A couple of weeks ago, we received in the mail, a promotion from Buick. If we went to our local dealer and test drove a Buick Verano we would receive a $50 American Express Reward card. Well, it just so happened that it was time to take my car in for it's 25,000 mile check up, so last week while we were at the GM dealer waiting for my car, we thought we'd take Buick up on it's offer. Why not? $50 could be a nice dinner somewhere for us.

Evidently it was a slow day because there were quite a few salesman just hanging around the showroom floor. So we walked up to one and showed him the offer from Buick. The guy looked at it and rolled his eyes. Right away we could tell he didn't want to be bothered with it. He called over another salesman and gave it to him. The next guy read it over and gave the first salesman a look that I read as "You didn't just try to pawn these freeloaders off on me, did you?" They didn't have to say it outloud, Sam and I could tell we were getting the run around.

The second guy tells us, "Here's the deal folks, we get people in here with these kinds of special offers and THEY have no intentions of buying a car. They just want the free stuff. So what we do is skip the test drive, give 'em what they came in for and send them on their way. All we ask is if you are asked in a survey how the test drive was, give us a favorable response." He was trying to wash his hands of us!

Sam says, "Look, I am waiting for my car to be serviced. I have no intention of buying a new car because mine is just fine. But why wouldn't we take advantage of this offer while we are here?" Then I said, "Can we at least look at the car?" How ironic, we are begging the salesmen to show us something and they don't want to.

When it was determined we would not go away until we were shown the car, then they got into a discussion as to whether they even HAVE a Verano on the lot. A third salesman, probably low man on the totem pole, had wandered over during the course of the whole explanation of how this should be handled. He informed them, yes, there is one. The first two turned to the third and said, "Take them out and show it to them." I turned to see that the third guy was slowly backing away and staring out the window like he wasn't hearing. The first salesman said to him, "Do you have a plate?" The guy is still staring out the window like he was trying to figure out how to get out of having to take us out for a test drive.

Finally Sam said, " Fine, we don't have to go for a test drive, just point us to where the car is so we can LOOK at it."

As you can imagine, we could hardly believe how we were being treated. Could these guys not see the BIG picture? We may not be buying a car that day, but we are potential future customers. We had actually already bought two cars from that dealership in the past six years. Our salesman was not with them anymore, so here was a chance for somebody to make an impression on us by simply being nice. It wouldn't have taken much . . . just a nice handshake, a "hi my name is ____, let me take you out and show you the Verano". A little enthusiasm would have went a long way with us.

Wait . . . that's not the end of the story. The third guy did end up taking us out and half-heartedly told us a few things about the car. I must say it is a VERY nice car, BTW. If I were in the market I'd think real hard on it. So this is how the story ends: (unless I decide to contact Buick)

We came back to the showroom, the third salesman then gave the promotional brochure we had gotten in the mail to yet another gentleman and quickly disappeared. Sam and I stood around for a while, waiting for . . . well we didn't know what else to do. Nobody was telling us how to proceed. I finally decided to just go sit in the waiting room and wait for our car. After a while, another guy came and said, "This is what you do to get your promotional $50. Take this card (the one we brought in), go to this website and type in your ID number (pre-printed on the card), then type in this BAC number" (their dealership ID... a number he had written on the card). Good... it's over! God what a bunch of hoops we had to jump through just to get a measly $50. Not feeling like it was worth it at all.

We get our car and go home, Sam pulls up the Buick website, types all the numbers in and it's rejected because there should be six digits in the dealership ID number and he gave us FIVE! Sam calls the dealership and explains to the gal on the phone what has happened and that he needs that BAC number again with SIX digits. The gal asks him, "Who was your salesman?" It was at this point we realized not one of the guys ever told us their name. Sam tells the gal he had dealt with five different people and he didn't know anybody's name.

Then she had the nerve to say to Sam, "Well, maybe you should just come back down here and start over."

I would have slammed the phone in her ear about then. But Sam went ahead and described the third salesman to her, the one who actually showed us the car. She put him through to that salesman's phone and it rang and rang and went to voicemail. Sam hung up. We never called back. The offer expires tomorrow but we refuse to jump through anymore of their hoops. When Sam's pick-up needs replaced in a few years, we will not even consider shopping with them.

Note to salesmen: Treat everybody as if they have just won the lottery, because you just never know!


