a yellow light means “speed up! hurry up!” and a red light means “only four more cars can pass”?

But that’s an entirely different rant.

What I Want to Say

Friday 19 June 2020

is not what I said.

What I said was this:

I am writing to inform you that the only reason I have re-enrolled in the HP Instant Ink program is in order to use the cartridge you sent me and for which, over the course of 2 months, you billed me $35 in your so-called “free” program.

Understand this: I have no interest in participating in the program, and I will un-enroll as soon as this cartridge is empty. Do not send me another cartridge. If you send me another cartridge, I will refuse delivery.

Furthermore, if you bill my credit card a single dime, I will report it as a fraudulent charge, and I will file a complaint with the Better Business Bureau.

I trust you can determine my account simply from the associated email address.

Thank you for your attention to this matter.

What I wanted to say was a little harsher.

Day 81: Frustration

Thursday 4 June 2020

Here are the specs for the order:

Notice: a 2 x 2TB hard drive for data storage.

Here are the properties of that drive (since it’s a raid, the two drives should appear as one 4TB drive):

That’s 2TB. Half of what I ordered.

I called so many people. I chatted with online help. Most of the conversations went like the online chat:

To say I spent most of the day alternating between laughter, fury, frustration, and resignation is a vast oversimplification.

This is the last time I will ever order a computer with customizations online. From here on out, I’m either building the machine myself or having someone else locally build it to my specifications.

All of that to say that we have this incredibly powerful computer that has a woeful lack of storage. I’m working on a short-term workaround, but the upshot is simple: still no pictures for today.

Higher Standards?

Wednesday 10 May 2006

What do you make of a bank that offers auto loans only through an automated online process? What do you make of a bank that provides no customer support regarding auto loans? What do you make of a bank that denies you a loan of less than what you currently have in a savings account of that very bank when you have a credit rating in the top 10 percentile?

My answer: not much — at least, not much that’s not heavily laced with profanity.

The bank in question is Bank of America, which is currently the institution that provides us with our banking “services.” After yesterday’s experience, we will have absolutely nothing to do with Bank of America and their “higher standards”

The story: Kinga and I have decided to go bio-diesel, and the first step in that process is, obviously enough, buying a diesel car. We found a 2000 Jetta diesel sedan for a good price and made an accepted offer.

I called my local branch office of BOA (Bank of America) to ask what documents I would need to bring to apply for an auto loan. The young man who answered the phone politely asked me to hold on while he checked with a banker. He returned to the line and told me that I would need two forms if ID — exactly what I’d suspected. I arrived at the location to be told that actually to apply for the loan I would have to use Bank of America’s online services. Essentially I’d driven all the way there to be told not that I could do it at home, but that I must do it at home. Why I wasn’t told this over the phone is a complete mystery that can only be explained as incompetence.

I returned home, filled in the necessary online forms, and almost immediate was told,

We are unable to approve your auto loan application at this time. […] You’ll receive a letter in the mail within 30 days. This letter will include more information about your decision.

Given the balance in our bank account and my credit rating, what could be the cause? Simple: I do not make enough money as a teacher’s aid to get such a loan on my own (which says as much about the nation’s education system as it does about the bank), and Kinga, as a Pole, has no credit history.

Now, I could understand this if we were applying at another bank, but at my own bank? An institution that has immediate access to my account and can confirm a steady, consistent stream of deposits and a large savings account?

To top it all off, I was not even asked for how much the loan would be. It would have been, in fact, around 70% of what we’ve already deposited in savings!

Needless to say, I was more than furious. I was even more enraged to learn that there is actually no human being I can talk to about a car loan from Bank of America. Everything refers me to BOA’s online “services.” This means that my loan application was processed entirely and rejected by a computer.

On the recommendation of a friend, I called the local SunTrust branch, talked to a human being, and was still receiving phone calls and help from her after business hours at seven in the evening!

As an aside, the kind woman at SunTrust told me that I was the third person that day to contact her looking for a better banking experience than what they’d received at Bank of America.

SunTrust has won our trust and business, whereas Bank of America has lost it permanently.

What is most infuriating is the fact that my credit rating is now lower because of BOA’s unwillingness to pay people to talk to those of us wanting a small loan. The online bio of the president of BOA, Kenneth Lewis, web site bio brags that he runs “one of the world’s largest financial institutions, the fifth most profitable company in the world and the ninth most highly valued company in the world by market capitalization.” Reuter’s reports that BOA “posted a $4.99 billion profit last quarter” (Reuters), so they’re pretty good making money, not fairly dismal at helping people.

But there are more compelling reasons for changing institutions. According to Reuter’s,

In February 2005, Bank of America said it lost track of computer tapes containing account data for about 1.2 million federal government employees, including some U.S. senators.

Three months later, New Jersey authorities charged several people over the compromising of accounts at several banks, including some 60,000 Bank of America accounts.

