To Laugh, Cry or Yell - now Really People, Really?

Well, as promised I continue with the “To Laugh, Cry or Yell” story.  Now called “Really People? Really?”  You will get the title change.  So things have been running along as usual.  The boy has only gotten a few “repeat” customers texting him asking to meet.  He and I devised a crafty little reply to these texts that goes something like: “Well, you say I have met you before but unless you met me on my elementary school playground, I’m gonna guess you have the wrong number.”  This has certainly shut up a few of the disgusting perverts that’s for sure.  Last week I figure I better Google the number again to see if the Escort company is just too embarrassed to reply but has done their due diligence.  Well, I’ll be a monkeys uncle!  Two new ads, same phone number, different named company are the top two hits.  Seriously?  What the hell is wrong with you people.  So I go on a little crusade and email every single “contact us” address on the webpages, new and old (because the first sleeze bag company has ignored all my requests).  The jist of my emails are this (and there are many):

Please (and I am asking politely, for the THRID time) remove my young sons cell phone number from your website.  As I have requested three times, and you clearly do not care about the lost revenue or children’s safety, I will be notifying the police AND the news media next.

Within minutes I get an email reply from the new company that says only: Removed.  That’s it.  No sorry for your inconvenience.  No whoops.  Nothing.  I re-Google and the new ads and the first two hits are gone.  Excellent.  The first company who had the number listed also got the new remove request email, and many of them, but I have heard NOTHING. 

The Better Business Bureau tell me to contact my service provider.  They are apparently responsible to let the company know that they are incorrectly using one of their numbers.  So I email my service provider.  They promptly reply that “This is a situation of the business not updating their own contact records” and then go on to tell me that they do not sell or disclose any of our personal information etc. etc. What the hell the whole “personal information” thing means is just ridiculous.  And I am sorry Cell Phone Company – this is not entirely a matter of a company not updating their records, this is a matter of you not making sure the new numbers you give out are not from some disgusting, escort company. 

Then there is the issue of the escort company clearly not NEEDING the business.  Hello dipshits, if you have the wrong number posted, your not getting the customers.  A four year old could figure that out.  Losers. 

So today the boy gets two calls.  One from a gym saying he missed his fitness class (hey, even sleezy escort chicks have to stay fit) and the other from an “alternative” newspaper about an "ad".  Guess who I am emailing next………. 

The Ugly Side of Sport

First off, let me say that I am not a “newby” in the kid sport arena.  I will not willingly disclose how old I am but I have had kids in various sports for over 13 years.  That’s a long freakin time.  I have learned a lot of lessons along the way.  During these years I have met some people who I now consider “my people”.  They are kind, generous people who give their time and energy to sport for no other reason than for the love of the sport and the kids.  I have met people who inspire and motivate kids in ways that are truly heartwarming.  There are people out there who coach, not just to get their own kid “somewhere”, but because they love the sport they are coaching.  This group of people so far, in all the years I have invested, are the majority.  Thank goodness.

I have, as well, been introduced to the highest level of Crazy Ass Nut Bars in youth sports you can imagine.  I am learning to keep my mouth shut.  Just sit back, watch the crazy show and enjoy the ride.  There is however a time when it’s not ok to sit back and watch and it’s not ok to keep your mouth shut.  That time?  When someone in sport, who is in the position of power, belittles and potentially causes harm to a child.  At no time, ever, should a child of any age be belittled in front of their own team mates and no child should EVER not feel safe when attending a sport.  EVER.  End of freaking story.

Why Getting Older Means We Are A Lot More Set In Our Ways or AKA: The Adverted Panic Attack

This morning I got to the office, opened my email and saw a note from my manager requesting that I meet her for a scheduled meeting at a different location.  This would require me to a. Take public transit or b. Drive my car to a location I have never been to before.  WELL.  Let me explain the sixty-five levels of near panic that went through my head.  Where to start?

Let’s start first with the public transit fiasco.  If I am required to take public transit I need at least two days notice.  I will need to physically and mentally prepare for this adventure.  The skirt and heels I am wearing today will not allow for adequate “running” in the event of a robbery, stabbing or drunkin pervert.  I will need time to get to the bank to withdrawal money for the tickets to get on the unpredictable, computer run, death trap because seriously, who carries cash?  Pepper or bear spray will need to be purchased.  A purse change will need to take place (Can’t be having that big, flappy open top purse.  Must switch to smaller, close to the body, zipped up bag.  Hell, if there’s time I might just find a fanny pack. Ha ha ha – goodness, there’s a picture.)  A certain amount of mental prep work has to take place before this trip can happen.  I find it appropriate to get into “fighter mode”.  That way if a potential criminal or pervert looks to you as their next potential target, you have your game face on.  The “don’t mess with ME motha” face.  I need time to get into character, put on temporary tattoos and develop an imaginary “rap” sheet.  I’m thinking by now you have gathered that I am not a huge fan of being stuck in a train that I can’t get out of.  My rule: if you are so close I can smell you, you are too effin close.  I, in no uncertain terms, want to be in smelling range of any stranger.  EVER.  There is no where to run and hide from the crazed drug addict with a gun.  End of story.

