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I’m so out of the loop about current events it’s ridiculous. As far as I know, from things I’ve heard, I’ve interpreted that cars are running on corn and tomatoes can give you salmonella. So my question for today’s story is “Do people still debate on whether kids should learn about sex in school or at home?” I remember learning some of the basics in school. And when I say “learn,” I mean I was so mortified by what I was hearing that rather than the information being “knowledge,” it was more that the hideous visual images and shocking explanations were burned into my brain like it was a cow being branded by a hot iron… brand… At this point in my life, the only thing I remember about sex education in school was how to insert a tampon, and what I remember was being terrified that it was going to be a live demonstration.
As far as learning about sex at home, I know these days people are a lot more free with their information (see “Conversations with the Landlord’s Daughter.”) The only thing I remember about sex education at home is the most mortifying talk I ever had with my mother.
“Honey, I think we should talk about sex.”
I was lying in bed with the lights out, trying to fall asleep. Did we really have to do this now, I thought. Then figured, I may as well get it over with.
“Um, okay…” I mumbled. I felt my mother sit down on my bed. And then she came right out with the words that I will never forget for the rest of my life.
“Okay. The first thing I want to tell you, is that –
FISTING ISN’T NORMAL.”
I swear to the Heavenly Father and every other God and Saint that there is, those are the words that she said.
The exact second that the word “fisting” came out of my mother’s mouth, my mind paused. What is this “fisting?” I had never heard the word before. Then the visuals began (I had a very active imagination.) In my mind, I pictured EXACTLY WHAT FISTING IS (now that I’m 34 and I know what it is, I can safely say that I visualized it 100% correctly.) I pulled the pillow over my head.
“GOD, mom!” I yelled. “Good night!”
“Well, I’m sorry but – “
“GOOD NIGHT.”
And that was the first and ONLY time I ever let my mother speak to me about sex. I have no idea in hell what she read or heard or saw that made her decide that it was as good a time as any to present me with Normal vs. Abnormal sexual preferences. I do commend her for actually saying the word “fisting.” I bet June Cleaver never told Beaver about fisting. But then again, she named him Beaver… At any rate, to sum it all up, I got my limited sex education via the public school system, and then, later on, from movies and Judy Blume books. The words “penis” or “vagina” have never been in any conversation I have had with my mother. Just the word “fisting.”
Today’s story inspired by Carol Channing:
If you’re in the mood for an unintentional laugh, this lady will bring you almost as much joy as Bob Ross. I stumbled upon her when I was looking for English instructions for the Gocco I purchased, and found her Instructional Gocco Video on the Paper Source website.
She mutters to herself, insults a few folks, makes her own sound effects, and introduced me to the phrase “clown city,” which I think I am going to make a regular part of my vocabulary. I would pay money to see this woman make a “How Babies are Made” video, or an Anti-Drug PSA. I want to meet her and invite her out for a drink or four, because I get the feeling there’s a fifth of vodka under her craft table, and she loves it.
THE SET UP:
I have finally started using my Holga over the past few months, and I am in love with it. The only issue lies in the fact that there are no local labs to develop the 120 film. I finally discovered a place right up the street from my office.
THE PROBLEM:
To Whom it May Concern:
This email is to express my increasing disappointment with the customer service and quality of product in the photo developing department of the Melrose, MA location.
I started bringing in my 120 film about a month ago. I had been very excited to find a local lab that could develop this type of film. I was very pleased with the results and the fact that I could now get my film developed in a timely manner without having to send it off to California. However, my last few experiences in your store have grown progressively worse:
1. I fully understand that the type of developing I require needs to be processed in different locations. I have also come to realize that because of this, ringing up the order can take longer than an average transaction, and I have no problems with this. About 2 weeks ago, one of your customer service agents (I unfortunately did not get her name, but she was an older woman) rang me up, and then I presented her with my wbur card which allowed me a 20% discount. Upon seeing my card, she responded with a very obviously annoyed sigh, and said. ‘I wish you had given me that before I rang everything up.” After she spent a few minutes staring at the computer deciding on the easiest way to apply the discount, she finally decided she had to cancel the transaction and re-ring everything again. I apologized for not knowing I needed to present the card prior to being rung up. She redid the transaction and did apologize for taking so long to do so. When I went out to the parking lot to check my photos, I discovered that the CD I ordered for 3 of my film rolls was not included. This took about 10 minutes for me to discover, because the way the photos are packaged is very inconvenient – I had been handed 6 envelopes, but the photos, film and CDs were randomly distributed between each one. I returned to the store and after waiting for another 15 minutes while the same customer service agent walked right past me 3 or 4 times without acknowledgement, was finally asked by Crystal if I needed any help. I explained I was missing a CD, and she blamed it on “the new guy” before reburning my photos to the CD. Despite this experience, I was very happy with my photos.