Bank of America was also one of many credit card issuers affected by a breach affecting some 40 million cards and traced to CardSystems Solutions Inc., a third-party processor. (Reuters)

So they’re have significant security vulnerabilities and they’re worried only about their bottom line.

Cosa Loro

Really the only difference between a bank and a mafia loan shark is the amortization frequency and the penalty for default.

Both the mafia and the banking industry make it even more difficult for you to get a reasonable loan (i.e., one that you can repay in your lifetime) by putting unreasonable stipulations on the loan. If you’re a risk to a bank — in other words, if you have a bad credit rating — the bank offers you a loan at a higher interest rate, thereby making it more difficult to repay it.

“We don’t think you’ll be able to pay this back,” bankers say, “So we’re going to make it more difficult for you to pay it back.”

Where’s the logic in that? It doesn’t even make sense from a banker’s point of view. If a bank has to foreclose on a house financed with a high-interest loan, they’ll up auctioning it off for a substantial loss.

Still, they get their money no matter what. It’s a good gig, this money-lending scheme the banks have…

How to Sell a Car

Monday 20 March 2006

Welcome to the MTS Online, Interactive Automotive Sales Super Results course. By merely following the steps outlined below, you will increase your sales, raise your profit margin, sell more cars, and generally make more money at the very minimal expense of your customers.

Showroom Salesman

The first thing you must remember is never to allow the most fundamental truth of the situation enter into the minds of your prospective customers. Certainly, tell them you’re not into pressure sales; tell them you’re only interested in them getting the best car that for their needs; say all this with a smile – but never forget you’re there to sell them a car. Bottom line. Your boss’ bottom line, and therefore your bottom line. The customers’ bottom line is someone else’s problem.

Next, it’s good to try to give the customers a feeling that you actually have more power over the car’s price than you actually do. Never use “we,” as in, “We could take good bit more off the price.” That encourages the obvious question: “If the whole sales staff is in agreement about this, why not just lower the price in the window to begin with?” (The last thing you want is a cheeky customer, so choose your words carefully.) If, however, you say, “I can lower this price,” then it sounds like you’re more than just a cog in someone else’s economic machine, that you and you alone add the personal touches of chatting about your kid and asking about customers’ future family plans. Added all together, this will give the customer the feeling that you’re on his side and that you indeed have the power to looking for the little guy in the Big Bad Car Business.

Third, because we’re selling a large time, we can’t put it in the customer’s hand like a TV salesman can do with a remote, but we want to accomplish the same effect: the thought that this very TV (rather, in our case, ha, ha, ha, a car) could be his! To that end, it is essential that you herd your customers into a “test drive” as soon as possible. But don’t use the term “test drive.” Just tell them you’re going to back the car out for a little better view, then when you get back in the car, tell, sort of off-handedly, as if you’ve just thought of it, “Come on – we’ll go for a quick ride.” Viola – you’ve got them in the car, and they’ll start thinking, “Imagine this is our car!” Drive to some place you can turn around, then jump out and ask, “Who’s driving back?” And there’s your test drive, without even using the words.

The next step is a tricky one, and it’s something that separates the men from the cliches in our business. You have to get them in to see a finance officer who’s also skilled at subtle, sales-encouraging chit-chat. This gets them teetering on the legal brink of actually buying the car, and from here, your job is finished. But the real trick here is to get them into that office without ever asking them if they want to buy the car. Let the customers assume what they will, but if you can implant in their mind that you’re just taking them to get some fiscal ideas, to get some notion of how the payments might fit into their budget, then you never have to ask them if they actually want to buy a car. Why, they’re talking to a finance guy — it’s obvious they want to buy it!

Finance Officer

When the salesman delivers customers into your hands, it is a critical transition. It is imperative that you do or say something that will immediately take the customers’ minds from the fact that they’re now dealing with a different person (and more importantly, the significance of that). For this reason, it is absolutely critical that customers not wait in your office alone. They can sit at the showroom salesman’s desk all day long, but any time alone in your office will lead them to thinking thoughts you don’t want them to have.

It is also important to say something personal and reassuring to the customers that also distances yourself from the cruel realities of the automotive sales industry. An example might be:

Before we get started, I just want to make sure you folks understand what motivates me. Do you know why I got out of bed to come to work this morning, every morning? To make people happy by providing them with the perfect car to meet all their needs.

Improvise from there.

The importance of this fact arises from the simple reality that, when the salesman delivers customers into your hands, he may or may not have gotten a verbal agreement to buy. Never mind! Your role is the same, regardless.

If the customer is indeed going to buy the car, your set. Occasionally, though, you might get to this point and hear something like this:

We’re not actually going to buy this car. We didn’t even come here with the intention of buying a car. Rather, we’re just orienting ourselves to the market, because it’s been such a long time since either of us has looked at a car. We were interested in talking to you about the potential cost.

