The most annoying things I can remember about call centers

All true stories:

* Punching in your account number only to have the operator who takes your call immediately ask for it again.

* Being asked to enter your PIN... number.

* Calling to enquire about the status of a credit card application and not being able to speak to a representative until you punch in a valid credit card number (???)

* Getting "Emily", the automated voice-recognition customer service agent, on the line. Or worse, the guy version of "Emily", who always ends up saying "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Could you repeat that please?" after I'm swearing and hoping THAT'S being &$^\@(^ recorded for quality control purposes!

* Getting a "smart" voice maze that REPEATS the ENTIRE menu back to you if you DARE press 0 before letting the recorded voice get to the part of the message where it finally says "... and if you wish to speak to an operator, please dial 0 now".

* Speaking to "Steve", a human who tells you your application status is "approved pending action". Then the next day speaking to "pronounces Other like Auto" who tells you, actually, there's no record whatsoever of your application. No, really.

* Getting asked what "your favourite colour" is as a security question.

* Having to explain your situation all over to each new person who takes your call. Every month because every month they forget to apply your 15% bundle discount. "I'm putting a note in your file to make sure this doesn't happen again". Riiiight.

Part-time Roommates

Now the phone at my place rings all the time, and it's never for me. Good thing I got that old school answering machine that lets me screen calls. Calls that *could* be for me, but aren't.

They're for my part-time roommate, Courtney Wing. Remember he stayed here while my mother and I were in Cape Cod? He's still looking for an apartment (3.5, no roommates, in the Plateau/Mile-End if you know if a place) and all the prospects are calling to make appointments. No luck so far, but a few close ones. I guess it's rough finding a place these days. Makes me even more certain of staying put for a few more years.

I don't know where Courtney's staying these days, but basically having a part-time roommate means I share space with his duffel bag and assorted belongings (all discreetly tucked under the dining room table) and occasionally come home to find another human being sitting at my desk. It's all good: it means the benefits of a roommate (chats, airtime for my crazy dramas) with little of the annoyances (I think we all know what those are).

In other news, Canadians' number one more feared scenario has happened to me: my identity was stolen! That's right, someone has attempted to purchase about $1200 + in "computer software" using my credit card number. The card itself is safely in my wallet, but some meanie has obtained the number and is trying to scam me. I noticed because my available credit dropped radically and I contacted the bank. Thank goodness I didn't have to go through the confusion of trying to purchase something only to be told my card is out of money. Absurd! So now the account is closed (are you reading that, you crazy thief!?). I'm leaving Monday for Vegas which means, once more, I have to travel without a credit card. Sucks. I can't believe I'll have to use cash; it's so passé.

A day for goodbyes

1) My mother left Montreal this afternoon, after 23 days back on the continent. I would call it a successful trip, especially considering that when she left here on December 25, 1989, she never thought she'd come back. We wrapped it up with mass at Saint Ignatius to see everyone's favourite Jesuit Irish priest, Father Fitz. Obviously ran into Andrea MacDonald and Colleen Feeney, as well as my mother's friend Nora.

2) The fish are gone and now there's an empty space on my dining room table. I've been babysitting Annie's fish this summer. The sweet, adorable fish that brought one more stabilizing routine to my life. But alas, they're gone now, back to their home. I'll be okay.

peor que nieve

Hoy ha llovido todo el día en Montreal. Parece invierno en Santiago. Hacen 16 grados parejos, mañana o noche, y la lluvia es matadora. Por suerte existe un sistema interconectado de malls subterráneos en el centro -donde fuimos de shopping con mi mamá esta tarde- porque si no sería imposible. El ratito que estuvimos afuera, en busca de un programa del Festival Internacional de Cine de Montreal, es a lo que me refiero con el título del post. Los zapatos llenos de agua, la falda larga mojada y helada, y el viento forzándonos a hacer maniobras con los paraguas para no perderlos.

Pero al fin saqué esos pantalones grises de tela más delgada que quería hace meses, y mi mamá encontró regalo para mi abuelita, y otro regalo para Axel y uno para la Inés, su "cleaning lady", como se le dice correctamente aquí.

