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Dear Delta,

I thought we were exclusive. I thought you cared. But then you wanted a three-way with WestJet.

It’s not OK.

I’m monogamous. I’m loyal. I booked my trip to be with you.

But then you were all, “I have this big project in L.A. and I can’t take you to Vancouver. WestJet will take you.”

And WestJet is the college roommate whose tooth got knocked out in a bar fight. And he might have herpes. And toe fungus.

WestJet had a few screws loose — literally.

WestJet did not inspire confidence. WestJet treated me like some random person when I’m used to the special treatment I get from you, Delta, because you recognize how much time and money I spend with you. WestJet turned on the air and wanted to charge me for a blanket. Delta, are you listening to me?

Yes, I know: #firstworldproblems.

But I care about our relationship, and I want to make it work. Make it up to me: Take me out, treat me well, and we can forget this ever happened.

Deal?

Loyally yours,
Beth

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1280px-IHOP_Restaurant_logo.svgDear IHOP:

To borrow from Taylor Swift, “Why you gotta be so mean?

Let me explain.

My family and I recently visited the newly open restaurant in Pooler. We walked in and immediately were struck by the fact that servers outnumbered diners four to one. When I asked for a booth, the hostess gave me such a dirty look that I backed down and meekly took the table.

It was our server’s second day on the job and about to be her last, she said. Why? The owners and corporate reps were in town — hence the reason there were about 24 servers on duty. She said servers weren’t making any money because they had just a couple of tables all day. (This explains why we had to sit at a certain table.)

I watched her carry our four drinks, spilling mine because she didn’t have a tray. “Why don’t you have a tray?,” I asked, remembering my days as a server at Western Sizzlin’. She said there were only a couple of trays in the whole restaurant, and they could only use them for certain purposes. Carrying drinks apparently was not one of them.

Um … what?!?

I’m a chatty sort, so chat we did. She told me all the servers had just been barked at by one of the suits because they had too many cutlery bundles on the tables. They had put four bundles out for a four-person table. That makes sense to me, but it is not OK in IHOPland. Four-tops get two bundles; six-tops get four. No wonder we always have to ask for silverware.

o

I happened to spot one of the suits. As I was riled up, I marched over to talk to him. Topics: excessive amount of servers, trays, silverware. This fellow, a vice president according to his business card, could not have been smarmier. He was incredibly dismissive of me and simply said that “corporate” has determined all of the policies so that all IHOPs are the same.

Here’s an excerpt from our conversation:

Me: “But not allowing trays makes it harder for servers to do their jobs.”

Him: “They can use trays.”

Me: “They can’t use trays to carry drinks.”

Him: “No, they can. They just can’t put the trays on the table.”

Me: “But no one is using trays here.”

Him: “Yes, they are.”

Our server: (overhearing conversation but out of the VP’s eye line, meets my eyes and shakes her head, “No.”)

I did not see anyone use a tray the entire time I was there.

Another excerpt:

Me: “It doesn’t seem logical that tables for four people would only have two bundles of silverware.”

Him: “Yes, it does. IHOP corporate wants all IHOPs to look the same when customers walk in.”

Me: “But they could look the same if they had the right amount of silverware on the tables as well. We always have to ask for silverware.”

Him: “The hostess should count the number of people and bring the amount needed.”

Me: “Well, first of all, that makes extra work for people, which doesn’t make sense. Second, our hostess didn’t bring two extra bundles for us.”

Him: “Yes, she did.”

Me: (Looking at him with my patented “Are you effing kidding me?” glare) OK. I give up.

Good job, IHOP, for selecting a person for a vice president role who has such a handle on (inane) IHOP policies yet a complete inability to grasp why policies exist: to help customers have an enjoyable dining experience and want to return.

So we are not going to return. Sorry, IHOP. You need to rethink your rules and leadership.

Came hungry, left unhappy,
Beth

 

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Screen Shot 2015-05-14 at 9.16.35 AMDear Verlene:

I want to help you — I do — but I don’t know what a “sex body” is. Maybe you should send me a link. Is it like one of those blow-up dolls they sell in adult stores? If so, I really can’t help you. Here’s a link so you can shop online.

Wait — maybe it wasn’t a good idea to share that link with you. Is that the “shit” to which you refer?

If I want to get in touch with you, why wouldn’t I just reply to your message? The email address you shared isn’t like any I’ve ever seen. I did a quick search and found this:

Screen Shot 2015-05-28 at 10.49.46 AMWho is Jennell, Verlene? Who else are you contacting with the same message? I thought you loved me for me, and now I find out that I’m just some random person to you! How can you call yourself the “one and only?”