2. Yesterday, I came in to pick up some film (2 color rolls and 2 black and white rolls), and was assisted by Genaro. He was obviously new, which I did not have an issue with, until it became apparent that there was no one around to help him ring up my order. I presented my wbur card (prior to him ringing me up) and he had to find a manager to help him figure out what the discount was. Again, I am a patient person, and did not mind waiting. While he was trying to apply the discount, he needed assistance for a SKU#, called the manager to the front, and when he asked him how to apply the discount, the manager replied in a very derogatory tone, “Take 20% off the subtotal.” Genaro explained he was aware of this, and asked about the SKU# again, to which the manager replied, “Take 20% off the subtotal!” And left. Another agent finally came up to help him, explaining that the 20% needed to be taken off of each individual product. Genaro apologized when the transaction was completed, which I felt he himself had no reason to do, but appreciated it nonetheless. Upon returning home, I opened my photos, and wouldn’t you know: My black and white film did not include prints OR a CD, BOTH of which were written right on the envelope my negatives were returned in. The quality of the scans on the color CD were terrible – it looked as if there was dust all over the scanner when the photos were scanned (as the prints themselves were fine.) I called this morning to see if there was perhaps another envelope with the rest of my order in it, there was not, and I was told that they probably had not been done.
I expected a much higher level of service from your company, and I am quite disappointed. Your new hires are not fully trained or assisted before being sent off to produce items for which I pay a good deal of money. The packaging of the finished products is ridiculous – I don’t understand why all of the items in a particular order cannot all be placed in the envelope containing the details of the order. I dropped off 4 more rolls of film prior to yesterday’s experience, and quote honestly, I am dreading the outcome. I hope something can be done about the overall quality of your processing department, as I would like to continue using your services. However, until that point, I will be reverting back to sending my film to California.
Regards,
Skippy Fantastic
THE RESPONSE:
Miss Fantastic,
I received your e-mail this am and have taken the following steps:
1. Forwarded it to the manager of our lab, Dick Haskell.
2. Forwarded it to our GM, Matt Mitchell
I have asked that they each follow-up with you and to remedy the situation with their individual staffs. Thank you for taking the time to express your concerns and for giving us the opportunity to correct these unacceptable photofinishing and customer service issues. I’m never happy to hear of such problems but I always appreciate it when someone such as you takes time out of your busy day to correspond.
Regards,
Ricardo
THE SECOND RESPONSE:
Hello Ms. Fantastic,
I would first like to apologize for the negative experiences that you have had in our store. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to inform us of our short comings. Your input helps me to identify a problem that exists and work to improve it.
I spoke with our Front End Supervisor a moment ago and informed her of the problems that you encountered. She will be retraining not only the new hires but the experienced cashiers as well on how to handle these specific issues. I have also instructed her to mark your incoming film as no charge.
Unfortunately it may take me a little longer to get the packaging of the final product corrected. The processing that Hunt’s provides is all done by outside vendors(including work done inside our Melrose location). When processing black and white film we actually use 2 different vendors, one for the film processing and another for the prints and scans. I would just like to clarify a few things with you so I get going in the right direction to fix the problem.
1)As I understand it your pictures, negatives, and CDC’s did not come back in the bag that they were dropped off in. This makes it very difficult to verify that what you ordered is actually in the bag.
2)Repeatedly what you ordered was not deliver. Were the instructions properly written on the processing bags?
3) The digital scans were of a poor quality. Is this problem consistent?
Was the resolution acceptable? Were you asked what level of scan you would like?
If there were any other issues with the processing please let me know.
I will be out of the store for the remainder of the week but will have access to my email. I will get started trying to iron out the kinks as soon as I get the details from you. Our goal is to provide you with great service as well as the best possible product. With your input I know that we can prevent your film from traveling across the country.