Sigue lloviendo a esta hora, y creo que sólo mis plantas son felices en el balcón. Eso incluye a mi hibisco que estoy en proceso de recuperar de una sobre-hidratación. Ya sé, estar en la lluvia suene como lo contrario de lo debido, pero es que le cambié el macetero a uno de greda, le puse piedrecitas debajo para que no quede "sentado" en el agua, y le saqué las hojas amarillas así que creo que va a estar mejor... Doctora Vegetación me pondrán decir algún día. "Doctora, qué hago, siento que mi albaca no crece suficiente." "Ah, niña, yo antes era como tú", diré "y hasta maté a una orquídea por no saber. Mira, esto es lo que debes hacer..." jaja

Mañana parte mi mamá devuelta a esa ciudad de locos que ustedes llaman Santiago. El post de la Bárbara SM habla de un nuevo bar y siento que ya me sé esa historia, aunque me alegro mucho por ella que tenga un nuevo placer en mano. Creo que mi mamá está contenta en Santiago como yo acá. Así sucede con las historias de vida diferentes. Ella creció allá, se siente cómoda. Yo, al contrario, me siento a gusto acá, y ¡qué dos lugares más diferentes!

Este día de lluvia, creo, fue un poco para confirmarle a ella que tiene toda la razón de odiar nuestro clima, jaja. Sólo unos pocos podemos soportarla y me cuento entre ellos, gracias a Dios.

The Bridges of Chittenden County

I hope Blogger resolves it's picture uploading issues once and for all and then I'll be able to complete the Tourist-Snatched post and this one.

On our way back to Montreal, my mother and I stopped at a Visitors Center to get a map of Vermont. I had mentioned Vermont's covered bridges in the car earlier and my mother asked the clerk if there were any nearby. We were on the highway next to Lake Champlain and he explained that we'd have to go further into the state.

At first, I thought we would have to miss the bridges, since getting away from the Lake meant getting away from our final destination. But looking closer at the map -the bridge locations are marked by little icons- I notices we could take only a small detour, up a country road, and quickly reconnect to the expressway. And there were TWO covered bridges on that route.

As Courtney's reaction to my account showed me, not everyone knows what a covered bridge is. This is where Blogger's picture uploading would come in handy but alas. So I'll explain (and try not to make it as confusing as the tourist-snatched thing). A covered bridge is a wooden span over a small river, and it's unique feature is that it has walls and a roof! You can drive through some of them, and you can walk through others, I think depending on their state (not THE state). I know there are lots of them in Vermont and I understand there are some in other parts of the US and Canada. *

The funny thing about our little detour to see these two bridges was that, of course, we didn't know *where* in each town the bridge would be. We assumed these towns would put up a sign to point out their only tourist attraction right? Wrong. No signs. At the first place (a road crossing more than a town) we stopped by a man pumping gas and asked him. "Ha! It's right there!" "Where?" "Right there." And there it was, around the bend, just sitting under some tall trees. There was no plaque or anything. It had been replaced by a newer bridge but was still sitting over the river. We parked the car and walked through it. A couple of teenaged girls followed us later. Just another day in rural Vermont.

At the second town the no-big-deal attitude was even more pronounced, possibly because we stopped to ask two prepubescent boys about the location of their town's covered bridge. It was more of a "duh, right over there" answer. "Where?" "Right there." This one you could drive through, which was fun too. And at the end of the bridge was a small fruits and vegetables stand with two men -one inside, one outside- talking. We asked for directions back to the Interstate and that was the end of our little sidetrip through cow country. My mother said there weren't enough cows.


*Canada has the longest covered bridge in the world, according to Wikipedia. It's in New Brunswick. And Quebec apparently has almost 100 covered bridges. Go Canada!

Tourist-snatched

So I'll break down the stories from our trip to the Cape. One of the main things we wanted to do was visit Martha's Vineyard, an island south of the cape, across a body of water called Nantucket Sound, close to Rhode Island and Long Island, NY. The part of MV we wanted to visit is called Edgartown, where years ago my mother bought me a beautiful batik dress. It's a beautiful, too-perfect town full of old school hardcore preppies and the tourists that follow them around, like us. There's a marina and it seems like everyone sails or yachts or otherwise spends time on the water, which is AWESOME. Wouldn't you love to spend a week like that?

So, back to my story. The only way to get to the Vineyard -if you don't want to go the air/sea route of John John and his bride Carolyn- is by ferry. There are ferries from Hyannis Port, Falsmouth, and Woods Hole, each of which is progressively further West along the bottom of the Cape. After some invetigation, my mom and I decided the best one was the one departing drom Falsmouth: the Pied Piper. Unlike the one at Woods Hole, it's a passenger-only ferry (no cars or trucks) and it's a shorter ride than the Hyannis one.