When you hear these words, savor them, because they represent the hardest challenge in your industry: the ten minute turn-around sale. Sure, these people are saying they’re not buying a car, but you can make it seem like there should be a battle raging in their minds as to whether or not to buy it. Some tips:

  1. Make sure you boil it down for the customers to the real issue: money. Establish that the car they looked at meets their needs. In a perfect situation, you might be able to get them to admit that it’s almost perfect. Then it’s just a matter of highlighting the lower pricing options and you’re home free.
  2. Once you get them to admit that the car would fit in their lives very well, make it sound like the difficulty is on your side of the table, that perhaps you don’t understand something. After all, you’ve established that they like the car, that it meets their needs, and you’ve shown, by highlighting the lower pricing options, that it fits into their budget (Don’t worry whether it actually does or doesn’t). Once you’ve established all this, you might ask at this point, “What then is holding you back?”
  3. Shame and embarrassment are always a good sales technique, and this point in the process it might be worthwhile to try to introduce a bit of both. Tell them that you were working under the assumption that they’d decided to buy, with an infection that makes it seem like you could have been doing more important things, like helping other people fulfill their automotive dreams. Make it seem like the earlier salesman could get in a bit of trouble for handing off someone who wasn’t really ready to buy. The shame can be torqued a little by very indirectly suggesting that it was a miscommunication on the customers’ part.

If you’re still meeting resistance at this point, it’s time to bring in the head man himself. He’s the only one than can save the sale now. When you head out the door, make sure you tell the customers something designed to make them think you’re handing the sale off to someone more knowledgeable. Since you’ll never be coming back into the room while these particular customers are there, it’s good to add in a pre-excuse at this point. Here’s an excellent opportunity to use the shame technique again by concluding with something like, “I’m going to go out to the shop and make sure they don’t have the car in detail.”

At this point, you’re likely to be furious. Go ahead – have a cigarette. You’ve just been through a very stressful experience. You deserve it!

Showroom Manager

When your financial officer comes in to get you, the hope of a sale is diminishing rapidly. It is important to remember this, and not press too hard, lest you cast a hue of desperation on your co-workers’ previous efforts.

Also realize that if you’ve been called in, it means that all possible excuses have been covered except one: the customers were never intending on buying a car that day to begin with. When you realize this, relax. It means your salesman and financial officer have done their jobs and either the customers realized the whole time they were being swindled and simply went with it out of curiosity, or the customers are slow and it just took them a little while to catch on. We know this, because if the customer had been an idiot, you’d already have a car sold.

Addendum: Final Contact

At this point, the customers are probably standing alone in the finance officer’s office, waiting for him or the showroom manager to come back. You of course know that both have exited the drama permanently, but there is still a small ray of hope. Make the most of it. Approach the customers in the office and accompany them to the door. Small chit-chat here constitutes your final chance to make a future sale.

If, however, your clients have half a brain, they will not be back again.

Fun on the Phone

Wednesday 22 February 2006

I’m looking for a second job to get a little extra money in the bank. We want to buy a house, and every little bit helps.

I was looking through the classifieds at Mountain Xpress when I found the perfect job scam. The nature of the company was pretty obvious from the advertisement:

Companies desperately need employees to assemble products at home. No selling; any hours. $500 weekly potential. Information: 1-985-646-1700, Department NC-6529. (Source)

Up to 2k a month, and you don’t even have to leave your house? Sounds too good to be true, so of course it is. But I like playing the sucker from time to time, so I called.

“Are you calling about the ad in the paper?” a woman asked when I called. No greeting, no pleasantries -— straight to the chase.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Is this the first time you’ve called?” my inquisitor asks. If red flags hadn’t been up when I first read the ad, they would be up now.

“Yes,” I respond.

“Are you calling for yourself or for someone else?” Now comes a bit of a puzzle. If this weren’t such an obvious scam, I might in addition to myself be calling for my wife. Two people can put together twice as much cheap plastic crap as one person.

Thinking all this, I hesitate, the reply, “I’m not sure.” I was going to ask for clarification, but the pleasant lady didn’t give me a chance.

“Well, you call back when you are sure.” Click.

Being rude to me on the phone is not a good idea. I like to call back. And so I do. Unfortunately, another woman answers the phone.

I decide to go through the whole monologue.

It turns out there are simply dozens of companies out there who just need my help. “What will you be doing?” the operator asks rhetorically and almost breathlessly. I can put together wooden CD shelves, jewelry boxes, and so on. This fine company will put me in contact with all these other companies who need my help. All for just a small fee of forty-three dollars. “And you don’t even need to worry about that, because we have a money back guarantee, written — on page three of our brochure.” It’s just too bad I don’t have one of these sitting in front of me. Still -talking- reading on the same breath as she started the -conversation- monologue with, the kind lady tells me that I can put this small, insignificant fee on a credit card, or I can send a check–why, I can even do it C.O.D.