Next, let’s review the problem with me driving to a location that I have never been to without adequate notice.  Two things right off the bat: I have absolutely NO gas in my car and was lucky to just get to the office this morning and I left my GPS at home.  I am too old to drive around trying to figure shit out with just a printed copy of Google Maps.  I make an active effort to not be stressed out while driving because my personality lends itself to intentionally ramming someone with my car if they piss me off.  Better to just avoid that kind of situation.  Driving also requires the pre-trip to the bank for cash for the insane amount of money needed to park the car.

So I stare at the email meeting request for a bit, internally cussing my lack of spontaneity, and email my manager with a polite request to meet on the phone.  I did not tell her about my “two day notice” requirement but did mention that if she wanted me to go there I would have to find a bank first because the twenty three cents I currently have in my wallet will not get me on the train and fare evasion is completely out of the question.  She was understanding and agreed meeting on the phone would work which is good because my next email was going to go over the finer points of providing “danger pay”.

Oh to laugh, cry or yell?

Still not sure if I should blow a biscuit on this one or not.  It is sorta funny.  You be the judge.

A little over a month ago, the oldest money sucker got a new cell phone that also required him to get a new phone number.  The guy at the phone store was all “Dude, this looks like an easy number to remember.  Why don’t you take this one?”  Great.  New phone acquired.  New phone number secured.  All is well with the world right?  Again, not so much.

Boy comes home yesterday and tells me he has been getting bizarre voicemails from people and equally strange texts. So he reads me a few of the texts.  Good thing the boy already has a complete vocabulary of swear words because I am sure I used at least a half dozen choice words.  You see, after finding out the general content of the messages the boy was getting, I immediately do what every person with functioning brain and a decent internet connection does:  I Google the number.   Well, if there isn’t a lovely picture of a lady wearing almost nothing and MY SONS CELL NUMBER printed delicately between her legs (probably to keep said picture a teeny bit G rated).  I almost lost my lunch.  Really?  I was on the phone to the mobility provider before you could say: “what the hell.”  I explain the horrifying situation to Mr. Personality of a Flea that his fine company gave my son a sleazy, escorts number and the number is plastered all over the internet.  Mr. Flea explains to me that the number most likely belonged to Ms. Escort previously and would I like to change the number?  Really dude?  You know how much of a pain in the ass it is to change your number and contacts TWICE in a little over a month?  The boy in no way wants to change his number again and is in the background shaking his head NO and looking at me like he might just go a bit wiggy if I make the change.  So I tell Mr. Flea we are going to wait a week and see if we can take care of it another way.  I hang up only after being completely disgusted at the guys level of customer service.  If I worked there and got that call I would have been all “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry.  We certainly should have done a better job making sure the number your teenager was  given was ‘clean’ and I will report this to my manager so no other young person has to deal with this again.”  That was just a little bit of what I was looking for.  The guy did not give a shit and I was probably just interrupting his online game of Plants vs Zombies. 

I then spend the next hour sending hate, threatening emails to the escort service to remove my sons cell number from their website.  I will definitely update you all if I hear anything from the escort service (Really people: escort service? Who are we kidding here?) 

I did laugh about it the rest of the day and thanked my lucky stars the boy was older when this happened.  A friend mentioned what a complete shit show this whole thing would have been if it had happened to someone who had a jealous spouse.  Could you imagine?  Finding your husbands cell phone and seeing those messages thinking he was soliciting an escort service.  THAT my friends is law suit worthy! 

Draft of my letter to the phone company:

Dear Sirs:

Well it seems in your haste to make a quick sale you have successfully reassigned a cell number that once belonged to a disgusting, most likely disease ridden, escort named Portia to my teenager.  Way to go.  Come on people, you are not just a phone company, you also provide internet service as well.  Ever occur to you to have a gander at some of your retired numbers on line BEFORE you put them out there for re-use?  Would it hurt to check these things out?  Would it also hurt to train your customer service personnel to be a little bit sensitive and perhaps proactive?  Honestly, a ten year old could have handeled that call better. 

I decided to censor the rest of the letter at this point.  To many nasty words were spilling onto the page and, although my mom doesn’t read this, I am sure someones mom does!

Stay tuned.