We’re through, Verlene. 

Over you already,
Beth

 

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The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.
— Robert Frost

Dear Life:

I want to register a complaint: I’m not happy to be aging. Don’t get me wrong — It’s definitely better than the alternative of death. (I’m fully aware that the non-aging circumstance of Adaline only exists on screen.)

Just when I feel like I am mentally hitting my prime, my body begins to betray me. A list of complaints:

1. Wrinkles
When did this crow land on my face? What is happening to me? I went to see a plastic surgeon to discuss removing a weird vein on my leg. My leg! But he took one look at my face and said, “You need Botox. You probably should consider a forehead lift.” Gee, thanks.

2. Crepey skin
Whose zombie hands are these? I use sunscreen and plenty of potions to keep my paws supple.  Why do they look like this?

Peach3. Slower metabolism
There’s more of me than there should be. It would be easily remedied with regular visits to the gym. Ain’t nobody got time for that. So I’m on what I call my Cruise Diet. (So called because I did it last year in preparation for our summer cruise. I didn’t want anyone to see me on deck and try to throw me back in the water.) You may ask, “What is this diet?” Think of everything you like to eat and drink. Yeah, well, you can’t have any of it. No dairy, sugar, pasta, grains or alcoholic beverages. I’m reduced to eating grass clippings and palm fronds. It works, though.

4. Jacked-up joints
Last weekend, I was peacefully curled up on the couch enjoying a marathon of recorded episodes of “The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon” (’cause this gal can’t stay up that late). I stood up to get some unsweetened tea (the only thing I can drink besides water) and my hip gave out. That’s a WTF moment if I’ve ever had one. I had to laugh. It’s not funny, though. Not really.

5. Memories
Last week, I actually started a sentence with, “Back in my day.” Good GOD! What have I become? I remember a world without cable, remotes, computers and cellphones. Excuse me while I retrieve my walker.

I’m at that point where I know I’m too old for certain clothes (crop tops), certain activities (climbing on top of the dryer to reach something on the top shelf in the laundry room) and certain people (no Nathan Kress — yes, Freddie from iCarly — unless he hunts cougars).

The wisest are the most annoyed at the loss of time.
— Dante Alighieri

So thanks, Life. Thanks for giving me the wisdom to realize how good my 20s were.

Yours in dismay,
Granny Beth

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Honi soit qui mal y pense*

being-away-clarity-insane-thinking-of-you-ecard-someecardsDear Villain in My Life:

Hi there! It’s been a while since I thought of you. I hear you are at it again, though, smiling coolly while your internal evil furnace blasts away.

If people only knew all the lies you’ve told. You got what you wanted, but look at the cost. (Wait … do you see the cost? Hmmm … maybe not. You always were quite short-sighted.)

I think you actually believe some of the stories you’ve told though; you’ve told the lies enough times that you now think they are true. Don’t worry; I still remember what really happened. I have proof if you ever need a reality check.

Villainy, when detected, never gives up, but boldly adds impudence to imposture.
— Oliver Goldsmith

Someday I will make you a character in a book I write and I’ll use your words and deeds to make millions. I wouldn’t even have to write well. Just look at E.L. James’ success!

For me, living well really is the best revenge.

You, of course, are living the life you deserve.

Carry on,
Beth

* Motto of the Order of the Garter (Translation: Shamed be he who thinks evil of it.)

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Dear Embassy Suites Baymeadows Management:

My friend Tammy and I stayed at your property recently. I made the reservation via the hotel website, which indicated that the atrium was under renovation. I didn’t understand this to mean your hotel is a full-blown construction site. 



The atrium, such as it is





View from the breakfast table



View from the room



I really don’t think you should be open during this renovation.

I certainly don’t think you should be hosting an anime convention AND trying to accommodate regular guests, all while under construction. 



Furries saunter through the atrium



It was like an anime prom: high school kids chaperoned by beleaguered parents



Complete with dance party



And puppy pile of those too exhausted to dance



For “regular” guests, there was nowhere to go for peace. The pool was even overrun by a pack of hormonal teen boys.



It was an … interesting experience. It wasn’t one I’d like to repeat. So please post this warning on your website to spare others the discomfort we felt:

Warning: Hotel is a construction site that may be infested with teenagers high on testosterone and/or the thrill of trading Pokemon cards.

That should do it.