“Come to me baby! Come to me C.O.D.” I think. She probably wouldn’t get the allusion. (Do you? Quick, quick — name the song and artist. And no Googling!) Besides, I couldn’t get a word in even if I greased it up really well, so I just smile to myself and continue listening.

Finally, I sense the spiel is winding down, and I get ready to say, “I’m not really interested.” Here it comes… “And so do you have any questions, sir?”

“No, but I don’t think I’m interested.”

“Something-unintelligible-about-four-syllables-long” comes the staccato reply, then click!

I bemoan my poor memory: “Why, oh why can’t I remember this woman’s name?” I have to call back. There’s just no choice.

It’s a moral imperative. (Quick — what movie?)

I get to the “Is this the first time you’ve called” point, and say, “No — actually it’s the third time.”

“Oh?”

“I’m just calling to suggest you hire some operators with better people skills,” I continue.

“I know,” she sympathizes. She confesses that they’ve been getting a lot of complaints. I think, “Sounds like you should be monitoring your calls, with the little announcement at the beginning of the phone call that we’re all so used to hearing now.”

We chat for a couple of minutes. There’s no way for anyone to track down who it was that took my two calls, she explains. All the lines are directed to the one phone number, and there’s just a room full of people answering these phones.

“Well, then I suggest you get better telephone hardware, because tracking who answered a call like that is a pretty basic thing,” I explain. Whoosh — over her head.

Should I ask for a supervisor? She probably wouldn’t know what one is. “We just clock in, start answering the phones — we don’t even know who we’re working for.”

After I hung up, I thought about calling back again, but what for? These jerks have to deal with enough jerks like me, I’m sure.

They’re just tryin’ to make a buck…

Gas, the Obligatory Complaining

Tuesday 16 August 2005

I know — we’re all suffering from gas prices. But it’s been ridiculous around here since we moved. At one station here in Asheville it was $2.11 about three weeks ago. This station sells gas mixed with ethanol, and so it was about ten cents cheaper than every other place around. Then it jumped up to $2.23. A few days later: $2.32. A week after that, last Friday: $2:44.

As of yesterday: $2:52.

That’s an 18% increase in about three weeks. How is that possible? Has the price of a barrel of gas increased proportionately in the last three weeks? No. It’s finally broken the $60 a barrel mark, and seems to be bearing down on $70 a barrel, but it hasn’t gone up that much.

It’s a good thing there’s not a milk cartel to go along with the oil and drug cartels. Can you imagine if the prices of everything fluctuated this badly?

Plus GSM

Saturday 30 July 2005

You’re a loyal wireless customer. You always pay your bills on time, and you’ve never harped on or bitched about anything.

What happens when someone steals your cell phone and your contract is with a reputable company that is vaguely interested in keeping its customers satisfied? The answer is irrelevant, because there are a number of solutions to the problem that involve keeping the customer happy (so that, naturally, she will continue giving money to the company).

What happens when someone steals your cell phone and your contract is with a company that has no idea what “customer satisfaction” means and is more interested in covering its butt than providing a service? You’re charged a penalty.

I had a cell phone with Plus GSM, a sorry excuse for a wireless provider that has such generous packages as twenty free minutes for a forty-zloty monthly charge.

“Choose us and you get three short but entire conversations for free!”

Such are the sorry offers you get in Poland, where an adolescent free market is still virtually competition free. You swallow hard and take what they give you, if you want a cell phone.

I had no choice. I signed a contract, used my twenty minutes, sent a ton of text messages instead of talking to people, and despite the ridiculously small number of minutes I had, was relatively satisfied.

When Kinga and I moved to the States, I left my cell phone with my father-in-law. This was because Plus GSM would not cancel my contract even under such extenuating circumstances. I was told I would have to pay an early-termination fee. Nothing new there — wireless providers in the States do the same thing (although Verizon told me that I could cancel without a penalty if I were moving to a location that didn’t have Verizon service. What is ridiculous about it is Plus GSM’s early termination penalty fee is 800 zloty, which represented 73% of my monthly salary!

Seventy-three percent! I decided instead to leave money for my monthly payments with my parents-in-law and let them use the free minutes (My wonderful package included a whole twenty free minutes!) until the end of the contract.

Last week, my mobile phone was stolen. I informed Plus GSM via fax and asked them to discontinue service to that particular cell phone. The plan was simply to continue paying the monthly fee until the contract is completed in November and be done with it. To do this, we’d have to buy a new SIM card for the cell phone, even though we wouldn’t have a phone to put it in.