We took our measly maps and drove toward Falsmouth. When we reached the town we realized we had no idea where the dock was. An AM radio station emitted a loop of staticky information that we couldn't make out. We thought for sure there'd be a sign and eventually saw one that said "Vineyard Boat". At the end of its route was a far-away parking lot. Worse than that, you just got a stub there and were directed to *another* parking lot, somewhat closer to where we figured the water was. The other parking lot ("Sun Parking") was the worst -the WORST- I have ever seen, and I've lived in South America. The attendants told us where to park and when we got there, and saw it was impossible, other attendants gave us different directions. Repeat. Repeat. It's a big dirt lot with cars so tightly packed, only Michael Schumacher could pull in. Anyway, I finally parked. We got on one of the buses that we had been told would shuttle us to the ferry departure. My mother got a seat, but I didn't and had to withstand bumping from some elfish teenager's big butt ("tee hee! I don't want to hold on, mom! tee hee, I like falling"). Oh yeah, I pushed her back.

We rode and rode and rode until it became all too obvious we had been hijacked and were being taken to WOODS HOLE! Wrong ferry dock, so far away, I could've driven there myself. Woods Hole is a big operation, with tons of people, cars and trucks. We spent the ride next to some women who made friends on the journey and were complaining about Bush, the war, US national security... I don't know... kind of lame.

Anyway, that's that for now. Sorry it's not a "tighter" story. I'm looking at the time. Gotta go pick up the rental (again) to drive my mother to Ottawa for the day.

please stay tuned in

We're back from the Cape. Too tired to write about it all right now, but I can say we managed to pack in just about every possible item on the imaginary list:

-Martha's Vineyard, Chappaquiddick
-walking out on the bay during low tide, seeing the fish and other creatures in tide pools
-the Natural History museum's forest and marsh trail
-drive by the mini-golfs in Hyannis and Yarmouth
-getting tourist-snatched by a ferry company
-expensive and yummy seafood (scallops! swordfish!)
-visit to a restored Cape mansion (was a FAT camp at one point)
-driving for hoooouuuurs through most of New England
-lots of old white people
-a book sale (can you say James Clavell?)
-a chipmunk, a couple of rabbits, some heron, a cardinal...
-even shopping at TJ Maxx!

More importantly: PRISION BREAK premieres tonight and I don't have cable!

Baby Axel, Isabelita

Who were you in 1980?

“All the world’s a stage and all the men and women, merely players.“

I used to do Shakespeare when I was a kid.

The players have definitely been all over the stage lately. I ran into Tom on St. Laurent yesterday afternoon. My first reaction was “oh, crap”. Nothing personal, it’s just that I have no idea now how the encounter is supposed to go; how is each person expecting the other to behave. Pure baloney of the kind I haven’t eaten in 13 years. I just walked up to him, as he floated around a group of young girls, and said “hi, how’s it going”. There were no Quebec kisses or Latin American pecks, or a single light touch. The concept of people not touching each other is bizarre to me, not just in this situation but always. It reminds me of the movie Crash (not the Cronenberg one) and I heart Huckabees (“there’s glass between us”). It makes life seem unreal.

I spent the evening watching possibly my favourite novel’s miniseries –Shogun- with Alex. It came out on tv in 1980, and I must have watched it, because my parents always say how when I was about 5 (1980) I used to say I could speak Japanese and when prompted to do so would say “Hai!” But I’m not sure. There’s also a version of this story where I had a Japanese teacher in one of my classes. In 1980-1981 I liked punks, I asked Santa Claus for a red miniskirt and the Joan Jett album and I got both (score!). I never got the black leather miniskirt I asked for though. My mother said, “little girls don’t wear black” which is BS because I owned a black velvet dress with a white lace collar.

Anyway. Court-NEY is coming to Montreal. I thought it was a quick visit but he plans to stick it out all winter, which is bizarre considering he’s said he can’t stand Montreal winter. On top of it, he plans to record another CD this winter. I told him that would be one depressing CD. “We’ll see”, he said, and I agree. Anyway, he’s arriving tonight and staying on my popular inflatable guestbed for the weekend. I’m so glad he’s back! Maybe a bunch of us can get together and convince him this is still the place to be.

Tonight is the all girl dinner with my mother and 5 or 6 of my good girlfriends, at the Taj downtown. A fancypants Indian restaurant for my mother, the great fan of all things Indian. In 1980-1981 my best friends were an Indian brother and sister duo. They were hilarious and I was always sure, after that, that Indians had the best sense of humour.

Thursday is payday, which means: tickets to Osheaga and possibly reserving my room for Emily’s wedding in October. Friday my mother and I get in another rented car and take off for the cool side of Cape Cod. Horseshoe crabs and crawfish, here we come.

Doh!