Thanks for your consideration,

Beth

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E78PostOffice
Dear USPS deciders-in-chief:

I avoid the Fahm Street branch of the U.S. Postal Service in Savannah because the agents working there are always so unpleasant. Today was by far the worst “service” I’ve ever experienced. What follows is exactly what happened to Eddie, the kids and me today when we arrived for our passport renewal appointment referenced in my last post.

Scene: Two women working the counter. Each has a customer. I am the next person in line.

Woman 1: (Nametag covered by sweater) Can I help you?
Me: I’m here to renew a child’s and an adult’s passport.
Woman 1: (Looks at me blankly for at least five seconds while I look back. It lasts so long that I begin to wonder if I had actually spoken words to her.) The child doesn’t have to be here to renew the passport.

(This seems like an odd thing to say. It doesn’t change my reason for standing in front of her.)

Me: Yes, he actually does, along with both parents.
Woman 2 (to Woman 1): (As if we are not standing there) Do they have an appointment?
Woman 1 (to me): Do you have an appointment?
Me: Yes, at 2:15.
Woman 1: (Sighs and goes to get a book from the back then returns to the counter) Your name?
Me: Concepción
Woman 1: (Looks at me as if my name is an affront to all that she values in life, then looks at the book again) What’s that name?
Me: Concepción. C-O-N-C-E-P-C-I-O-N. 2:15 today.
Woman 1: (Apparently finding my name) Wait over there or in the chairs. It doesn’t matter. She’ll be with you in a moment.
Me: Who will be with me?
Woman 1: (Indicates Woman 2 with her head)

Waiting commences. We watch Woman 1 be unfriendly to four more customers. Woman 2 finishes passport paperwork for her customer.

Woman 2: (To the whole lobby, even though we are standing four feet in front of her and facing her) Concepción!
Me: I have a child and adult passport renewal.
Woman 2: (Nametag reads “Mrs. B. Mobley”) We don’t do adult renewals here.
Me: (Smiling and trying to be friendly) OK, but I can mail it from here.
Mrs. B. Mobley: (Looks at me in a hostile manner) Yes.

I hand her my materials. She looks at Dominic’s photo.

Mrs. B. Mobley: This photo is not the right format. The face is too close. Our camera is broken. You can send it in anyway and see if they contact you.
Me: I followed the instructions on the U.S. Department of State website …
Mrs. B. Mobley: (Cutting me off) That is not my concern. I asked you if you wanted to send it in as is and see if they process it or contact you for a different photo.
Me: (Noting her condescending tone and reflecting my dissatisfaction with a tightness around my eyes and mouth) Yes. I want to send it in.

She fills out paperwork while I make sure Eddie’s renewal paperwork is in order. In a very clipped tone, she requests various things such as signatures, a check for the renewal, and a $25 processing fee (!). (I have to pay for the five minutes it takes to have this paperwork processed by a surly employee?)

Me: (After watching how she attaches Dominic’s photo to the application) May I borrow your stapler? (She hands it to me with a sigh.) I just put it on like you just did?
Mrs. B. Mobley: (No answer. Just a nasty look.)
Me: (Thinking “Why you gotta be so mean?“) How much is the renewal fee for adults?
Mrs. B. Mobley: $110.
Me: And I just put this all in an envelope and send it off? There’s nothing else?
Mrs. B. Mobley: (Still condescending) That’s how it works.

She finalizes Dominic’s paperwork. I finalize Eddie’s and mail it off. The process is over, thankfully. This is 20 minutes of perhaps the worst customer service I’ve ever experienced.

Do you deliberately seek the most ill-natured people you can find for your customer service positions? These two women have no business dealing with the public.

Look, we all know the USPS is in trouble and hemorrhaging money. Don’t you think you could help your situation by improving customer service? Stop advertising and start improving the experience for the people who are paying you. It’s your only hope!

Screen Shot 2015-01-15 at 3.27.38 PM

I would rather gnaw off my own arm than go to the Fahm Street location again. There are other passport locations. For my mail needs, I’ll continue using my local post office. The people are inept, but at least they are nice.

Sincerely,
Beth

*apologies to Holiday Inn

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Photo by Eric Ray Davidson for EW

Photo by Eric Ray Davidson for EW

Dear Jason Bateman, Charlie Day and Jason Sudeikis,

I read with interest the piece Anthony Breznican wrote about you and “Horrible Bosses 2” for the Nov. 28 issue of Entertainment Weekly. Breznican apparently conducted the interview on the rooftop of the Beverly Hilton Hotel. I stayed at that remarkable hotel for one night in October. When I saw the location, I had four thoughts:

  1. I didn’t know the Beverly Hilton had a rooftop terrace.
  2. I still feel oily for taking a photo of the room number of the suite where Whitney Houston died.
  3. It would have been great to see you in the lobby when I was there instead of Fred Willard — not that he isn’t fantastic in his own right.
  4. It’s probably best I didn’t because I might have run over and dorkily asked you all over to my house for dinner and a round of Cards Against Humanity.