We wrote a fax to Plus GSM about this. For those who can read Polish:

Zwracam sie z prosba o calkowite wylaczenie karty SIM mojeg telefonu nr 695-635-967. Prosbe swa uzasadniam tym, ze telefon moj zostal skradziony. Poniewarz w tym momencie przebywam w USA chcialbym upowaznic do wszystkich zmian na moim koncie pana Jana Jedrusia […]. Zwracam sie rowniez z prosba o udostepnienie Janowi Jedrus adresu e-mail oraz nr, ktore umozliwia znalezienie telefonu.

Wiem, ze dane te powinny znajdowac sie na mojej umowie ale niestety umowa ta zaginela podczas mojej ostatniej  rzeprowadzki.

For those who can’t read Polish, the fax basically informed them of the situation and authorized my father-in-law to make any changes necessary in my account to resolve the matter.

Plus GSM did as requested. Sort of. They interpreted that fax as a cancellation of the contract and informed my father-in-law that the penalty bill had been sent.

Infuriated, I sent the following fax, in English:

I have been informed by Jan Jedrus, my father-in-law, that despite the fact that my telephone was stolen, you intend on forcing me to pay the penalty for early termination of contract.

My phone was stolen and you want to penalize me further? I’m a victim, and you’re treating me like I’m the thief!

That is the singularly most immoral business practice I have ever encountered.

I know your argument: “Well, sir, if we just canceled contracts whenever someone reported their cell phones stolen, we would lose a fortune because so many people would lie and then sell the phone!”

I’m sorry, but that is not my problem. You are the ones operating a business, and that means you are by default taking a risk. Customers should not be taking a risk in signing a phone contract.

What you’re doing doesn’t even make good business sense. You want to make money, not lose it. When I come back to Poland, I will need a cell phone. If you treat me well, I will chose your company, which would result in me paying much more than 800 zloty. However, you want me to pay 800 zloty now and thereby guarantee that I will never use your services again. Are you really that short-sighted?

You’re just showing that in Poland, it’s better to steal than be honest. It’s better to be a thief than to be an honest customer. If there were any justice in Poland, and there is not, you would be shut down for your fraudulent business practices.

I refuse to pay this penalty

Kigga’s Dad talked to these folks several times, and they told him that if we didn’t pay, they’d take me to court. But when we got to thinking about the details of this situation, and we realized something startlingly simple: we never canceled the contract. If they take us to court, we simply and honestly deny that we canceled the contract, and they have no proof that we did.

Still, we wanted to finish this in a respectable, honorable manner, so we sent yet another fax, explaining explicitly that my father-in-law had my authorization to do anything necessary to resolve this, including buying a new SIM card. We wrote yet another fax, expressly saying that my father-in-law had “permission” to buy a SIM card for the phone. Again, for those who know Polish:

W zwiazku z tym ze aktualnie mieszkam w USA a moj telefon, na ktory nie wygasla jeszcze umowa zostal skradziony upowazniam pana Jana Jedrusia zamieszkalego w Jablonce […] do zakupu zastepczej karty sim na rzecz mojego konta. Pragne wyrazic moje oburzenie jak malym zaufaniem traktujecie swoich stalych i uczciwych klientow. Bylem waszym klientem ponad poltorej roku, zawsze w terminie placilem rachunki. W sytuacji kiedy przeprowadzam sie do USA a kilka tygodni pozniej, telefon zostaje skradziony z kuchni mojego tescia firma naraza mnie jedynie na kolejne koszty i traktuje mnie jak zwyklego oszusta. Pragne tutaj zaznaczyc, ze w USA w kazdej firmie telefonii komorkowych w przypadku przeprowadzki mozna bez zadnych kosztow wycofac sie z umowy. W Polsce nie jest to jeszcze mozliwe, to ciagle jeszcze mlody kapitalizm i niestety nie umiecie jeszcze szanowac swoich klientow. Przyznam, ze najwygodniejsze dla mnie byloby zaplacenie abonamentu do konca waznosci umowy, niestety jak poinformowal mnie tesc po rozmowie z biurem obslugi klienta, firma nie wyrazila na to zgody.

Bardzo prosze rowniez o przyslanie na moj adres internetowy adresu e-mail do dalszej korespondencji. Musze przyznac, ze forma komunikowania narzucona przez PLUS GSM naraza mnie i pana Jana Jedrusia na znaczne koszty. Bardzo prosze o wyrozumialosc i odstepstwo od Waszych nieprzyjaznych zasad.

Highlights, for non-Polish readers, include, registering “offense at how you treat your honest clients with such little trust,” and a comment about “young capitalism” in Poland, which means that unfortunately “you don’t know how to respect your clients.”

After we sent this, my parents-in-law went back to the nearest Plus GSM in Nowy Targ to buy the card. The sales rep asked for a copy of the contract. My parents-in-law didn’t have it; I have no idea where it is. Plus GSM does have a copy in Warsaw, but they refuse to send it. My father-in-law, angered beyond belief, suggested that he just pay the rest of the contract monthly payments then and there.

“No,” was the reply.

