Our new house is actually not anywhere near new; it's about 80 years old.
It sat empty for the better part of a year before we bought and moved into it two months ago.
Empty old houses draw creepy things and I don't mean the shady characters who want to steal the copper pipes and appliances.
I know we had a creepy thing because of my dog Luna. Luna eats premium dog food that comes from the refrigerated case in stores that are not at all convenient to get to and require a special road trip. This gets old.
So I bought some not-so-premium-but-not-cheap-either dry dog food when I was at WalMart.
We put some in a bowl and she surprisingly really liked it.
The next morning we were in the kitchen when I noticed that the bowl that contained the dry food was empty.
"Why is that bowl empty?" I asked JP.
He answered that Luna must have really liked the food and ate it all.
"Impossible," I said, "Luna was upstairs with us all night."
We both looked at each other for a long OMG moment and then JP noticed that what was left in the bottom of the bowl was not crumbs but - wait for it - mouse poop.
Mouse Poop.
When I calmed down and stopped hyperventilating, I reasoned that it is an old house, it did sit empty for awhile, and that these things can't be helped.
And then I immediately drove to Home Depot and bought 10 mouse traps and two large packages of some kind of little boxes filled with mouse poison disguised to look like tempting food.
JP was then instructed to "put these things &#*$& everywhere!!!!" place the traps strategically where he thought the mouse (singular, not plural) might be coming and going.
Because, of course, there was just one mouse who periodically scooted inside to see if there was anything good to eat and then went back outside once his/her food expedition was complete.
Within a day or two, we caught the culprit out in the garage, where we surmised he/she squeezed under the door the leads from the garage into the butler pantry, which is next to the kitchen where the dog food was.
JP, who tends to overshare, let me know unnecessarily that "man, that was a big one!"
Yes, because it recently ate a whole lot of dry dog food.
We kept the traps baited just in case. Weeks passed with no action and no signs whatsoever that we had more visitors so we were/are happy that, because there is a God, we didn't have a big problem.
Life was good.
And then the other day while working upstairs in my office, Luna and I heard a loud "SNAP!" downstairs.
Of course, JP was at work which meant that I had to do the investigating and so Luna and I tiptoed down the stairs (yes, dogs can tiptoe) which is when I contemplated checking the traps and then contemplated not checking the traps and decided on the latter.
Then Luna and I drove to DQ for the 5 Buck Lunch Special because whenever I get stressy I get hungry but was too skeeved to stay home...and did you really think I was going to make lunch in a kitchen that may or may not contain a mouse corpse?!
Anyway, did you know DQ has the best chicken fingers ever? They do. Plus they give your dog a Pup Cup for free which is a little cup of vanilla ice cream with a dog bone treat in it. Yay, DQ!
Alas, after hiding out at DQ for awhile, we had to return home and wait out the afternoon for JP to come home and check the traps.
Unfortunately he confirmed that, yes, the snap! we heard was in fact the sound of the death blow to another mouse.
Immediately I wanted to run out and buy a few cats but then I remembered that I am allergic to them so I scrapped that plan even though I did briefly consider buying them anyway along with a lifetime (their lifetime) supply of Claritin or Benadryl. But then I remembered how much I hated dealing with the litter box from Mystic, the cat I had for twenty years, back when I wasn't allergic to cats¹.
Still, I was less panicked than I thought I would be, recognizing again that these are just old house kinks that need to be managed.
It's not like we have mice running all over the place, y'all. God, what do you think we are, heathens? I have a butler pantry with all kinds of foodstuffs on the shelves and none of it has been touched. We just have occasional mice visitors, that's all.
Still, I became afraid of the basement even though Mouse #1 was in the garage. Basements just seem like a place a mouse would like to hang out.
Actually, I've been afraid of the basement since we moved in because it has this really treacherous staircase. Like, when you open the door to the basement you are immediately in danger of falling into the basement because of the treacherous design of the stairs. I can't describe it very well and I am not going down there to take a picture because I don't really even open the door at this point.
And guess what?
Our laundry machines are in the basement. Which means, of course, that JP has to do the laundry because I'm not going down there anytime soon even though it's not even a creepy basement and is actually a pretty nice basement as far as basements go.
But he's okay with being the laundry-doer. In fact, he said and I quote, "don't you worry about the laundry, I will take care of it. I don't want you going down and getting scared or falling down the stairs. You mean too much to me and I love you more than life itself and I will do your laundry forever." Or he said something similar to that.