See the good -and funny/scary- point this guy makes about how we're being asked to dispose of liquids and gels at airports these days. [Opens in a new window.]

Compostage

Siento que les debía un post en español, ya que la mayoría de los que me dejan comentario hablan castellano y son tan amorosos de leerme en inglés igual.

Hoy fui a un taller de compostage. No tengo idea si se dice o escribe así pero si no, bueno, lo estoy inventando. Es el proceso biológico de descomposición de la materia orgánica. A una cuadra de mi casa hay unas grandes cajas de madera con tapa donde los vecinos inscritos pueden dejar su basura orgánica (léase cáscaras de huevo, naranja, cortes de planta, restos de verduras, etc) y con el tiempo, y mezclado con hojas, se convierte en tierra compostada (?) que es muy rica para las plantas.

Bueno, llamé hace meses para inscribirme y había lista de espera. Me llamaron de vuelta ahora y fui a este corto taller ahí mismo. Me dieron instrucciones para el uso y las llaves a estas cajas. Mi papá ya me había dado un baldecito de plástico donde juntar mis materias y así que pronto iré con mi primera basura orgánica a colaborar en la salvación del planeta. Yupi!

***
Mi tía Ellen y mi primo Sebastián se fueron hoy de Montreal. Ayer vinieron a despedirse y los llevé a pasear por el parque Lafontaine, que queda detrás de mi casa. Es un enorme parque urbano, con una laguna -creo que he hablado de ella durante el invierno porque ahí se patina- y canches de tenis, béisbol, fútbol, bocci, área para los perros, teatro al aire libre, centro cultural, etc. Verlos a ellos admirando esta ciudad me hace quererla aún más, y eso que la quiero harto ya. Renueva mi entusiasmo por la isla en el río San Lorenzo, donde se vive bien y tranquilamente y con placer. Siempre digo que lo mejor de Montreal es su vida cotidiana. A pesar de lo espectacular los festivales en verano, y la "joie de vivre" (alegría de vivir) que se le atribuye al pueblo quebecois, para mí lo más destacable es lo rica de la vida normal en esta ciudad. Eso es mucho mejor que un palacio municipal, una carretera a todo lujo, el chef más famoso, la octava maravilla del mundo en tu patio trasero. Supongo que es lo que llaman calidad de vida.

Ah? Qué tal? Ah? ;)

Driving for Health

Since the old car was towed away for security reasons, my mother and I rented a car (another PT Cruiser) to drive to Potsdam today. I feel like my mom's visit is one very looong conversation. I sorted out all my accumulated shopping impulses at the ever heavenly TJ Maxx at the St Lawrence County Mall in Massena. I got myself a pair of those cute wedges that are so in style this summer. No bra, though, Amy. They just didn't have my size. Sucks to be beautiful.

I love to drive. I got to come back on my own, since my mother is staying in upstate NY until Sunday. I’ll be meeting her again on Saturday. It was simply great to drive back straight (no stops!) and be home in 2.5 hours. Modern highway driving hardly requires any attention at all. I found myself zoning out to music and imagining the most elaborate scenarios. My favourite. There’s something quite special about driving by yourself with the radio on, don’t you agree?

***
We had dinner at Ouzerie on Gilford and St Denis on Monday night. Super! The cheese flambe is definitely a must. Quefalo... something. That's the name of the cheese they pour Sambuca on and then, well, you know, light on fire. Delicious. So was everything else at Ouzerie.

To The Birds

Yesterday my dad, my mom, my aunt, my cousin and I went for a trip. We drove up in my dad's "new" car (old car was left leaking half a tank of gas onto the street) to Park Mont-Tremblant where we spent the afternoon having a bbq picnic in a quiet nook on Lac au Sables. We tanned, napped, and rented a canoe. Thank you, Martha, canoe instructor at Camp Oureau in the 80s, for at least showing me how to direct a canoe! The lake was windy and I'm glad there was a sheltered bay to one side or I would never have been able to steer in the open water. My younger cousin is 22 and had never canoed, but he did a great job.

We saw a loon on the lake. Un huard. Later I saw a big red fox. Un gros renard rouge. And when we were driving out, we saw a deer. Un chevreuil! We visited a beaver dam but didn't see any beavers (castors). We did see mushrooms and caterpillar nests (or whatever they're called. They look like spider webs). I also pulled some dry birch bark to show my aunt and cousin how paperlike it is.

Before leaving the huge park, we stopped by La Chute Du Diable, a staggered waterfall facing a wall of rock and vegetation. My mother pointed out some strange waxy white flowers, about 10 cms tall including the stem -also white and waxy. Very weird. We decided they must be a fungus, anyone know?

