I know, I know ... there's no such thing as a good cell phone company. And I'm not demanding perfection, just a willingness to work with me and make things right.
In the era of electronic bill pay, I assumed managing things from the southern hemisphere wouldn't be too terribly different. But, you know what assuming gets you.
I've had several issues. Some companies, like State Farm, have been incredibly helpful (problems researched and answers given within 24 hours).
Some companies have been maddening, like US Bank. First, when I called to change my mailing address, I was told it couldn't be done over the phone and I had to do it online. I went online, couldn't figure out how to do it, sent an email and was told I had to do it on the phone. Called again and was told, again, it couldn't be done over the phone. In the meantime, they locked me out of my online banking account and it took five emails and four phone calls to get it fixed. Fortunately, the absolutely wonderful person who finally did fix it for me also updated my mailing address ("they can do it on the phone, it's just a little more difficult with international addresses, so they probably didn't want to"). Unfortunately, I just received a notices that they changed my mailing address back to my previous address and to contact them in writing to make further changes. Grrrr.
And some just make me wonder why they put customer service processes in place that take into account neither the customer, nor service.
Here's where Verizon joins the party.
1. Verizon overcharged me because the company failed to correctly process my request when I cancelled my account and moved to Australia.
2. I was sent notice of a statement in mid June, but couldn't view it online ... again, because my request to cancel was processed incorrectly by Verizon and I couldn't access my account. Had I been able to view it, I would have known I was overcharged and not paid it.
3. I made multiple attempts to work with Verizon's support to view and pay the balance, however, as I did not want to be late in paying the account, I went ahead and paid it without seeing the itemized statement.
4. I requested confirmation from Verizon that the final balance was paid. I still couldn't see the itemized statement.
5. I received a response in July that Verizon billed me in error (again, the cancellation was processed incorrectly), my account would be credited and a refund would be mailed.
6. I requested the refund be credited to the credit card used to make the payment as I live in Australia and wouldn't be able to cash a check from the US.
7. Verizon responded that refunds were only given in checks, but I should be able to cash it, because, after all, they're a US company.
8. In August (about four weeks later), since I hadn't received the refund, I requested Verizon tell me when it was mailed.
9. I was told it had not been mailed and would be sent in four to six weeks.
10. So, here we are, another four weeks later ... and nothing from Verizon.
Nice.
I jettisoned a lot of stuff before our move to Oz. I miss a few big things (my car, the purple couch, the lavender in my yard), but I expected that. It's the little things I didn't expect to miss.
I suspect it's because I thought they would be easily, inexpensively replaced. Maybe with the newer, better, fancy-schmancier version of what I had in the States.
However, here I sit, mourning the loss of a simple $4 kitchen tool ... my pastry blender.
I think I've been in every kitchen shop on the Peninsula in search of a pastry blender. Responses to my inquire range from blank stares to "we don't carry electronics" to "if I were a pastry blender, what would I look like and what would I be used for?" to "will a potato masher do?"
Argh.
My explanation of "you know, you use it to cut the shortening into the flour to make a pie crust" is answered with "what's shortening?"
Argh.
B's sister and mom tried to offer alternative means to make a pie crust, but I long for the comfortable, the familiar.
I'm just a simple girl, wishing for a simple kitchen tool to come along and complete me ... and by complete me, I mean, allow me to bake a pie.
B: "So, the talk at the office today was the women's body image issue du jour, the box gap. Have you heard of it?"
Me: "I think I can guess what it refers to, but tell me."
B: "It's the gap between a woman's upper thighs when she stands with her legs together ... thus the box gap."
The concept wasn't new to me. Years ago I read a novel in which the heroine recounted her teenage failure to achieve the three triangles of space between her legs (upper thighs, below the knees, above the ankles) requisite for all the girls in her summer camp in crowd. Since then, I've periodically attempted to reach the golden proportions of female thighs ... with no success.
It's a tricky balance ... you have to be thin enough to have the gap, but shapely/tone enough to achieve the desired diamond or triangle shape (diamond from the back, triangle from the front). Too thin and you end up with twig legs/table legs/insert equally offensive label here. Too muscular and you lose the "ideal" gap shape. Too plentiful and you lose the gap altogether. I suspect it comes from a combination of diet, exercise and awesome genetics.