So last night I asked him to throw a small load in for me. I had to ask him twice because the TV was on and men don't hear their wives very well when the television is on, but he did eventually put the load in for me and then a little while later I had to remind him that it was probably done and if he could put it in the dryer, which he did, during a commercial.
Which brings us to today.
Normal morning, kiss kiss and he's off to work.
And then I realized what he didn't do.
That's right. He did not take my clothes out of the dryer.
They are down there right now and I am writing this to you in my nightgown and it is 10:00 am.
Here is the text I sent him this morning when I realized what he had done. Or had not done.
Do you know where my good bra is? The one that holds my boobs in place pretty good so they don't bounce around and make me and those around me uncomfortable? I will tell you where that bra is. It is in the basement in the dryer. Which means I have to descend the Staircase Of Terror into The Abyss Of Rodents to retrieve it. You said you would do my laundry. You lied.
He responded: LOL - already starting.
LOL? I fail to see the humor in this.
Later, when he's home from work and looking for me and for dinner, I will send him a text from the parking lot of DQ that says, simply, LOL.
Just kidding, I won't do that. Because I'll still be in nightgown and I can't drive to DQ in my nightgown because I might be low but I'm not that low + my car is now illegal to drive (see previous post).
But you know what he did do last night instead of remembering to bring up my laundry?
He went out late at night to get my fix for me.
Fix = Skinny Pop popcorn because I cannot survive without it and I realized very late that I had none left.
He really is such a good man.
I'll let him slide on the laundry thing this time.
¹ Did you know that menopausal women sometimes develop weird allergies that they never had ever in their whole lives prior to advent of their hormones dying off? It's true, look it up.
I had the displeasure of dealing with the Divison Of Motor Vehicles again today.
I've actually been dealing with them for almost two weeks now in an attempt to get my car registered and get answers to a ridiculous policy they have.
I can't even give you all the details because my head will explode if I have to think about this in any depth at this point since it's been consuming me for weeks. The short story is that the DMV wants my title in order to register the car. But the car is financed and the finance company is all like unless the car is paid in full we will release the title to anyone including the DMV when Hell freezes over. The finance company believes they are right; why would they release the title before the car is paid off? Unfortunately for me, the DMV does not think they're right. Also unfortunate for me, the DMV could not care less that the finance company won't release the title; it is no skin off their bureaucratic nose.
I am very much not fond of the DMV at this point, which is kind of like saying I am very much not fond of root canals at this point because there is not a lot of difference between the DMV and painful dental procedures. I had a very humiliating and bizarre experience there during my initial trip there to try and get this car registered. On the day that I first went in to the agency to get the registration, the employee I dealt with explained their policy of needing the title from the lien holder and sent me on my way. When I got home with all my paperwork, I realized that I did not have my registration from the state that I recently moved from (NJ).
(So in other words, car was/is registered in NJ. I moved to another state and needed to register the car in the new state. I was not allowed to do that without the title so the NJ registration is all I have that will allow me to keep driving the vehicle for the time being. I know, so confusing.)
So I get back home and realize that I must have left the NJ registration at the DMV. I drive back. I ask the people at the reception counter if anyone handed it in. Amazingly, someone did. Except I did not leave it at the counter after all; somehow it must have fallen out of my car in the parking lot along with whatever else was in the glove compartment including some old expired insurance cards and some kind soul had handed it in to them. The lady at the reception desk (Lady#1 of 2) gives me the NJ registration but then starts literally badgering me about why I would still have expired insurance cards in my possession as she is holding them in her hand waving them around for emphasis. I explain that I simply must have forgotten to take them out when I put the newer ones in. She then turns to the other lady and asks her if she has ever heard of someone keeping old insurance cards in their car. Lady #2 says no, she's never heard of anyone - ANYONE! - doing that... and then Lady #2 starts cackling...I mean, real deal cackling laughing as if someone leaving old insurance cards in their car was the funniest thing she ever heard. Then Lady #1 starts laughing, too, really loudly, as she keeps repeating "why would she keep expired insurance cards in her car?!" to Lady #2 even though I was standing right there.
I wish so hard that I was exaggerating. I am not embellishing that story one bit whatsoever. They were laughing like this:
Now I am not one to stand there being humiliated by anyone ever - EVER! - trust me on that. But guess what? These two ladies - and I am so using that term loosely - are protected by a state trooper who stands guard at their reception desk so that when these two ladies humiliate people you have zero recourse and are forced to stand there being bullied and laughed at because you'd have to be a special kind of stupid to ask "what's your #*$!% problem?" to two people anywhere who are being guarded by a state trooper.
