You know the person on your flight that coughs uncontrollably, blows their nose like they were keeping the beat to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun", and then hands your their germ-laden cup to pass to the flight attendant's trash? Sitting beside them is an ordeal - but being "that person" is like bad karma with a broken mirror.
Feeling pretty good as I boarded the plane, I squeezed my way into the middle seat between two neatly dressed business-types. As soon as I sat down, I felt an illness starting to spread rapidly through my body. Before I could mouth "how weird" my stomach started churning loudly announcing that it had a gift to give me. The barf bag was a god send. Silently, from both sides,two new bags were handed to me.
Soon my nose started running like it was in a race with my bladder. After running out of tissue, I discretely crumpled up some notebook paper and pressed it against my nose. Note to self - don't try this again.
I was getting ready to apologize to my seat mates when deep in my throat a cacophony of raspy uncontrollable coughs struck me speechless. The more I tried to quiet them by swallowing hard and breathing deeply, the worse my hacking became. My eyes decided to join in and glazed over with so much fluid that I couldn't see inside my purse to search for my last cough drop. The men beside me were actively avoiding eye or body contact.
Grabbing a pen and my last sheet of notebook paper, I wrote "This is not me. I think I've been inhabited by the ghost of someone who died on this plane. The real me is a healthy, well-mannered (single) person". Unfortunately, before I could hand it to window seat man, the drippings from my face openings made the words unreadable.
Not to be left out, my bladder chose to assert its will by demanding to be emptied several times during the flight. If I did not do its bidding quickly enough, my teeth began to ache in protest.
I was silently praying that a baby would start crying, someone would have a fit of machine-gun style sneezing or there would be a medical emergency on the flight. But no, everyone was quiet - except me. They were probably all struck mute by the fear that a woman with swine flu and TB was on board.
When we finally landed, my symptoms stopped as suddenly as they had started. Maybe the ghost couldn't leave the plane? It was too late to try to explain myself, and no one would get close enough to hear me if I did. Somewhere there is an evil spirit on a plane ready to inhabit another unsuspecting person. And I hope that person isn't sitting near me.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Spacelessness
There are times when I want to be alone - or at least have my own space. I'm beginning to think that I'm the rare bird. Like when I go into a public restroom - I love it when I have a choice of stalls! I walk past each, giving the door a little flip while I check the cleanliness of each. When I find the perfect one, I relax into my space. If I make a little "noise", I'm far enough away from the person at the other end of the room to not have to flush a few extra times, if you know what I mean! Invariably, the next person who comes in chooses the stall right next to mine. The restroom can be empty except for me - and the only other shoes I see are in the stall next to me.
Do I have some kind of bathroom pheromone that draws people to me?
The same thing happens on planes. The plane can be full except for the middle seats - they're all pretty much available. I can have my books, purse and coat on the middle seat and the first woman who walks in is magnetically drawn to the seat next to me. And it's not like they want to talk - they just have an irresistible urge to sit there. I'm watching everyone else on the plane stretching, elbows out as if there are getting ready to fly the plane themselves - while I'm squished against the window trying to do everything as if my arms had been tied against my waist. My range of motion consists of a limited front-ward movement of my forearms. Have you ever tried to open a peanut bag and drink you soda while your elbows feel like they are super glued to your sides? It does not make for a relaxing 2 hour flight.
And the woman in the middle seat acts oblivious to the grunts I make every time I try to turn the page on my newspaper or work on a sudoku puzzle. She seems perfectly content.
There is nothing special about me but maybe that's the draw. I'm pretty unassuming and look harmless. I am thinking of trying to change my image for the sake of some extra space. I'm pretty sure all it would take would be a clown wig for the plane and clown feet for the restroom. But, I'm afraid that the wig might draw the attention of airport security so maybe I could just put in fake rotten teeth and smile broadly at any woman looking my way. But with my luck, the woman will be a dentist with a lot of business cards.
I just thought of the perfect solution - one little item that can work for both the rest room and the middle seat. Easy to carry and easy to use - fake vomit.
Wish me luck!
Do I have some kind of bathroom pheromone that draws people to me?
The same thing happens on planes. The plane can be full except for the middle seats - they're all pretty much available. I can have my books, purse and coat on the middle seat and the first woman who walks in is magnetically drawn to the seat next to me. And it's not like they want to talk - they just have an irresistible urge to sit there. I'm watching everyone else on the plane stretching, elbows out as if there are getting ready to fly the plane themselves - while I'm squished against the window trying to do everything as if my arms had been tied against my waist. My range of motion consists of a limited front-ward movement of my forearms. Have you ever tried to open a peanut bag and drink you soda while your elbows feel like they are super glued to your sides? It does not make for a relaxing 2 hour flight.