Anyway, the conversation with B left me thinking of two things:
1. Lobbying for a new term for it.
2. Is there any solution to our thigh loathing?
First ... I want to rename it "the light box". The term retains the crudeness of "box", but is elevated by the "light" (referencing a little peak of light between the upper thighs). For me, it conjures up a Botticelli-Birth-of-Venus sort of etherealness (although, ironically, I suspect his Venus wasn't slim enough to sport a light box), whereas "gap" just makes me think of the London Underground or a missing tooth. Mull it over, let it marinate, let me know what you think.
Second, as an American female of my generation, I've been well schooled on thigh revulsion and carry the appropriate amount of hate/dread/fear of my thighs. Why? They're relatively strong, hardworking sections of two perfectly serviceable legs. They help me move from here to there, they run, they dance, they stretch. So, what's my problem?
They don't look they way I think they should. I have ... cellulite (gasp, I can't believe I just said that out loud ... well, not out loud, but in a public way). I've been an avid and faithful worker-outer since my mid 20s. I've climbed mountains, I've rocked half marathons, I've never succeeded in ridding myself of the dreaded bumps and ripples. However, they work well and look okay and B thinks I'm beautiful.
So, again, what's my problem?
I guess, ultimately, I don't think it's my problem. It's your problem. It's our problem. It's an institutional problem.
We can tell ourselves, our daughters, our nieces (hell, our sons, too; body image issues wreak equal havoc on men) to be proud of who they are and to embrace their particular loveliness, but until our culture genuinely embraces this, real change isn't possible. The view of beauty is too narrow and the variables impacting self image are too numerous.
I'll keep striving towards lasting change, but until society makes the shift, what do you think about joining me in calling the elusive upper thigh diamond a "light box"? It's good, right?
When a friend's son was four or five (I can't remember exactly ... he's 17 now, it was a long time ago and I'm old), she put great effort into getting him to stop saying "butt" (I also can't remember why he started saying it in the first place, but suspect it had something to do with having a brother six years older who thought it was funny to get his little brother to say "butt" and annoy their mother, but I digress). For months, he went around saying "I don't say butt anymore", thus finding a loophole in the "we don't use that word" reprimand. My friend just rolled with it and, upon getting no reaction, the toddler stopped saying it altogether.
I remembered this tale of buttness after a recent unintentional ugly American incident.
Since his birth, I've used "bum" when talking with M to refer to the buttocks. My sister used it with her kids and I liked it. It was slightly cheeky, but not offensive. And, quick and easy to say (M mastered it early on).
Then, B told me I needed to rethink my "bum" usage, especially with M. He informed me it would be the equivalent to saying "ass" in the US ... and not permitted at school.
I. Was. Mortified. I'd been a prolific user of "bum" with M at our playgroups.
On the slide: "Okay, not get your balance, sit on your bum, get your feet right aaaand let go!" or "Do you want to slide down on your bum or on your tummy?"
On the swing: "Shimmy up onto your bum ... hold on tight ... and away we gooooo."
After playing in the sand box: "Come see mommy so I can brush the sand off your bum."
My bum offenses go on and on.
First, I was embarrassed and didn't want to face the other mommies after having established myself as the vulgar American with the potty mouth. But I decided to just soldier on, change my vernacular and pretend it never happened (I initially considered apologizing to the groups, but decided this would make an even bigger deal of it).
Second, I became stumped with what to use instead. I don't like "butt". Or "bottom". Posterior? Derrière? Fanny? Rear? Rump? Tush or Tushy?
Meh.
I'm leaning towards Tuckus, but would like to open up to suggestions. Australian playgroup-friendly suggestions. What have you got for me, people?
Until then, I don't say bum anymore.
I think it's time I start "frating" ... you know, dating but for friends. I've met someone I kinda like and I need advice on how to ask her out for a "frate".
We met in one of M's playgroups. She and her family moved here from the UK about a year ago. In the snippets of conversation we've had between wiping noses and pushing swings, we seem to have a few common interests.
Do I just say, "hey, I think you're cool and I like your hair, let's go out for coffee sometime." Or is that weird? It feels weird.
Plus, what if she say's "no". Then I'll feel foolish when I see her every Monday at playgroup and all our future conversations will be awkward and forced.
What say you all?
