Livingston, I Presume

Just in case you were wondering

When you visit Albertson's ten minutes before close to purchase a toilet plunger, the little printer that spits out the checkout coupons based on your order and your history with the store will provide you with a helpful voucher for $1.50 off a future purchase of Excedrin PM. Entirely appropriate, really.

For hay fever, press one

Note: A version of this appeared in the June issue of Business to Business.

Among the many circles of phone tree hell, I have just discovered a fresh torture. Any companies that think their new interactive voice response systems are making the whole maze of options less painful for phone-in customers need to think again.

But let’s start at the beginning. I am prone to allergies. Not the gentle, occasional ah-choo variety with chance of lightly watering eyes allergies, but huge, horrendous allergies with gale-force sneezing and eyes so teary I look to be perpetually leaving a funeral. It takes me about two weeks to get build up a tolerance to any allergy medicine, so treating my seasonal hay fever consists primarily of buying stock in Kleenex and hoping fervently that I don’t have an attack merging into the construction on I-90.

The last week has been horrible—trees budding, flowers blooming, pollen shedding—at least from my nose’s perspective. I look and sound like I should sell my stock in Kleenex and buy a share in an allergist’s practice instead. It was in this state that I visited the dentist this morning. After spending some time with a very nice hygienist who may also be moonlighting for the Marquis de Sade, I was informed that I really needed to buy one of those fancy new electric toothbrushes, unless I wanted to spend considerably more time at the dentist in the future.

Being a good patient, I went home after the cleaning and promptly called the customer service line of one of the recommended toothbrushes to find a local retailers. (I had tried the website but with no success.) This particular giant Dutch conglomerate offered a simple menu to perform automated functions but no chance to talk to a human being without an invitation from Queen Beatrix. Lacking that, I attempted to find a Bozeman store using the simple voice-recognition menu.

“To find the location nearest you, please tell us your five-digit zipcode,” the pleasant voice told me.

Trying desperately not to sound like a cartoon character, I said, “Fibe-nide-seben-ode-fibe.”

“Did you say, ‘Five-five-seven-nine-five?” the voice asked.

“No!” (Or should I say, “DOH!”?)

And back to the main menu I go, where I have to again choose what I want to do and then get the disembodied voice to understand my allergy-wracked one. It never did work. I even tried going old school, punching in digits on the keypad, but that really confused the little Dutch girl. She hung up.

All of which made me wonder what would happen to someone who called with less than perfect pronunciation that wasn’t caused by seasonal allergies. Is this a problem with all voice-recognition phone trees, or are the Dutch—seasoned linguists that they are—just pickier about proper English? Whatever the case, it served as a reminder that companies who are serious about customer service need to offer an easy out of their voice mail hells. There should always be the option to speak to a live person, even if that means the customer sits on hold for a few minutes while listening to some pleasant background music.

I’m not saying that a live human would have necessarily been able to understand me on the first try—I do sound like a prize-fighter after a particularly rough round of face-punching—but at least I wouldn’t have had to start over each time. And I think, eventually, I would have gotten my question answered. That never did happen with this round of the phone tree tango.

English acquisition

"I think the national anthem ought to be sung in English. People who want to be a citizen of this country ought to learn English, and they ought to learn to sing the national anthem in English." --Our Dear Leader, April 28, 2006, quoted widely (full article here)

And, though I'm sure I won't be the first or only one to say it, so should the people who want to be the leader of the free world (sic). The learning English, I mean.

It's the most wonderful time of the day!

Even though I wouldn't consider myself a morning person, I find myself treasuring those scant few moments before Connery wakes up. I have a cup of coffee, lovingly prepared by my husband and our auto-grind coffeemaker, and read a little of the Bozeman Chronicle before Connery can rope me into recounting Beetle Bailey's adventures with Sarge for the fifth time. My favorite part--isn't everyone's?--are the kooky letters to the editor, which provide us with so much mirth. It's true that the Chronicle has a long way to go to reach the sheer wackiness factor of larger papers such as my hometown favorite, the Great Falls Tribune (Dance break: All the crazy people...where do they all come from? It's Great Falls!)

Anyway, after our friend from Belgrade's popular anti-birth control letter, I thought I would share a little gem from some Bozeman parents, since you all, sadly, cannot read it online. These parents are shocked, shocked I tell you at the style of dancing present at Bozeman High's recent prom. While they were not there personally, they have it on good authority that "more than half of the dancers engaged in this overtly sexual behavior, while the rest avoided it uncomfortably."

Oral sex on the dancefloor? Party rooms at the Hilton Garden Inn following the dance? No. It's the "Bump and Grind," which these parents helpfully describe for Bozeman's breakfast crowd:

"This dance fad is typically done to rap or hip-hop music, often with sexually explicit lyrics, and is also called 'Freaking,' 'Booty Dancing' and 'The Nasty.' It generally involves boys and girls rubbing their private parts all over each other."

First of all, this is a great mental picture, and I don't mean that in a perverted way. Secondly, do you know what else I heard? If you watch Elvis doing pelvic thrusts on TV, you could get pregnant through the TV and your girdle!

The letter ends with a stirring call to arms:

If the message you want taught is of self-control, dignity, abstinence and selfrespect, then perhaps this “Bump and Grind” sexual stimulation at the public high school dances is not acceptable to you either.

They go on to ask other concerned parents to call the school and attend a special meeting about dances and dance behavior. They even threaten to organize an alternate prom! I assume that one will be thick with chaperones armed with Merriam-Webster's Third Collegiate dictionaries to place between those couples who get too close on the dance floor, like they used to have at the Mormon dances I attended as a teen. And perhaps everyone can wear high-necked dresses that button up to the chin.