 

Today, I am going to rant in a way that definitely shows my heartless side, but I don't care. It is what it is. Why won't Uncle Asshole die!!? Over the course of many years, this disgusting man monster made life a living hell for so many people I love. For the past several months he's either been in the hospital or in a nursing home. It is my opinion that if his doctors really knew him they would not be so kind as to keep him alive. I just wish he would die and give my aunt some peace for the remainder of her life.

Back in the late 60's or early 70's, I really don't remember when it was exactly, but I was still an innocent child. That's when Uncle Asshole made me touch him. I knew he beat his own kids and I was afraid of him, but as a kid, there were so many things I did not know about or understand. In the years following, his evil ways started to come to light, I realized he molested his kids as well as beat them. I discovered he molested other young girls in our family too. I was one of the lucky ones. It never went further than the touching thing for me. When my dad found out, he threatened Uncle Asshole with a gun, so he left me alone after that.
I remember going to the courthouse with my mom and telling somebody what I knew. Some of my other cousins were there too, but we were not allowed to talk to each other. I believe he went to trial, but nothing happened. I was sheltered from that ugly family matter as it was swept under the rug. It's just been in the last 10 years or so that I finally asked my mom what happened. He was ordered to go to some sort of rehabilitation classes. Why he was allowed by the courts to continue to molest for countless years, I still to this day don't understand. Apparently he does not have to register as a sex offender, because I have looked him up and he's not listed! I have never forgotten about a letter to Ann Landers I read years ago, from a sex offender who said, they, himself included cannot change. There is no rehabilitation to fix these sick minds. I believe him because years later, after Dad died, and his threat with him, the monster started molesting my little sister. I would probably be shocked at how many lives he messed up. Forty-some years later I still cry when I think about what he did. Thank goodness they are tougher on creeps like him these days than they were then.

Why should he keep on living? Why do doctors keep people alive when it's just a matter of time. They know he's a goner yet they prolong his miserable life? In the meantime, what is left of the family savings for my sweet little Aunt to live on is being eaten up by medical expenses. No doubt he will hold on until she is left destitute. Why can't he step up and say, I'm 78 years old just let me die? Because he's a damned coward, that's why! He's afraid to face his maker. No... it's hell... he knows he's going to hell! Pathetic excuse for a human being! I'll never forgive him. I want him to just DIE!



 

(In-law, that is)

We got the news last night in a series of e-mail pictures from Shannon that she is engaged.

Russ proposed to her while they were hiking on top of the Sandia Mountains, out of Albuquerque. First she sent pictures of the view from atop the mountain, then she sent a picture of her "favorite view". It was a picture of the beautiful ring on her finger. I'm so thrilled for her.... she is a very happy girl right now. She wants a summer wedding, but since they are in the process of a move from Albuquerque to Seattle in the next month, she's not sure if things will be settled enough to get a wedding planned for this summer. We might be waiting until next summer... which would be a good thing since I didn't know quite how to tell her we spent her wedding money on a motor home! haha

We can always hope she doesn't want to stick with tradition where the bride's parents pay for the wedding. Maybe they'll start a new tradition where the groom himself pays for everything. Yeah... that works for me. He's loaded... especially now. He's got the best treasure of all.... he's got Shannon.
 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UejelYnVI3U

I heard that 70's tune "Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road" today and I can't get the stupid thing out of my head! Crazy how something so ridiculous is still remembered forty some years later. I remember a gal I went to school with (a former beauty pageant contestant) actually sang that song at our 20th class reunion. Interesting choice, I thought.

This all brings to mind a night in my past where, by some miracle, I escaped being doused by one of these cute, black and white furry creatures. (this one wasn't dead in the middle of the road though)

We'd been having trouble with wandering dogs all that summer (we don't have dogs ourselves). They'd been coming around at night while we slept, terrorizing our outside cats. Several mornings we'd find the five gallon plastic bucket in which we stored the cat food in, tipped over with the lid off. It was very irritating to be feeding all of the neighboring animals as well as our own.

One night I woke up to a loud racket outside and decided I was going to go out and scare off the thief. Sam was working out of town at that time so it was up to me to take care of business. I quietly snuck out through the front door and tiptoed around the side of the house. Sure enough the bucket was tipped over and even though it was dark, I could tell the intruder was still chowing down. And, even though I was blind, because I had not thought to put on my glasses before heading outside, I could see this thief was smaller than I had thought I'd find. I determined it was one our own cats who was getting into the food each night!