All in all it was 12 hours of family fun, and no one poked anyone's eyes out with a blazing iron.

A little epilogue for the pleasure of those in the know: the leaky car? got towed. I went to check if it was parked properly (I couldn't remember the parking restrictions on that corner) and, well, it was gone. I called the borough, then I called the city, then I called the police and then I called the towing company that has it. They say a tow truck has to pick it up and take it to a garage because it's unsafe to drive. No news there. My father says it's fine as long as it only has half a tank of gas. See what we're working with here? Half a tank of gas only! Haha. I hope I get wheels for tomorrow's trip to Potsdam. It's Sarita's birthday and since my present was this entire vacation, I'm taking the liberty of dropping her off in the US of A for a week, heh heh.

24 hours to go!

My mom is arriving in Montreal in about 24 hours, people! This is exciting for several reasons. One, my mother hasn't been back here in 17 years. Seventeen years is how long she was married (I remembered; she didn't) to my dad. Someone get me a medal. Also, she never thought she'd come back. Until last year, her favourite daughter called up to say Happy Birthday and "how about coming to visit?". So now it's been a year and the time is now. Isn't it great?

I've rented an apartment for her, since mine won't house 2 for that long (unless you are very, very hot). We've got trips planned to Cape Cod, Ottawa, Quebec, and the cultural center of upstate New York, Potsdam! We also have a family picnic in the Laurentians this weekend, and I'm planning a dinner with her and some of my close friends. So awesome.

My mom, 1971: "stop the car!!" (just kidding!)

***
My dad doesn't know it yet, but I have a present for him. I bought him a reproduction of an old Inn poster in Victoria last winter and I've finally had it properly framed. I'm bringing it to him this afternoon when I go pick up his old car, that he's lending me for the duration of my mother's visit.

Amy sent me a reproduction with a Robert Frost poem on the back (I actually share Mr. Frost's birthday, I think) that I also had framed. It was my splurge for the bi-weekly period. It looks beautiful, Amy. It's now hanging in my apartment and even though the poem is covered, I can remember it everytime I look at the picture. Thanks!

***
Messages:
Amy Baty & Jus: thanks guys! what a nice surprise to see you in my comments. Beaucoup d'amour pour vous, les belles. See you next year, I hope!

Amy P: I always think of you when I think of unkempt gardens, who else? And I think the word was "preppy" :)

Have a great weekend everyone. It's still summah!

You can't sleep here tonight

The city is going to disallow staying in downtown (Ville-Marie) parks after midnight and until 6am. They say it's a summer problem, of people "in transit" (ie bums from elsewhere) who leave "a mess". "It doesn't look so nice" is what the spokesperson from the city said on the radio this morning.

I consider myself inextricably urban. I have never lived in anything like the country (maybe Nuns' Island in the late 70s, early 80s counts, since it was mostly field and forest back then) and I don't dedicate more than 0.2% of my fantasy life to a life off the grid. HOWEVER, in my romps through town I can't help mourn the erasing of natural space, ie earth. Since my neighbourhood used to be several villages, I imagine what it was like when instead of all the houses and building, there were empty spaces (wide open spaces, i heart huckabees?) between less edifications. I wonder why we haven't bothered saving a plot per block as a refreshing park view. And the thing that irks me the most are the houses and apartment buildings that have covered what was once their front lawn with asphalt. Can you undo that, if you wanted to?

I love gardens, flowers, plants. It seems like a crime to block it all up with cement. Even an unkempt garden in summer is more beautiful than a flat piece of nothingness.

Anyway, this has to do with the park thing because it's one more way in which cities seem to want to stop being a part of the natural world, and want to, I don't know, put a glass ceiling over our heads so even the weather can be controlled? I wouldn't put it past this city or any other. So far, the only justice I see in the world is that no matter how rich the country, its people still have to put up with the weather. Hooray! Isn't it great to be reminded, at least a little bit, that we're all the same?

So what makes us different, in essence, from those "transient" bums?

***
My back bike tire got busted. Don't know how. Left the bike parked at Sherbrooke metro the night of the storm (went to the driving range with Button) and when I got back, I had to ride my busted bike in the pouring rain. Who hates me?

My aunt and cousin are in town for a while. My mother arrives on Saturday and we're all going for a picnic this weekend.

Had waaay too much sushi last night at the all you can eat (but get charged for if you leave food behind) Odaki buffet. With old Laserites Dan, Dave, GF, Marie-Eve and current ones Yu-Shan, Eric and ME!