I promise you will not come out on the victorious end of that interaction.
So I got to be bullied, humiliated, embarrassed, victimized and wildly frustrated at the DMV that day.
And when I got out to my car you know what I did?
I cried. I really did. It is not my proudest moment to admit that the DMV people made me cry.
Now wouldn't you know that the very next day I received an email asking me to take a survey about my recent visit to the DMV.
It was my turn to laugh maniacally.
Then today I used the DMV's chat option to get clarification about a form relating to this mess, and the chat person was awful. She kept typing "just go into the agency that is most convenient for you".
When I explained that I'd already done that part, I just need to know if I was using the correct form, she would again type "just go into the agency that is most convenient for you".
Over and over again, "just go into the agency that is most convenient for you" as I am typing my "But what if...". And then, her dismissal of me: "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Sharon?"
I closed out of the chat without saying goodbye and up popped a survey asking me to rate the representative and the service I'd received via chat.
As you can imagine, I was delighted to take that survey.¹
My husband is in the automotive industry, specifically service. The salaries of people who work in the service side of the automotive industry rely heavily on their commissions, a large portion of which derives from the "grade" they receive from - you guessed it - customer surveys.
The survey "grading" is such a stringent policy that if they receive anything less than what would be a 90%, they FAIL and will not get paid their commission on the service bill for that customer. And if they receive one too many "failing" surveys, well then their job becomes jeopardized.
Understand this "logic": In school, anything from a 70 - 100 is a passing grade. In automotive world, if you don't get an A (ninety or above), you have failed.
I have heard stories of customers who have given poor surveys because there has not been coffee in the waiting area. Or the bathroom was out of toilet paper.
Also, do you think people who bring their cars in for service are happy? I know of no one who is like, "Yes! My radiator seems to be leaking! Can't wait to bring it in for service at the dealership!" or "WooHoo! I need a complete brake job!"
They are already annoyed when they get there. You can stand on your head and do everything right and be a clone for Mr. Rogers, but they are going to sink you for something when that survey comes in because they are back at home, stewing, after plunking down a bunch of money on a repair. No one says, "Oh, thank God I had to put out $1,000 for a new transmission." Right, wrong, or indifferent, in their mind it was the service department that put them in this predicament. The bastards. And now they're getting irked even more by receiving a request for a survey.
Irked, by the way, is such a pertinent word when it comes to these surveys we are being inundated with.
The other day I drove to the bank and made a deposit at the drive thru window.
By the time I got home minutes later, there was already an email in my Inbox asking me to take a survey on my "experience" making a deposit that day. I kid you not.
I wrote the most elaborate story about my deposit "experience". I wish I'd saved it. I went on and on about how wonderful the pavement in their parking lot was - so smooth! no potholes!...how well-designed the drive thru lanes were because somehow they figured out the correct width that allowed my car to fit easily in them and how great it was that they were red and green lights to tell me which lanes were open - saving me from the inconvenience of pulling into the wrong lane...the mind-blowing technology they have that allows me to place my banking into a tube that shoots into a chute and then shoots back out to me with a receipt for a completed transaction...magic!
In other words, I answered their obnoxious survey obnoxiously.
You gotta fight fire with fire, y'all.
More creepy than anything was the survey I got via email about my recent visit to Target.
It's true, I had been at Target. I bought some chocolate candy (Justin's organic peanut butter cups - go get some now, trust me!), some garbage bags, and dog food. I paid with a debit card, very straightforward. No coupons, no stupid cell phone apps, etc.
I still don't know how Target knew I was at Target that day...which is more ammunition for my decision to start cutting back on my technology use drastically very soon because the paranoid me thinks they knew I was there because my cell phone has some way of tracking me and told them. But I'll save that story for another day.
The big question is why are we getting surveyed for everything nowadays?
The even bigger question is why does anyone think that surveys have any value or merit whatsoever?
They are designed to fail. A good example of that are my examples above.
We are powerless in so many ways these days against technology, bureaucracy, et al. Take away someone's power and you know what that makes them? Angry. Frustrated. Sitting in their car crying at the DMV.