And so we’re just forgetting about it. Let them take us to court — for a little over $200 dollars. Let them do whatever. I, for one, will never have anything to do with

Plus GSM, and if you’re in Poland, I suggest you do the same.

A Letter

Thursday 9 June 2005

My name is [GS] and I have an account with Plus GSM. In order to prove my identity, I offer the following information:

  • My telephone number is [deleted].
  • My account number is [deleted].
  • The account address is [deleted].
  • My parents’ first names are [deleted].
  • Lastly, I’m including a photocopy of my passport, which you have on file as well.

I am writing about two things. First, I would like the billing address changed for the remainder of my contract to: [deleted]

I called customer service and was informed that I can do this through the mail. I trust this is sufficient.

Second, I am declaring that I have no intention of renewing the contract. Do not renew it automatically. I realize that you want this done thirty days before the expiration of the contract, but I will be in America at that time and will be in no position to contact you. Not only that, but it is unreasonable to expect me to keep track of a cell phone contract that I will not even be using personally. Therefore, I am making the request now. Please bear in mind that if you do renew the contract against my wishes, as expressed here, the bills will go unpaid.

I must confess, though, that I’m very disappointed with your customer service and the ridiculous inability to perform such simple tasks by phone or internet. In addition, the 30-day-before time requirement for canceling the account is outrageous, and is nothing but an immoral attempt to trick unwitting customers into another contract, leaving them with the choice of continuing in an unwanted contract or paying an unjustifiably high cancellation penalty. As a company in an EU nation, you really should bring your customer service up to an appropriate level.

I appreciate your attention in this matter. Please send the appropriate confirmation to the above address.

Complain

Monday 30 May 2005

It seems all I do is complain about Poland lately. But the truth is, I’m not the only one.

Many people here feel that the country is in bad shape, due primarily to corruption, and only getting worse.

There are so many wonderful things about this country — it’s a shame that the most visible thing for me and many is the negative.

There are lessons that go so badly

Monday 28 February 2005

that I stand there with the awful truth rattling around in my head–that which I only admit even to myself only rarely. Sometimes the class dynamic is such that I could teach the class drunk or sober, I could teach new material or review material that I know is problematic, I could be a hard-ass or totally relaxed, and the result in each case would be the same: a complete waste of time.

Really, I walk out of some lessons thinking I wasted my time and their time together. A class of twenty — that’s fifteen man-hours down the tube.

And I wish I could put all the blame at students’ feet. After all, it’s only human not to want to fess up to your own failings. But truth is, I waste as much time as they do sometimes. The trouble is, I only realize that after the time has been wasted. (Nice passive attempt to avoid responsibility.)

The upshot is that there’s always tomorrow’s lesson to make up for it. But sometimes tomorrow’s schedule looms instead of sitting there passively.

I don’t know much about electricity and wiring

Wednesday 19 January 2005

but I’m pretty sure that strange things as were happening around here last night should not be happening.

I’d literally just finished complaining about the techno hell I was scheduled to endure and had gone over to C-Span to watch some more of the Rice confirmation hearings when suddenly the light on my desk went out and the icon indicating that my laptop had switched to battery power.

Frank made the comment that it could be due to the age of the building, speculating that it could have been pre-WW2 and originally unwired, then wired and re-wired. I’m not quite sure of the age of the original building itself, but it could very well have been pre-WW2. In 1999-2001, though, it was completely rebuilt. I don’t mean renovated, I mean rebuilt — all that’s left of the original building is the foundation and the outer walls. The floor Kinga and I live on was actually non-existent then, so everything here is about four years old.

Short-term power outages happen around here (super-rural Poland) semi-regularly, so I thought nothing of it. In fact, for the first time in my life, I was happy about the apparent blackout. “Peace!” I thought.  But the thum-thum-thum-th-th-thum-thum-thum was still going on downstairs.

And Senator Bidden (bless his compromising heart) was still making me smile via Real Player and the LAN router across the hall.

Intrigued, I tried the kitchen light. Nothing. Still further intrigued, I went out into the hall and tried the light switch there. “Ba-ba-ba-PING!” and the incandescent lights were on.

Odd.

As a side note, I will very irritatedly report that most of the students were not hooting and hollering but just sitting at the edge of the room — a typical dance. Why the music has to be so loud for that, I’ll never know.

I put on my coat and descended into Techno Hell. The teachers’ room there was without electricity, but the adjacent areas had power. In fact, as I left, I noticed that there were lights on almost throughout the school. Talking to the teachers there, I learned that they were just as confused about it as I was. No one knew what was going on.

Returning home, I decided to start cooking dinner by candlelight — a minor irritation, compounded by the bit of back luck that had given Techno Hell a different electrical fate than me. “Why oh why didn’t they lose power?” I muttered.

Then the fridge switched on and I thought I was saved.