My point is that in a world in which teens routinely leave the prom to party all night in hotel suites that their parents pay for, what is more harmful? Sexy dancing or the stuff that goes on off the dancefloor? Or how about that these formal dances can cost couples in excess of $500, and that's in "cheap" Montana? Today's teenager has more pressures to be bad thanks to the media and the continual sexualization of younger and younger "tweens"--and probably less information about how to navigate the waters safely, given the "abstinence-only" dogma that passes for sex ed--than kids did when I was in high school. And instead of helping their kids learn how to handle these pressures--which they will continue to face even more strongly in adulthood (and especially on college campuses)--these parents are most worried about today's equivalent of the lambada.

How about we ratchet down the fear factor on the vertical mambo and worry about what's really important for teens? Here's a couple of examples: Let's start by making sure public schools have enough money to provide a quality education and by keeping teens from working 30 hours a week at the local fast-food joint so that they sleep through their classes but have enough money to buy a smokin' ride and some meth to go along with it.



 

People who live differently than the rest of us

Last week, Montana's attorney general, Mike McGrath, issued an opinion stating that health insurers in the state who cover prescriptions must also cover prescription birth control.  It's a common-sense decision, in my book, since *not* covering contraception is somewhat akin to tacking an extra $600-$1000 deductible on women's healthcare, and it's something I've argued for for quite some time. I don't know how my own health insurance plan will handle the decision--unlike most Montanans, I don't have Blue Cross--but I'll be glad if I can start putting that $40 a month toward our ginormous deductible.

But not everyone is glad. In specific, there's a Mr. Sherlock in Bozeman, Montana who is pretty pissed off. Mr. Sherlock seems to live in a different world from the rest of us, one giddy with healthcare choice and opportunity. On Saturday he wrote in a letter to the Chronicle (the full text is sadly unavailable online) that "if a person desires contraceptives coverage, wouldn’t she simply choose a policy that offered it?"

I'll get right on that, Mr. Sherlock. It's such a simple idea that I can't imagine why it didn't occur to me before. Oh, that's right...because I didn't get any kind of choice of plans! Everything was chosen for me by the friendly and helpful HR folks at my husband's company. You see, Mr. Sherlock lives in a world where people don't just thank their lucky stars that the company offers ANY healthcare coverage at all but also get to actually choose levels of coverage. I've heard of this in legend and story, but I've never seen it in real life.

Mr. Sherlock also complains that the attorney general is discriminating against him by issuing this decision: "...Isn’t requiring men to purchase policies that contain prescription coverage for contraceptives, or maternity coverage, or mammograms, in itself discriminatory?"

In other words, those damn women with their boobs and coochies and wombs are really doing a number on my beautiful healthcare plan!

And yet, I must pay for men's healthcare costs with my plans as well. Men have higher rates of heart disease and are less likely to seek preventative care. I can't opt out of sharing that burden. What's more, I pay into a system that would treat prostate cancer. I don't even *have* a prostate. Talk about discrimination. And don't even get me started on Viagra...

Making a deal with the devil

This is exactly why I have the "all things unintentionally hilarious" category. Dick Cheney--need I say what has put him in the news most lately--is now lecturing the American public on how we should be saving more for retirement.

You know, Dick, that would be much easier for me to do if I had left politics to work at Halliburton and then returned to politics to line Halliburton's stockholders' pockets. Funny how just having a normal day job doesn't rake in the $15.8 million that it's possible to earn when one becomes chairman and CEO of an "oilfield service" company.

The rest of us might have a harder time, what with health insurance, student loans (now, with extra interest!), rising housing, heating, and transportation costs, credit card debt (all of it self-inflicted, naturally),and, to top it all off, fricking organic milk price hikes. I enjoy paying $4.99 a half gallon to ensure that my baby isn't dosed with the extra hormones and pesticides that Dick Cheney has fought so hard to allow Big Ag to use.

Are there Americans out there who are failing to save for retirement because they are buying collectibles from Thomas Kinkade, painter of schlock? Or because they are blowing their paychecks on Home Shopping Network or bigger flat-screen TVs or razors with five blades? I'm sure there are some people out there who do just that.

But you know what? I think for the vast majority of people, saving can occur only after you've paid for such luxury goods as heat and diapers and car insurance. Americans are "living paycheck to paycheck"--a phrase used derisively in the article--not because they want to but because they have to. I'm not saving as much as I'd like to because the money is not there, and I know I'm not alone.

So, Dick Cheney, you can lecture me about saving for retirement--something that has obviously not been an issue for you, since your retirement brought you right into the Veep's office--right about the time I get to lecture you about hunter's safety.

Have we got a deal?

Unintentionally hilarious bumper sticker of the day

"Restore Integrity...Vote Republican"

Yes, indeed. Since the restoration of our national integrity, not a single Presidentially "sealed" navy blue intern's dress has emerged into national prominence. More importantly, the Presidential Office has been tarnished with not a single lie involving oral sex or "be" verbs ("That depends on what your definition of is is.").

I sure do feel integrified all right.

Thank heavens the only lies coming to us from this administration are on the subjects of intelligence, torture, and domestic spying. Because while I would hate to think that there are untruths about fellatio floating about, lies that lead to the deaths of American troops and Iraqis are fine by me. Ditto lies that denigrate our international reputation as a just and fair nation by using semantics to justify the use of torture. And don't get me started on the government reading my email and listening to my phone conversations (Hi, Dick!). I love thinking that my words could bring some measure of joy to the government. I think it's absolutely appropriate that the probe that has been opened into the issue of spooks listening to my talks with Mom when I was overseas involves not the issue itself but that someone linked the information to a reporter. And anyway, George has told us that we shouldn't worry, because he only authorized spying on bad people.

I believe him. Don't you?