And the woman in the middle seat acts oblivious to the grunts I make every time I try to turn the page on my newspaper or work on a sudoku puzzle. She seems perfectly content.
There is nothing special about me but maybe that's the draw. I'm pretty unassuming and look harmless. I am thinking of trying to change my image for the sake of some extra space. I'm pretty sure all it would take would be a clown wig for the plane and clown feet for the restroom. But, I'm afraid that the wig might draw the attention of airport security so maybe I could just put in fake rotten teeth and smile broadly at any woman looking my way. But with my luck, the woman will be a dentist with a lot of business cards.
I just thought of the perfect solution - one little item that can work for both the rest room and the middle seat. Easy to carry and easy to use - fake vomit.
Wish me luck!
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Customer Minus Service
Is it just me or have you noticed that customer service isn't what it used to be. When you go to a doctor you hope to get out with your self-esteem and a correct bill. (" Ma'am, you can undress in the rest room. We only have small gowns left but put it on and try to tie it in the back and then walk down the hall - past the waiting room -to the last door on the right".) Does anyone really want to see my posterior parts while they are reading "Natural Health" in the waiting room? I don't even get undressed in front of my dog to save him from eye trauma!
Going to a restaurant is even worse. I've been with people who don't want to cause a scene so will timidly say "Ahhh, I ordered salmon steak with a salad and you gave me a cheeseburger with onion rings. But that's OK." They give me a fish-face look if I try to get them to send it back. And if I complain about my order, I'm told that "Our friendship is getting strained by your behavior". My behavior? All I want is the food I ordered and the bill for my own food.
Even the post office falls short in this category. I don't mind that I have to place my mailbox next to the road since it is a short walk up my driveway to fetch the mail. But when I get a package, my mail carrier pulls into my driveway and beeps for me to come to the truck and retrieve it. It's about a 40 foot walk from my door to the mail truck. I don't want to cause a fuss because - well they have my mail and I never know when I might have a big, unexpected check coming.
We are so used to poor customer service that when someone does what they are supposed to do, we almost cry with gratitude and ask for their supervisor's name so we can send a letter of appreciation.
I recently had a malfunctioning electric composter. I emailed the company. They sent me a free postage label to mail it back and within 2 weeks, it was returned in working order. At first I thought I was being punked but when no one appeared with cameras, I realized that this was good customer service. I, of course, wrote an email to the company praising them for their fine work.
Some companies now have cards that customers can fill out when an employee does something "exceptional". I've been trying to think about what I would write on a card to describe exceptional service.
"Jane didn't glare at me as she usually does when I asked for a coffee re-fill."
"This time Rick didn't say, when I asked that my passport picture be taken again, 'lady, that's what you look like'".
I'm perfectly willing to call good customer service "exceptional" if it means that I get my next package delivered to my front porch - whatever works!
Going to a restaurant is even worse. I've been with people who don't want to cause a scene so will timidly say "Ahhh, I ordered salmon steak with a salad and you gave me a cheeseburger with onion rings. But that's OK." They give me a fish-face look if I try to get them to send it back. And if I complain about my order, I'm told that "Our friendship is getting strained by your behavior". My behavior? All I want is the food I ordered and the bill for my own food.
Even the post office falls short in this category. I don't mind that I have to place my mailbox next to the road since it is a short walk up my driveway to fetch the mail. But when I get a package, my mail carrier pulls into my driveway and beeps for me to come to the truck and retrieve it. It's about a 40 foot walk from my door to the mail truck. I don't want to cause a fuss because - well they have my mail and I never know when I might have a big, unexpected check coming.
We are so used to poor customer service that when someone does what they are supposed to do, we almost cry with gratitude and ask for their supervisor's name so we can send a letter of appreciation.
I recently had a malfunctioning electric composter. I emailed the company. They sent me a free postage label to mail it back and within 2 weeks, it was returned in working order. At first I thought I was being punked but when no one appeared with cameras, I realized that this was good customer service. I, of course, wrote an email to the company praising them for their fine work.
Some companies now have cards that customers can fill out when an employee does something "exceptional". I've been trying to think about what I would write on a card to describe exceptional service.
"Jane didn't glare at me as she usually does when I asked for a coffee re-fill."
"This time Rick didn't say, when I asked that my passport picture be taken again, 'lady, that's what you look like'".
I'm perfectly willing to call good customer service "exceptional" if it means that I get my next package delivered to my front porch - whatever works!
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