Work is Hellish, Health Bennies Are Heaven

So yesterday was my first day back to work after a week of medical leave. God what a joy it was to have that much time for rest and convalescence! I soaked it all up and my spirits were soaring by week's end. I read four books, finished three knitting projects, and stared out the window at blue skies and greenery when I wasn't sleeping or napping with the cat curled up on my bed.

Yes of course I was in some pain for the first several days after going under for outpatient surgery on July 20, but that discomfort was nothing compared to what I've endured emotionally for the past year at what was once a dream job. I can now completely understand the frightening truth in phrases like, "I'd rather be boiled in oil than ever work with that person again." I also understand what it means to have one's hopes completely dashed.

I dreaded going back to work, but comparatively speaking, the day wasn't really so bad. I didn't receive any emails berating me for being a less than perfect human being or for having an unacceptable tone in my voice. I didn't receive any criticism for failing to provide the desired result when presented with an impossible task. I wasn't asked to be anyone's surrogate in doing their dirty work. I was, blessedly, left alone to be on hold with Time Warner Cable for one hour. And if holding for an hour with Time Warner sounds good, then you know how bad other scenarios could be.

The primary reason I haven't given notice is because of the health benefits, thanks to which I received excellent care at Cedars Sinai on the 20th and then had a whole week of paid leave to recover. I am Thank-You-God grateful for those things. I fear for any American who does not have health insurance or who has to go into debt to pay medical bills (check out today's lead editorial in the New York Times for info on what happens to Americans with a load of credit card debt).

But what if the job itself is making me sick? What if the rudeness, the bullying, the micro-managing, the faultfinding, the nitpicking, and the criticizing of an empowered management-backed control freak in the mix is making me sick? This is what they mean by abuse of power. Would it not be better to quit and take my chances with penury than endure this indefinite assault on my integrity, emotional well-being, and peace of mind?

Well, I'm working that out with my therapist. Fortunately, my health benefits cover up to $60 per visit up to 20 visits. We should have it all sorted out by year-end.

Roadrunner Speed at Time Warner Cable

I've been on hold with Time Warner Cable for 30 minutes. Fortunately I'm using a headset, so my hands are free for more productive activities, like writing this post.

I have to wonder how long it will take for a human being to take my call and explain why a recent bill contains a double-billing error. Since the $748.66 payment should have been half that much and has already been automatically deducted from a corporate credit card, this is a serious problem that only a live human being can solve. So I'm holding.

Every five minutes or so, the Terms-of Endearment-inspired musack is interupted by a robot voice that assures me, "the next available representative will be with you shortly." But what does "shortly" mean exactly? Thirty more minutes? Two hours? I'm really not quite sure it means, considering the circumstances.

The robot also informs me that my call may be monitored or recorded "to help ensure quality service." But how does recording my future conversation with a Time Warner customer service representative make up for the lack of quality service I'm experiencing right now? right fucking NOW? Or the $374 that has already been mistakenly charged to a corporate credit card? And what if the line gets disconnected before I'm able to have my quality assurance monitored session with Time Warner? Then I will have to call back and start all over and these 40 minutes of holding will be a complete waste.

And what about the waste of my time? Even though I'm using a headset, what if I had to go to the bathroom after, say, 20 more minutes of holding? If I thought, "Well, I've been holding for 45 minutes now, so if I dart down the hall for five minutes, odds are I'll still be holding, right?" Wrong. If I dart down the hall, the call will be answered. But if I don't dart down the hall, it won't be answered. Murphys Law. The call will NEVER be answered as long as I'm sitting here. But the minute I leave, it will be answered.

After the musack plays again for a minute or two and the prior two messages have recycled a few times, a different robot interrupts with what sounds like a sincere message of apology: "We're VERY sorry you're still on hold. We appreciate your patience and look forward to being of service to you." But how sorry are they really? Sorry enough to give me a $374 credit instead of the $374 mistake? I really want to know how they will demonstrate their remorse for all this time I've spent on the phone, and that alone keeps me on the line.