Thanks You,
Matt Mitchell
General Manager
THE THIRD RESPONSE:
My curiosity about Melrose based businesses led me to search for your company on the web only to discover that you provide audio conferencing. We do two to three teleconferences a month with our management team and I use a web based company called www.freeconference.com. Does your company offer a similar service? If yes, I’d like to speak with someone regarding the service.
Ricardo
THE END OF THE FOURTH RESPONSE (Dick, via voicemail):
“So if there is anything at all that you need, here is my personal cell number, give me a call at any time!”
THE LESSONS LEARNED:
1. Complaining to a company makes them want to become a customer of YOURS.
2. I now have a new friend that I can call up and gossip about Desperate Housewives.
I supposed it’s time continue the story, as I’ve gotten a few messages from people anxiously awaiting to hear about the rest of my personal trauma.In case you’ve just arrived, and you think it may affect your interpretation or understanding of the story:
The Thing That Made Me Lose My Shit
It was mid-July. A Wednesday night. And when I say night, i mean about 2:32am. I’m gradually roused out of sleep by an odd noise. It was one of those noises that starts off subtle, and if it was just a one-time noise, I probably would have slept through it. But it kept on keeping on, and what finally woke me was the fact that it had merged into my dream, and my dream-self was saying, “that fucking noise better stop because it’s really starting to get annoying.” I found myself fully awake, and realized the noise was coming through the wall. “Great,” i thought. “Mark is talking in his sleep again.” As if that wasn’t creepy enough at 3 in theafternoon. Figuring it would stop eventually (because who talks in their sleep for a full 4 hours straight) I rolled over and attempted to fall back to sleep. He kept talking.
As I lay there annoyed, I realized it sounded like he was choking. “I wonder if he’s dreaming that he’s choking?” I thought. It went on. And on. And on. And finally I got up so i could wake him up to make him stop. I opened my bedroom door and spoke to my left (it’s a Medford apartment. Walls are made of paper and the next room begins before the first one ends.)
“Mark!”
Not expecting an immediate answer, i was surprised when i heard a weak, but awake, “yeah?”
“What’s going on?”
“Um…” A pause… “I threw up alot.”
I felt my blood turn to ice and my heart stop (and I’m actually feeling the same thing as I write this.) The first thing that popped in my mind was and image of his bedroom, covered in vomit. The second thing was the absolute definite fact that i had to get him as far away from me as possible.
“Um,” I could barely speak, but was trying to remain calm. “Are you okay?” Stupid question.
“Yeah.” Stupid answer.
“Do you want me to call someone?” I was thinking i could get the ambulance there to take him away in about 2 minutes.
“No, no that’s okay.”
Damn. I shut my door, and the retching began again. I had to get out of there. I stumbled around my room in the dark, searching for items of clothing i could wear to work the next day. (Luckily i was never one to put clean laundry away, so there was an easily accessible pile right next to my bed. Plus, all my clothes are black, so pretty much nything would match.) I stuffed whatever I could find in a bag, and literally ran out of my bedroom and down the stairs to my car, which I started up and sped off to Smacky’s. I called him and woke him up.
“Hi,” I said, “I’m coming over.”
“Really?” I could hear the smile in his voice. Sleeping over at each other’s apartments was a slight inconvenience since we lived about 40 minutes apart from each other. So, naturally, he was surprised and flattered and loved me even more because I apparently missed him enough to swing by at 3am.
“Yeah. Mark is throwing up.” I started to cry.
“Oh!” The bubble of romance in his heart popped. But he knew about my “issue” and the smile in his voice was immediately replaced with sincere concern. “Drive safe! It’ll be okay!”
Did I mention that I hadn’t thought to pack shoes? That’s because I was so horrified I forgot shoes.
I got to Smacky’s apartment at about 3:30am (barefoot) and climbed into bed next to him, literally shaking. He tried to calm me down, but all i could hear was imaginary dull retching sounds coming through the walls. I finally fell asleep, and when I woke up the next morning, I had that awesome sense of relief that you get right before opening your eyes, that the horribleness you just experienced was all a bad dream. Then i opened my eyes, and i realized where I was, and I had no idea what I was going to do.