Read the comments section of virtually anything anywhere for proof that the world is filled with a population of pissed off people whose only chance to feel any control over their lives is when they don their Keyboard Warrior cape and sit down at their computers. (and sometimes write blogs - just sayin')
In case you haven't noticed, people in the comments section of almost everything (not this blog, though) are really big jerk offs.
Do the people who send out automotive surveys really think that they are going to come across fair-minded people? Are they seriously thinking there are people out there who are thinking to themselves "but, by golly, they sure treated me nicely today and answered all of my questions thoroughly and I definitely felt valued and I will surely recommend them to all my friends" as they try to figure out how they're going to pay their mortgage after that massive service repair bill? Do they think these people are thinking that they should give a glowing review to the dealership who can't even be bothered to make sure the coffee machine has fresh coffee, for God's sake (because making sure there is fresh coffee for customers is wayyyy more important than making sure their car gets fixed properly by the right technician, of course)? Especially considering the reputation car dealerships have to begin with?
And then they punish the service personnel via their salary because of the pissed off Keyboard Warriors who can't pay their mortgage this month because they had to shell out a thousand bucks to fix their transmission so that they can get to work and who now have to work overtime to make up the money they just laid out at the dealership!
So now, coming full circle, you've also got a bunch of disgruntled, under-valued, low morale employees who can't pay their own rent or mortgage this month because they didn't grovel hard enough and "failed" a survey and who now subsequently won't be giving 100% at work because even though they try to do their best for their customers in constant situations they have no control over, they still might get screwed because their customers are mad because their transmission blew and THERE IS NO DAMN COFFEE IN THE WAITING AREA!
Photograph of a happy survey taker
Do the DMV survey people think I'm going to be, like, it's okay that I've been to the DMV six times in two weeks in an attempt to get my car registered so that it can be driven legally in this state? Let me just take this survey to let them know how they're doing. Those two ladies didn't mean to ridicule me, right?
I'd lay down a bet that out of 100 people who responded to a survey, maybe 1 or 2 saw any kind of real action aimed at resolution to their problem as a result. Are you thinking that the DMV is going to contact me after they read my survey response to ask how they can help fix my registration problem? Yeah, okay. I'll hold my breath waiting for that to happen. So the survey people want you to take their surveys but toward what end? There is no incentive to take them. Except for the employee forced to grovel and plead with you to give them good marks "because my job depends on it".
Frankly, I don't feel like I want to give my business to any business who thinks so little of their own employees that they are willing to punish them monetarily or dismiss them because of something as random as a survey taken by a customer who might simply be having a bad day and in need of a punching bag. Or a cup of coffee.
Yay, surveys!
You want to know what would work a million times better than surveys? Focus groups, or whatever you want to call them. Imagine if once a month a company pulled in 10 customers - 5 who were happy customers and 5 who were not, for instance - sat them down, fed them a free sandwich or pizza and some cookies, and asked them face-to-face the How Are We Doing? questions. Now you've got a group of people who - wait for it! - are actually feeling valued and, equally important, heard.
That's a big word right there...heard. Well, valued is pretty huge, too. You think those people aren't going to tell their friends and family about that? You'd be wrong.
The same thing should be done for employees.
When I was a senior editor of a whole bunch of trade reference books used worldwide, I had a lot of people who reported to me. Every single Monday morning I brought in donuts and coffee from Dunkin' Donuts and we had our weekly and very informal Free-For-All meeting. My employees were told that nothing they said in those meetings would be held against them. It was like Corporate Festivus. I allowed them to tell me what they felt I was doing wrong or what they thought could be changed or done differently or even if I had recently pissed them off, with no fear of recrimination. I was not a Too Big For My Own Britches kind of boss. In fact, getting humbled was, and is, one of my most favorite things. Take me down a peg or two and I'm a much more grounded and well-rounded human.
Those employees of mine would still tell you that those meetings made them feel like they really were part of the proverbial team, that their opinions really did matter, that they were being sincerely listened to and that they weren't working for a tyrant or corporate lemming. I made changes based on what they told me if what they told me made sense regardless of what "the rule book" said. They saw real action, not lip service. My own bosses were sometimes skeptical of my methodologies, many of which were unorthodox; until they saw the results I got, consistently, from my very loyal staff.
Loyalty. Imagine that.
Here's a link to an article on The New York Times that explores survey inundation:
¹ I actually wasn't horrible in my survey response. I only stated that she could was not pleasant to deal with and didn't seem to know what I was talking about.