When I told Eddie about all that, he fixated on No. 4 and said:

Oooh … can we invite Pharrell and Shaq too?

In theory, this is a great idea: Hang out with celebrities at our house. In reality, if this were to happen, I might have a panic attack similar to the one I had when Eddie threatened to invite his buddy Bobby Deen for dinner. I like to cook, but I’m not sure I want to cook for a chef. (Just thinking about it makes me want to breathe into a paper bag.)

Also, my friend Ken Griner said it is usually a mistake to meet your idols because sometimes they turn out to be jerks.

I can’t imagine that would be the case with you three. I’m willing to take my chances, potential for panic notwithstanding.

If you are interested, have your people call my people. “My people” being me, of course. Nothing rarefied here.

We’ll have fun, I promise.

Awaiting your RSVP,
Beth

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Dear Men:

I am so angry right now. I need to vent. Why?

Because you don’t live in fear of being attacked and raped like women do. It is a part of our lives and it sucks.

Tonight I had a scary encounter as I walked back from having dinner at a delightful Ethiopian restaurant. (Side note: One of the perks of my constant travel is that I can eat where I want to eat. I can’t ever find anyone who will eat Ethiopian food with me. Eddie said the bread reminds him of human skin.)

My friends know me as a tough chick. I am well traveled and rarely afraid. Of course, I don’t put myself in risky situations either.

I learned the hard way that women are easy targets after one night in college when I was assaulted in downtown Atlanta. So I know to be on guard.

After dinner tonight, I walked back to my hotel on a bright, heavily trafficked street. An older gentleman who appeared to be drunk walked toward me. When I passed, he turned around and followed me. I stopped, turned around and made eye contact. He stopped and started walking the other way. When I began walking again, I could hear him begin to follow me again, his shuffling picking up speed as I walked faster. It was like “The Walking Dead.”

When I had nearly reached a populated crosswalk and he had almost caught up to me, I turned around again and backed up to a building to let him pass me. He looked at me and tried to stop to talk. I waved him off and said, “Go on. Get away from me. You’re giving me the creeps.”

Two fellows pulled up in a white sedan and asked if I was OK, was the guy bothering me. They offered me a ride. They looked perfectly normal, but I declined.

Luckily, my hotel was only a block away and I made it back without further incident. I’m safe. (Clearly, as I’m able to write about it.)

Here is the truth, Men: I didn’t want to stay on the street with a weird dude but I also didn’t want to get into a car with two men I didn’t know.

Imagine if you had been me and the people you encountered were women. I doubt any of you would have been concerned about either scenario.

It pisses me off that women have to worry about these things on a regular basis. It’s not freakin’ fair.

Yeah, I know: Life’s not fair.

I blame Obamacare. And penises.

(Maybe I should thank that disturbing dude for curing my blog writer’s block.)

Safe at last; safe at last,
Beth

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Yes, mine is a 2008.

Yes, mine is a 2008.

Dear “Ross B.” at Volkswagen Customer Care:

Thank you so much for writing me and apologizing for my “negative feelings towards Volkswagen.”

Unfortunately, my negative feelings toward Volkswagen increased today. Why? These words: “I apologize we are unable to assist with the cost of repairs.”

I’m sure you are sincere when you write, “Even when we are unable to financially assist, it is important to me that you and your kids feel safe.”

Sure. You certainly do not want our deaths on your conscience.

Your solution? Sending me to another dealership and having the “Region Case Manager” follow up with the dealership. A follow-up. Gee, thanks. I feel so much better.

You know what has made me feel better? The support of my friends who say they are glad to know about my problems so that they don’t buy a Volkswagen.

After I published my last post, one of my friends immediately wrote me to say that she had the exact same problem with acceleration in her VW and the Macon dealership finally fixed her car.

What makes me feel worse is that VW knows that the problems with acceleration (and with the upholstery) exist but THEY WON’T DO ANYTHING ABOUT THEM.

Hasn’t Volkswagen learned anything from GM and Toyota?

I guess not.

Sorry, Ross B., but this isn’t over. I plan to be Volkswagen’s worst nightmare until my issues are resolved.

On a mission,
Beth

Screen shot 2014-09-18 at 8.17.33 PM

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