I realize that this sounds completely ridiculous. I mean, it’s just vomit. NO one likes vomit. I have never heard anyone say, “you know what I really like? Barfing.” “Oh my god, me too! Especially other people barfing!” “Really? That is so crazy!” “I know! Wanna go find a frat house and watch people puke all over the place?” “YES! Totally cool!” But I digress. Had I called Mark the following afternoon and asked him how he felt (which I did) and he said he felt a lot better and it must have been something he ate (which he did), I would have gone home and quizzed him on what he ate and made sure he NEVER ate that thing again, I would have been able to go back to a generally normal life.
But if that’s what happened, then what I just wrote would not have been the worst thing that has ever happened to me.
To be continued.
SteakUmms? Today, out of nowhere, I was hit with a memory of being psyched to eat steakumms for dinner instead of mom’s home-cooked meals. I remember microwaving the thin slabs of frozen “meat” and slapping it on some bread, where the grease and oil would sink in and turn the bread all brown and mushy.
God I loved SteakUmms.
The Continuation of Vomitous Tormentous
I’ve been putting this off long enough. Time to face the guttural heaving (possibly known in some cultures as “music.)
Before the Vomit
I had it made. It was the beginning of August, and I had moved into a 2 bedroom apartment in Medford. Not only did it have 2 bedrooms, it had a huge kitchen, living room, dining room, an office-y type room off of the living room, a small yard, and 2 decks – one in the back (with a roof) and one in the front (no roof.) The pre-existing roommate was currently overseas – sent there for work (I’m still not sure what his job was), and was due back sometime in September. The rent was $1200, and despite the fact that my roommate was in Europe, he was still paying his half. So I had this huge amazing place all to myself for $600 a month. Because his company kept extending his contract, Indecisive Jesus-Looking Guy would come home for a few weeks at a time, but overall, we probably actually physically cohabitated for about 3 months for the entire year I was living there. (Sidenote: when he was home, he and I got along great, and are still friends to this day, despite the fact that I never know where he is.)
Cut to the following May – Indecisive Jesus-Looking Guy sends me an email and says that his company will no longer be paying for his housing in London, so he will “technically” have to move out of our place in Medford. I was going to have to find a new roommate to cover his half of the rent. Crap. I was more disappointed that I’d have to find a new stranger to live with than the fact that I’d no longer have the place to myself, because that was a scenario that should have come to an end 6 months prior. So I put the word out to friends and also put an ad on craigslist. I sifted through all the responses – people with ferrets, single men over 40, girls with 3 cats (i already had 2) and then finally I got an email from a guy who sounded laid-back, liked cats, and seemed very friendly. He came over, we chatted, and I got a general all-around good vibe from the guy. I told him I’d love to have him move in, and he was equally excited, and over the next month I helped him bring over his belongings (he currently lived about a mile away with a girl who was agoraphobic and they both had to move because their landlord sold the building.)
The first weekend in June was his official move-in date. I was going to be in New York City for the weekend, doing an off-off-off-Broadway performance of The Last Little Porn Shop in Manhattan. I returned Sunday evening, and the light on my answering machine was blinking. The message was:
“Hey, it’s Mark. I just wanted to let you know that I’m in the hospital – I’m okay and I’ll probably be home tomorrow – I got really sick Friday night and they think it was food poisoning but they’re not sure. Anyway, just wanted to let you know! Hope the show went well!”
My initial reaction was “oh my god thank god I wasn’t here for that.” And I told Mark the same thing when he came home the next day. “I would have been nowhere in the same neighborhood – I cannot deal with vomit. No offense.” He laughed, said he totally understood and things went back to being fairly uneventful.
Over the next month, I started noticing things that made me start to feel slightly uneasy. Mainly the 22 ounce tumblers of green apple vodka he’d drink every night or afternoon when he wasn’t working (he was a fine dining waiter.) I didn’t even know we had vodka, which means he was hiding it.
Did I mention he was diabetic?
Other things that started to make me nervous – he had no bank account, no car, and he would pass out on the couch at night and talk in his sleep. A LOT. And he had an entire pharmacy of drugs on his bureau in his room. He had said to me once early on in the relationship, “I never used to take even aspirin, but I’ve become a prescription junkie.” I had let that slide, because I myself have gone from zero to sixty on prescribed drugs, but it’s what happened about a month later that made me lose my shit completely.
To be continued…
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