I reached over to turn on the light — nothing. Fridge running, no light. I checked the lights in the living room. They worked. I went to the bedroom — nothing going. So then I did the only logical thing: I systematically went through the apartment switching on all the lights to see which power outlets were live and which were not.

The bizarre results:

  • The bedroom and bathroom were completely without power.
  • The living room was fine, even though one of the outlets was in the same wall as one of the dead outlets in the bedroom — directly opposite it, in fact. In theory, on the same line.
  • The main light in the kitchen didn’t work, but the small light above the sink did.

Now, as I said, I don’t know much about electrical wiring, but this seems pretty damn odd to me.

And it seems to indicate some pretty weird construction practices. When the maintenance man came, I stood talking to him for a moment with my neighbor, and I found out some even more bizarre info:

  • Most of the wiring for the upper floor where we live goes through a fuse box on that floor — which makes since.
  • Some of the lines run through another fuse box two floors below us.
  • My neighbor had power everywhere except where his fridge was plugged in.

“Who the hell thought up such a wiring plan?!” I wanted to scream/laugh, but I bit my tongue and thanked the maintenance man for his help.

An hour or so later, the power all came back on, but I’m still scratching my head over it.

That’s not the only example of weird wiring in Poland. The switches for most bathroom lights are outside the bathroom. You flip it on as you enter. In the first apartment I lived in, though, the lights were on the hinge side of the door, so if you forgot to turn on the light (which happened when I first arrived), it wasn’t just a matter of sticking your hand out the door. You had to go back out into the hall, close the bathroom door, and turn the light on…

Hootin’ ‘n’ Hollerin’ in Polish Schools

Wednesday 19 January 2005

We have an apartment above an elementary school. That’s living hell when they have school dances. They usually last from two in the afternoon until eight at night: the first two hours for the younger kids and the last four hours for the older elementary school students.

I remember the after-school dance I chaperoned while student teaching in a junior high school. It was an hour and a half.

Four hours seems a bit of an exaggeration.

Our apartment is one floor above the area where they dance, though not directly above it. The junior high kids who come in and serve as DJs turn the music up so loud that the floor of our apartment literally vibrates, and the you can hear the super-low-frequency bass tones reverberating throughout the whole apartment — walls, glasses, ceiling, everything shaking.

You never truly notice how repetitive techno music is until you can only hear the bass and drums. Then, “variation on a theme” seems to be too generous a description.

For an elementary school dance.

I asked one of the teachers if she didn’t think that was perhaps a bit too loud for such young ears.

“It could do serious, lasting damage,” I said.

“Yes, but if we didn’t play it so loud, they couldn’t hoot and holler as they like to do during dances,” was the response.

I’ll pause for a moment to let that one sink in.

All sorts of things were swirling in my mind, and the delicacy of the moment was highlighted by my lack of Polish fluency.

First reaction: “Hum, I always thought it was the teachers who ran a school.” Tactless no matter the level of fluency.

I settled for something along the lines of, “Well, why not simply tell the kids, ‘Look, it’s too loud. You’ll have to be quiet or you won’t hear the music,’ or, ‘This is as loud as we’ll play it. So if you don’t like it, you don’t have to come.'”

“We should,” she laughed.

But they won’t.

So here I sit, thirty-six minutes into a four-hour marathon of “thum-thum-thum-th-th-thum-thum-thum” techno hell.

Middle Ages

Thursday 9 December 2004

Your Honor, the State would like to conclude its case with two exhibits:

Exhibit A:

My client and his recently spent a weekend in Krakow. With Advent coming, that Saturday night was the last big party night for a while, and they were supposed to go to a club opening with some friends. It all fell through, and everyone ended up going back to my client’s friends’ apartment and having a small “impreza” there.

The aforementioned friend lives with five roommates; each of them has a girlfriend–throughout the evening, people were coming and going. The thought of living in such conditions was enough to make my client’s steadily-approaching-middle-age entire body queasy. No privacy; no silence; an apartment always full of strangers; never pausing, let alone stopping — my client got goosebumps just thinking about it.

Exhibit B:

When younger, my client swore to himself that he would never let these two sentences fall from his lips:

  • “That’s not music!”
  • The stuff I listened to growing up — now that’s music.

And yet.

And yet my client has said those very sentences — thankfully not to anyone but his wife — about techno, which my client refers to as “that abomination, that assault to the ears.”

Your Honor, on the basis of the case presented, it’s clear that Middle Age is preparing a full attack on my client, and I, as his counsel, am forced to respectfully request a restraining order be placed upon Middle Age.

Irritation Squared

Friday 12 November 2004

Today I went with Kinga (my wife, for the uninformed) and my father-in-law to Kinga’s brother’s house, which is being built just outside of Krakow. Kinga’s brother is now out of the country, so my father-in-law is taking care of the building process while he’s gone.

