Now Playing: Misty Mountain Hop, by Led Zeppelin. “Walkin’ in the park just the other day, baby, What do you, what do you think I saw? Crowds of people sittin’ on the grass with flowers in their hair said, “Hey, Boy, do you wanna score?” And you know how it is. I really don’t know what time it was, So I asked them if I could stay a while.”
I declared in Tuesday’s blog that I wouldn’t watch the Tar Heels play against Evansville last night. The reason: I hadn’t watched Saturday, and they won a big game against Kentucky. So superstition dictated that I wouldn’t watch again until they lost.
But early yesterday afternoon, I found a loophole. It was unwittingly provided by my wise and wonderful wife, who declared we were going to have cheese steaks for supper. What do cheese steaks have to do with it, you ask?
Well, it turns out that not watching the game Saturday wasn’t the only out-of-routine thing I did. I also took Garrett out to eat, and he chose the restaurant, Jersey Mike’s in Matthews. We split a cheese steak.
So the way I viewed it, it could have been the cheese steak just as easily as the not-watching-the-game that prompted the victory. So I decided to test the theory last night.
Since I watched the game and ate a cheese steak, it must have the sammy.
So I’m good to go with watching my beloved Heels again. (And it might be a good idea to buy stock in Jersey Mike’s, since I could be eating a lot of Phillies between now and the end of the season.
Here’s the … And Other Stuff.
Customer service, Part One
I posted this on Facebook after it happened, but I didn’t give the whole story. I went to buy an electronics item for a Christmas present at a local store that’s part of a chain that isn’t named Worst Purchase. It was one of those gadgets that they keep locked up – I understand the reasoning. I struggled for several minutes finding someone to help. Finally, someone who looked like a manager-type asked if I needed help. I told him yes and what I wanted. He said he was helping someone else but that he’d find someone to give me a hand.
A few minutes later, a young woman approached (I’d later find out she was also a manager type, despite her apparent youth). I told her what I needed, she opened the case and got what I thought was the item out. As seems to be the custom these days, they don’t let you handle these locked up items until you pay. But I was still OK. Then we went to the register. Turns out my 10% off coupon wouldn’t work – it was one of the exclusions on the back in the small print that I couldn’t begin to read. That was OK, too. Then she tried to sell me an extended warranty. No thanks. I’m starting to get a little bit agitated, but I’m not Hulking up. Yet. Then she rang up the item and the price was way more than I’d planned on. Turned out she’d grabbed a higher end item than I’d asked for. That was it. Arthur didn’t smash, but he did stomp out of the store that isn’t named Worst Purchase muttering under his breath.
A couple of days later, I e-mailed the company that isn’t named Worst Purchase to complain about my experience. I don’t know what I expected to happen, but it did make me feel better. I did expect an e-mail back, maybe a $5 gift certificate or something to make me feel better. What I got was, about a day-and-a-half later, a phone call. Cool, I thought. The caller from the company that isn’t named Worst Purchase told me he was sorry, asked the location of the store and thanked me for alerting them to the problem. And that was it.
Customer service, Part Deux
We decided this year to get our Christmas tree this year from one of the lots that springs up around the Indian Trail metro area. We usually buy one from a company that isn’t named High’s, that doesn’t have red as its main logo color and has its headquarters in a town that isn’t called Lessville. See, the last couple of years we’ve gone to the store that isn’t named High’s, we’ve had trouble being waited on in the Christmas tree department. Employees, once found, have only grudgingly sawed off the bottom of the tree and bagged it for us.
So we decided to go the lot route. One has been operating for a few years on the road leading to our subdivision. Another sprung up this year across the street, and the two seem to be doing gaudiness battle with one another. We decided to cross both off the list. A little further away, in uptown Indian Trail, there was a lot called Timber Ridge. We decided to give it a try.
Turns out this was the anti-Worst Purchase/High’s. Timber Ridge – which is its real name – is run by a guy from Boone named Steve and his family. He posted his prices so we could seem them from the street. He showed us the lot, pretty much told us when each of the trees we were interested in had been cut, then cleared out to let us make our decision. When we selected one, he took it out, cut the bottom off, bagged it and offered to take our check for it. Then – and I found this unbelievable – he tied it to our car with HIS rope, not ours.
Pretty sure we’ll go back there next year.
You’d better watch out …
We put the tree up Sunday, after cutting a couple more small branches off so it would fit in our latest stand. (We probably have owned more Christmas-tree stands than any house this side of the Biltmore.) So we had a little pine foliage left over.
Which gave me an idea. I like to put the windows up when it’s not too hot/cold outdoors. Problem is, the primary window won’t stay up – there’s a broken seal or something. So we’ve used a variety of things to keep it up. Rulers are nice, but they break. So for past two or three months, I’ve been using a 32-ounce can of baked beans to hold the window up.
It works great and doesn’t break, but it does look a little funny to have a can of baked beans sitting on your window sill.
But that’s not what we have now. We have a beandeer, with the photo going right here.
Hope you’re having a Murray Christmas!