Museum of the HARD to Believe
This is how old I am. Dave Letterman used to be on at 12:30 PM. For all you people who continue to address things with MRS. JOAN SMITH, allow me to stress that PM means in the afternoon.
[If I seem testy or, better, "techy," it is because I'd rather not be entering this, now. I'd rather be "fishing" for pike with a 30/06. But here I am.]
Anyway, besides Rich Hall’s (remember him?) funny film commentaries and one segment that mentioned/displayed “Mexican Jumping Steaks” and “Meat on the bottom Yoghurt”, the best skit from those early days was Dave’s Museum of the HARD to Believe.
And the only bit I remember of that was a guy sitting on a stool whose “hard to believe” value was that he was stupefied, because:
Whereas a Subway token cost 75 cents, and
Whereas he handed the booth attendant $1.00, therefore
The attendant’s query: “One?” threw the gentleman into a state of lasting bewilderment; hence his place in the museum.
So this morning, I decided to run the gauntlet of paying my phone bill by phone.
You would think . . . [no, let us not even use that construction. As we all know, Irony died a few years ago. I am still trying to fix the date and experience in which I became aware of it's death. This is harder than Virginia Woolf's remembering that someone said "orgasm" out-loud. But if that was what changed the world, then I should think the locus of Irony's death is in the sentence "Let's nominate George W. Bush."]
So, . . . what got me on the phone with RCN (more in a moment) was that for each number sequence I entered, I had to then press the “pound” key.
“Enter telephone number, including area code [for the love of Pete: D'uh!], then press the pound key.”
“Enter your home zip code, then press the pound key.”
Granted, AMEX has one less number than the other Credit Cards, but:
“Enter the card expiration date, using two digits for the month and two digits for the year; [I'm assuming a semi-colon, here] then press the pound key.”
Why not let me speak to a person. Charge me more. I swear I wouldn’t care. Put someone to work, if only to keep me from despising your “automated” chicanery.
[Did you know that Hershey bars were originally 5 cents? In addition, that the size of the bar changed according to how much weight five cents of chocolate was worth. Isn't that brilliant, and brilliantly simple? I, for one, wish I could go to a store and purchase a specific dollar amount of cotton socks, Brylcreem, or yes, please, $1.00 worth of coffee.
But what is even better is that during the Depression, in 1934 or so, when he had automated the factory, and some underling bragged to Hershey: "This machine can do the work of 40 men!" Hershey then said: "Turn it off. Hire 40 men."]
At Home Depot, they pull the bait and switch. They have four of their 10 checkout aisles “automated.” But there is only one of the remaining 6 staffed by a person. That’s fine. I drove, or rode there. I enjoy a little theatre with my replacement screen purchase. It’s like the pizza joint in New York whose menu reads:
Single slice (no extra toppings) . . . . . . . . . 2.50
Deluxe Slice (two toppings) . . . . . . . . . . . 3.85,
and there are no slices ready that have less than two toppings. . . Again, I’m fine with that. That’s what we call putting something into the system. So when the girls with the badly permed (burned) highlights, the one wearing a . . . well, I’ll call it a SK-Shirt, complains, and the Italian guy behind the counter suddenly acts like he’s a West-Indian and doesn’t understand… Great. The sideshow is worth the gouge.
Anyway, I paid the bill. RCN get’s their money from me, and I’m glad to give it. I haven’t answered that phone since last Labor Day, but that isn’t their fault. I’m the only person in Annapolis that has RCN. THEY don’t even believe I have them, sometimes. But I was lucky enough to get their service right after one of those bills was passed that said Americans deserve a choice in services; and before the state was then cut-up in some non-smoking room.
Bell-Atlantic refuses to put my RCN phone number in their stupid book. So I, naturally refuse to bring their stupid book into my dwelling.
So take all of this with a grain of salt (also not sold by weight). Because I could have to write about Bell Atlantic. And that would just be profane.
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