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You Called the Right Place, Tammy, Yes You Did, Congratulations On That Tammy


There are times when I feel old. And it’s not really in my body like they say. Or even when I look in the mirror. I mean, don’t get me wrong, wrinkles are doing what they do, and sometimes I’m sore just because I slept weird, but I’m okay with it. It’s when I go out and interact with the people of the world that I feel old. So my stove is broken, and those of you who know me know this is a crisis. No baking! No making the Bootie Boy’s chicken and French fries, which is one of the four meals he eats. No lasagna. No warming the house with batches of chocolate chip cookies. It’s a tragedy. So I found numbers online and called for service estimates. I’m the type of person who won’t use a place if they are rude over the phone, and my first two calls were rude. The kind where they say “ma’am” but you can tell they are really thinking “pain in my ass who called while I was updating my Facebook profile.” I even wrote “rude” down on my little piece of paper next to their names, like I was keeping a slam book or something. Somehow, in trying to call a place called Keith’s Blady Blady, I got something called Service (rhymes with) Tragic. The guy was friendly, but a little too friendly, like in that car salesman sort of way. You know the type, they ask for your name and then they use it so much you begin to wonder if it’s too late in life to try out a new name. Your name starts to sound stupid, and you begin to wish you had at least thought to give the guy a fake name. Something exotic, like Pink or Rhiannon or Sitting Bull.

So this is how the conversation went:

Cheesy Service Guy: Service Tragic, How can I help you today?

Me: Well, I need repair on my stove, probably it just needs a part but I’ve got no heat (that’s my brilliant assessment of the situation.)

CSG: Oh, well, you called the right place ma’am, yes you did, we can definitely accommodate you, yes we can. (Geez, he’s happy for me). What’s your name? (here’s where I blew it, but I didn’t know…)

Me: Uh, Tammy. I think I wanted to call Keith’s…

CSG: Yes, well Tammy, let me tell you who we are , we are a referral service that Keith’s uses. What we do Tammy is we talk to you, assess whether or not Keith’s can take care of your appliance repair needs, and if he can we refer you to him. Now my service is free Tammy. I get no money at all for this service to you. So all I need from you Tammy is a bit of information.

Me: Okay…

CSG: What’d I’d like to do is send you this referral to Keith’s via email Tammy. Can I have your email address Tammy?

Me: Uh, I don’t really have one… (total lie, but my Yahoo account is so saturated with junk mail that I just can’t bear to let anyone else use it. It’s like an old worn out horse headed toward the email glue factory, and no amount of unsubscribing can help.).

CSG: Of course Tammy, I can understand that, but I would like to get this information out to you. Now what if I text it to you? Could I do that for you Tammy? Can you give me your cell number Tammy? (He’s probably thinking, Jesus, does this old biddy have a cell phone or what?)

Me: (God no, please don’t EVER call me!). I’m sorry, I’m confused. What is it you are going to text me?

CSG: Well Tammy, I want to get this number to you, the number for Keith’s. And there are also some online reviews I’d like to send.

Me: Uh, ya, I already saw those reviews, can’t you just give me the number to Keith’s and I’ll write it down?

Side note: This is where the feeling old part comes in. Why the hell would I give the guy my email address so that he could send me a phone number, when I could get a pen and paper and use that good ol’ fashioned method of writing 7 numbers in a row, then dialing the numbers to talk to the person who owns the business? The whole thing was a whirlwind of confusion and complication.

CSG: Oh sure, Tammy, of course I can (I can hear the disappointment in his voice. He’s probably in trouble with his boss now. I’m going on the People Who Refuse To Give Out Information List, and somehow he will be inplicated in the deal). I mean, I do like to send this information electronically so that you have it if you need it for future reference, but I sure can give you that number if you’d like to do it that way. Just don’t lose that number, huh Tammy? Are you ready? Do you have a pen? (a pen, a pen, what’s that?)

By now I want to reach through the phone and choke the guy. Don’t tell me what to do with my number! If I want to put the number on a post it, dial it, and then shove the number up my A$$ I can! This guy doesn’t even know me and he is assuming I am completely unreliable with phone numbers. I got my numbers, called, got the service set up, and will hopefully be baking cookies soon. No email address or text messages required, damn it. It’s time for my pill.

6 Comments leave one →
  1. 01/10/2011 9:41 pm

    Anytime someone tells you they aren’t making money off of something, they are.

    Wow. Just. Wow.

    • 01/10/2011 11:16 pm

      Totally true of so many things. The lady (or in this case dude) doth protest too much I say….

  2. 01/10/2011 9:42 pm

    Oh, and I totally agree with you about Marcelle. Dude’s gotta go.

  3. 01/14/2011 12:47 am

    I have had it with these kinds of scams, good for you holding out like that…..My biggest pain in the ass is Charter Cable people….urrrgggghhhhh
    Glad to read your writing again.

    • 01/14/2011 8:17 pm

      Thanks for reading, I killed my bloglines and forgot about your blog! Glad to see you are still at it. Added you back to my favorites Crazy Grandma! Happy 2011 to you. Keep writing!

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