The house is “standing raw,” to translate directly from Polish. This means that the walls are done, the roof is done, and it’s ready for the interior finishing.

Houses here are built out of blocks and concrete, not the tooth-pick contracting familiar in America. My friend who spent some time in American working in construction said, “A house like that wouldn’t last a week here. The father would come home drunk one night and destroy the whole thing!”

Recently, the concrete for the floors was poured. There was to be five centimeters of concrete on each floor, poured over ten centimeters of Styrofoam insulation. We went to check that that was done.

“You can’t trust anyone here!” says my father-in-law. When he really gets ranting, he likes to say,

“This country has no right to exist!” and “Poland must be the richest country in the world, because everybody’s stealing and cheating, and yet there’s still something left to steal.”

So Kinga and I measured the area of all the floors while her father drilled random holes in the concrete to check its thickness. The upstairs was fine, but the downstairs floors were one centimeter too thin.

“It’s ridiculous we have to do this,” I muttered as we went throughout the whole house and measured everything. I was talking to my father-in-law about this, and he said, “Oh, it’s surely the same thing happens all over the world.”

And suddenly, we litigation-happy Americans looked pretty good, because, as I said to him, “At least in the States, you could take this guy to court for not fulfilling the contract. What can you do here?” I asked.

“Not much. We’ve already paid.” The point of all the measuring was this: the same company is supposed to come and finish the walls as well, and the hope of negotiation is what motivated the day’s measuring.

But what struck me was the fact that no contractor here has a reputation for being honest.

As my father-in-law said, “You can’t trust anyone here.”

Inexplicable stupidity

Sunday 31 October 2004

Sorry, but I had to bump this up to the top. Come on people — this is utterly ridiculous. I’m making a big deal out of a mole hill and nothing?

I live outside the US — Poland, to be exact. Surfing the net, I found a claim that people outside the US couldn’t access Bush’s official web site.

So I tried it.

I get the “Permission to view this website is forbidden for this server” message.

Just what is Bush doing? There is no justification for this, and no logical reason for it either.

Here are some articles about it:

According to the Expatia article,

Scott Stanzel, a spokesman for the Bush-Cheney campaign, was reported by the BBC on Thursday as saying: “The measure was taken for secruity [sic] reasons.” He declined to elaborate.

Security reasons?! Does al Q have the capacity to strike through IE? First Homeland Security is raiding toy stores (thanks to Thud for this info), and now Bush is shutting down his website for non-Americans? What kind of “security” is this?

There is just no logical reason for this blockage. If Bush’s team can’t “defend” his web site, what makes people think Bush and his gang can defend the country? Setting up a firewall is a lot easier than keeping out terrorists, I would imagine.

There was, in the Expatia article, some speculation as to why this was done:

Mike Prettejohn, president of Netcraft, speculated to the BBC that the decision to block usage was made to cut traffic to the site in the run-up to the 2 November poll and make sure the site remains active.

Google doesn’t seem to have this problem, and I would wager they see _a lot more traffic_ than Bush’s site. If this is really a concern, I would suggest to Bush’s technologically savvy web team that they look for a better host.

From the BBC article, further speculation, which puts the previous quote in context:

On 21 October, the George W Bush website began using the services of a company called Akamai to ensure that the pages, videos and other content on its site reaches visitors.

Mike Prettejohn, president of Netcraft, speculated that the blocking decision might have been taken to cut costs, and traffic, in the run-up to the election on 2 November.

This just doesn’t wash either. How much could this possibly cost? Besides, in addition to campaign funds, Bush has a sizable bank account himself — he could pay for this out of his own petty cash, I’m sure.

Is it a conspiracy to keep non-Americans from viewing the site? I doubt it. Expatica claims that there are ways to get to the site:

However, keen net users have shown that the site can be found at other addresses, including: https://georgewbush.com; http://65.172.163.222 and http://origin.georgewbush.com.

However, none of them worked for me.

They all produced 404 errors.

I Hate This

Tuesday 17 September 1996

I hate this. I hate almost everything about this place. I hate the rude shop keeper who is always impatient with me; I hate the apathy of IIB; I hate the rain; I hate my noisy water heater; I hate the mud pit which serves as my front yard; I hate buying food everyday; I hate Polish; I hate the chair I sit in for endless hours at night and on weekends; I hate being lonely; I hate being away from C. I wish I had never been accepted into the Peace Corps. Then I would be going about my merry way, at grad school or teaching in America (of course the apathy would be there, too).

I am becoming more and more reclusive. I teach, then I come straight home. I know no one–I can’t talk to anyone because I can’t understand a word of Polish. I feel so lost, isolated, and helpless. And so lazy.

I could never ET–my pride couldn’t handle it, wouldn’t allow it. I have to stick it out, and that makes me shudder: two years of more of the same of the last three weeks is the most horrible thing I can imagine.

I hate this all–everything.