A frustrating week makes the next look promising

Things started out with an online purchase of a needed item. I got a confusing message about the shipping, so I went to the website for customer service. I could not find a telephone number or the usual “contact us” which leads to – one hopes – an onshore, helpful human being. So, I called the associated store in St. Charles and asked for customer service.

The responder couldn’t find the number either. So, I asked for a manager.
“I am the manager!” she asserted.

She finally yielded to ask someone else, an ordinary person, who showed her how to find the number. I called the secret number and was told that the delivery was delayed until Jan. 24. The order arrived yesterday.

Later, I went to my doctor’s office for a routine visit. The woman who arrived to take my blood pressure was sick as a dog – sneezing and coughing, and she had red eyes, etc. ... .  
“Be gone,” was my response. So much for “health” care.

Then I tried 411 for the phone number of my cousin’s nursing home. I spelled it three times, and then tried the so-called “supervisor” who literally said, “I give up”.

I did find the number online, called the place and got disconnected by an employee who was trying to put me on hold after I spelled my cousin’s name twice and tried every phonetic device I knew.

Yes, I did call back, and got through to a supervisor who, somehow predictably, had no clue. In the background I heard someone point out his room, which was in walking distance from the telephone.
Not to mention, the football playoffs featured a loss for every team I picked.

The good news came at our Class of ’56 monthly breakfast at the east side Colonial Cafe in St. Charles. I arrived late and only heard part of the conversation about Rollie Vander Hagen and how he had bought breakfast for everyone. It seemed perfectly plausible since Vander Hagen had socked away lots of money after his short career as a country and western singer. Remember “The Belgian Cowboy”?