All in half a day. Aka Good vs Annoying

Today it seems is turning out to be one of those days where good and annoying are vying for the most votes.  The day started with something unexpected.  I saw a young taxi cab driver get out of his cab and help an elderly lady up to her doctors appointment on the second floor of a building.  He probably lost 6 bucks worth of time doing that for her and he didn’t see to mind.  Did I mention he was young?  Little while later I was sitting in an office with an older lady and gentleman.  They did not come in together.  They did however spend over 15 minutes trying to out “ailment” each other.  It was amusing at the start.  “Ya, well I have arthritis.  Do you?” They discussed the pills they were taking, the various parts that hurt and who had the next doctors appointment (Gentleman Jim won, his appointment was today.  Her appointment was way later.  Tomorrow.  Made me promise myself that I would never be that woman, although I have had a few conversations as of late with girlfriends about the slow decline of our bodies.)  The whole time the Ailment Fest was going on there was a young child screaming in the back of the office at the top of his lungs.  He was so hysterical that apparently the entire office staff of four needed to restrain him.  Fun.  So after they finished torturing the poor child the staff returns to the front and l, who I might add walked in and grabbed a little number from the “Take A Number” dispenser well before the elderly people arrived, get line jumped by Gentleman Jim!  What the heck dude?  Why do you need to jump the line?  Got a job to get back to?  Seriously!  Normally I am pretty patient but I was starting to lose my mind with all the kid screaming and the elderly complaining.  Held my tongue.  Even after being helped by a Snook-a-like in a nurses uniform who had the personality of a stick!

As I leave the office, a woman walks up to me and asks if I know where the washroom is.  I tell her and she turns and walks away.  Huh.  Manners?  So I called back a friendly “your welcome”.  Come on people.  I know you can do better. 

So far annoying is winning and it’s not even noon!

Perhaps We Are To Hard On Our Teenagers?

A friend recently sent me a link to a video of a dad shooting the laptop of his ungrateful little brat of a teenage daughter (yes, he shot the thing with a gun!).  Apparently her life was so hard she decided to share this with the entire world through social media and in the same breath completely trash her parents.   So her dad answered back.  Through social media.  After watching and listening to this dad I muttered “Every ungrateful teenager needs to see that.”  They also need to hustle their asses down to an inner city neighbourhood and/or a third world country to get an idea how bad they really have it.  Imagine the nerve of parents nowadays asking kids to make their beds and help unload the dishwasher?  Don’t those parents know that these are very stressful times for teenagers?  Why, they have to go to school for almost six whole hours a day, five whole days a week! (unless of course there is another one of those special pro-d day things, in that case it’s a whole four days.)   How can we expect them to do anything other than come home from school and sit in front of the tv or xbox until they get called for dinner and then back to the tv until 11:30 pm or so when they decide it’s time to go to bed?  I feel bad for teenagers.  They are also, it seems, expected to graduate from high school!  Holy Hannah! Isn’t that enough?  Why, I wonder, do we as parents expect any more of them with all the pressures they have of this impending graduation?  What? We also wouldn’t mind if they cleaned their room and cleaned up behind themselves?  Seriously.  Isn’t that asking too much? 

I’m not sure about you all, but I know when I was a teenager it was much easier.  My generation only had to graduate, have part time jobs (only if you actually wanted money), AND …… wait for it: we had chores.  I know this is a bizarre concept but we were actually required to help out around the house.  DAILY.  Not once and a while.  Not when it was convenient for us.  Not only after we had a two hour gaming session.  No.  We did them when we were told and we did them often.  Kinda makes sense looking back now.  I mean we did live there.  Why wouldn’t we help out in the upkeep of the home we lived in.  I also don’t recall my mother handing over any money so I could go to a movie (or buy a car for that matter) and she never spent $100.00 a month on a cell phone plan so I knew my friends social statuses or what celebrities were having for breakfast.

The best part?  When the dumb asses get on social media complaining about how mean their parents are and how they hate living with their parents and how incredibly hard done by they are.  I only wish they would also list why they hate living in such a bad place.  Is it because their dad beats them?  No.  Is it because they are neglected and have three younger siblings to care for?  No.  Is it because their mom is a heroin addict who can’t keep food in the house?  No. No. No.  It’s because they: have to pick up after themselves, help out around the house, at least pass their classes in school, be polite to others, make their bed and other seriously damaging, life altering demands.  (All the while they want laptops, Iphones (with monthly plans no less), expensive sport camps and equipment, to have no curfew, be able to go where ever and do what ever they want and have money given to them for their entertainment.)

So looking forward to the next generation of workers.  How many of them are going to have a conflict with their managers, stamp their feet and walk out of the workplace proclaiming "This isn't fair!" and then promptly Twitter the world of the incredible injustice they have just experienced (Only after getting in the car that Mommy and Daddy bought, insured and put gas in for them.)

Oh dear.  It's not lookin good.