So I soundlessly crept over to where it was preoccupied inside the bucket. I got down to it's level so I could get a clearer view of exactly which cat was the culprit. Then, getting even closer because of my poor vision, I said out loud, "Which one are you?"

The creature back itself out of the bucket and turned to face me . . . nose to nose. My eyes had had time to adjust by then and it didn't take long for me to realize this was not a cat but a skunk! I wish I'd have had a video of that moment because I suspect I defied gravity and broke the sound barrier all in the same instant. I swear I was back inside the house the exact moment I saw the white stripe. I never knew anyone, let alone myself, could move THAT fast!

No spraying was done that night... but several nights later we were woke out of a sound sleep by this hideous odor wafting through the house. We'd left the back door open and the skunk must have had a run-in with one of the cats and sprayed the back steps. For the rest of the summer, whenever I put the hose to the steps, the smell revisited us. Ugggg!

Oh yeah, there was a dead skunk on the highway a week or so later... stinkin' to high heaven.
 

My husband had a dentist appointment this morning so I let him take my car to town because it gets better gas mileage than his pick-up. On his way back home, less than a mile from our house, he hit a dog. It was one of those unavoidable accidents. Apparently there were three very large dogs chasing a pick-up truck coming toward Sam. Right at the point where Sam and the pick-up met, the dogs decided to stop chasing and return to their yard.... right in the path of my car which was traveling at 55 mph. Luckily he only hit one of them, but it had to have badly hurt that one dog. Sam stopped, but the dog had managed to get up and go into his yard. The other two dogs were barking furiously at Sam from the yard, so he stood beside the car hoping somebody would come to the door and see what was going on, but nobody ever did and he wasn't about to go into the yard with those dogs, so he came home.

My car was damaged some, which really bums me out. The owners of the dog should be liable for fixing my car, but now, how does one go back to the house after having left the injured dog there unattended? How do you tell the dog owner they have to pay for a damaged car when their dog might be dead for all we know? How do you prove the damage was caused by their dog, with no witnesses to support your story?

We have a very high deductible on our insurance, so the carelessness of others is probably going to cost us. We are both just sick about this. It's just not right. Too bad Sam didn't take his pick-up to town today.

Why can't people be more responsible for their dogs? There are too many that are allowed to roam free. I have seen dogs on the road at this location more than once, so, if they had just gotten loose today... I'm pretty sure it's happened before. You'd think the owners would figure out how they get out and fix the problem. Maybe they don't care. Poor dogs.




 

I had a really embarrassing thing happen at work just before I went on vacation which made me realize how desperately I needed a break. (or maybe it's just another age thing)

It was a very busy morning at Silver Shears (the beauty shop where I work). It seemed like every time the phone rang, all the other gaIs were in the middle of shampooing or had their hands in hair color and couldn't get to the phone, so it was up to me to answer the phone, make appointments, plus try to get my own clients out the door without getting too far behind schedule. So it was 10:40. Unfortunately, I was running ten minutes behind. I looked at my watch... realizing my 10:30 perm appointment hadn't arrived. So I looked up her phone number and gave her a call to see if she had forgotten about the appointment. This is the conversation:

"Hello?"

"Hi Marie... this is Sandy at Silver Shears."

"Yes?"

"Marie... I had you scheduled for a perm this morning at 10:30."

"Yes, I know."

"Uh.... are you on your way?"

"I'm here."
(At this point I'm looking out the window for her vehicle, wondering why, if she's here, she's not sitting in my chair for heaven's sake!)

About this same time I make a full, slow turn and face the center of the shop. There, in the reception area, sits Marie talking on her phone... to me! I never even heard her talking... just over the phone!

Silver Shears is one large room with four stations around the edges. No walls... no way I could have missed her IF I had looked. But apparently when she arrived, I was on the phone with my back to the door and never knew that she had arrived about ten minutes earlier!

We all had a good laugh at my expense! Nothing more I could do but laugh at myself. What a goofball!

Just this week when Marie was in for another appointment, she announced herself to me as she came through the door, saying "I'm here, Sandy!" I was sure disappointed, because I was actually going to call her when I was ready for her, to let her know she could come get in my chair.

Foiled again!