Crappy Customer Service

Woman, Caucasian, Easy to Please

Mr. W likes to make me smile.  He even says so.  When our dryer squeaked its last breath and refused to continue on, he spent most of his day off scouring the city for a new one. 

As with all our large purchases, we squeezed the Internet for research and reviews until we turned out a few item numbers that had the features I wanted at the right price.  Mr. W then spent his day off walking into appliance stores with these numbers, which confuses a lot of salespeople.  They are accustomed to having people show up scratching their heads (or worse), asking the salesperson to help, not having a clue.

No one stocks large appliances for quick sale anymore, so he was striking out all over until he found an extremely slightly-dented floor model on my list for $200 off. 

Before I started my research I didn't even know that Samsung made washers and dryers.  They are very highly reviewed and all that, and so far so good. But what REALLY makes me smile is this dryer's mood.

It is a happy Japanese appliance.  It sings a happy tune whenever you hit any button or turn the knob, which has lights that flash around the dial.  When the cycle is over and you open the door to get your stuff, an even sunnier tune plays.  I'm waiting for it to giggle.

Blah?

While I like to brag about myself as a great conversationalist, I'm really just fantastically good at keeping up an inane stream of chatter with anyone.  It's a skill that's come in handy a lot recently, what with going on interviews, jumping jobs and meeting the populace.

I find myself in a lot of situations where this skill is essential - the moments before a meeting begins, for example.  A bunch of strangers are sitting together, maybe waiting for the chair to show up.  Should we sit around and make awkward-turtle gestures at each other?  Or should we turn this into a party?

I don't meet a lot of people with this skill.  When I do spot someone across a boardroom table who can help with the conversational heavy-lifting, I feel as though they are a kindred spirit.  I've also noticed that it is a well-developed skill in people who climb high in their careers.  I ask you to keep an eye out for the likes of us who are "naturals" and maybe pick up a corner of that burden.

Can You Put That Out?

Yech, I'm recovering from a summer cold, extended for a week by the presence of BC forest ashes in the lungs last week.  I had pot-smoke-eyes for three days.  I went around with my upper lip coated in lavender-scented body butter to mitigate the smoky smell.

Smoke is, to me, the worst smell out there.  As a small child I drove my Colt Cigarillo-smoking dad right outdoors with my tirades.  I also occasionally suffer from olfactory hallucinations related to mild migraine - and they are always smoke scented. I am the silent Edmontonian who was relieved when the indoor smoking bylaws were passed.

Don't worry, I'm not an anti-smoking nutjob who shouts at people inside the 5m radius...though that is the result of good restraint.  I keep my many arguments & opinions inside my skull.

Schlep, Schlep Out The Barrel

Mr. W and I bartended my cousin's wedding last Saturday.  Here are the highlights:

• I discovered that my husband may be a closet chef/mathematician, but he really wants to be a bartender when he grows up.  I have never seen my darling backward mild-Asperger's only-child husband be so gregarious.  He claims that it's because people will eventually walk away from the bar.
• When you buy 20 drink tickets, and drink them yourself, and stay upright, you will impress me.  Not in a good way.
• Bartending in heels hurts.  The soles of my feet stung.
• My cousin and his new bride are both happy hugging drunks.  I hugged more that night than I have in a year.
• The under-30 set likes Sailor Jerry, the over-30 set likes Captain Morgan Spiced Rum, and never the twain shall meet.
• The bar star pours, but the second in command gets the truly glamorous job of ice management.