As if these messages were not annoying enough (I've heard them each about twenty times now), Time Warner also punctuates my holding time by trying to sell me things like digital cable, high-speed online service, new ways to save money, bundle packages called 'all the best', three different levels of roadrunner speed, power to control over 200 channels and watch what I want, when I want. "That's the power of YOU," I'm told. But why would I purchase ANYthing else from Time Warner when what I really want is for them to answer my frickin' billing question with roadrunner speed?

Wait, I think I get it. After holding for an hour or so and hearing ALL the sales pitches, someone will take the call. By then I will have been subliminally influenced by the repetitious ad pitches and willing to buy anything, ANYthing at all, from Time Warner Cable. The power of me is really the power of them. But now it's 5:00 and time for me to go home. Despite my 60 minute investment in this phone call to Time Warner, I would rather go home. Still, I'm tempted to put the call on hold just to see -- I mean just for the hell of it, okay -- if the call is STILL HOLDING when I get back in tomorrow at 9:00!

Well, this is why I have a job. Because the billing problem is still not solved, and I can look forward to another Time Warner phone hold tomorrow. God bless America.

Happy Bastille Day! I am a Francophile, no apologies.

Here's to the French, their amazing cuisine, their precious wine, their art, and their beautiful language. Happy Bastille Day! Vive la France!

I want to say for the record that I don't understand Americans who hate the French - even if they can be rude to tourists and imperfect in their politics (we aren't, right?). I sometimes see some nitwit guy who commutes up Coldwater Canyon in a white van with a bumper sticker that says "Boycott France." He also has one that says "W". I'll bet he eats Freedom Fries too.

Americans who hate the French with knee-jerk jingoistic ignorance haven't boned up on their history. In part, we owe the birth of our own country to the support provided by the French during the American Revolution. Without Lafayette's ships and French troop support on the ground, American revolutionaries were destined to lose (and badly) to the British. They were on the brink, and the French arrived right in time. (So maybe we have some kind of subconscious national ego issue with that?)

The French paid a huge economic price for their involvement in our revolution. The French Revolution in part occurred because Louis the XVI's decision to provide financial support to the Americans bankrupted the French treasury, leading to the bread shortages and starvation, revolutionary fervor, hatred and scapegoating of Marie Antoinette, and the inspiration behind the speech given by Camille Desmoulins from a table in a Parisian tavern 218 years ago that directly lead to the storming of the Bastille. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

But wait, yes I do understand Americans who hate the French! It's because Chirac didn't support the American invasion of Iraq five years ago! And look how wrong those French all were. Not to mention all the other international entities (and United Nations) who were opposed to the invasion. Five years later, we're really close to getting that mission accomplished. (Sorry, what was the mission again?) I mean, that's what President Bush says, right? We are so close to success in Iraq! (How many soldiers lives have been lost? How many Iraqis are dead?)

Sarcasm aside, the petulant foolishness of anti-French sentiment bothers me. Give me some good reason for it, at least. I mean, they do have a real problem with anti-Semitism over there, so that would be one good reason. Here's a really bad one:

Several years ago I had brunch with my childhood friend Barbara and her husband Mike. We were on the terrace of Splash in Laguna Beach overlooking the ocean. I'd recently visited Montreal and Barb asked me if we should go sometime. We'd traveled to New Orleans together in 1994 and loved it. I said Montreal was a great city, uniquely bilingual, and I loved being able to speak French as well as English there.

Mike chimed in, "They refuse to speak English there."

"They speak English," I corrected.

"No," he said, shaking his head, "they don't."

"But they do," I insisted, not realizing yet that I was dealing with a cretin. "They spoke English with me many times. I preferred to speak French, but when they heard my American accent, they invariably switched to English."

"No," he insisted, "they don't speak English. The French refuse to speak English."

"But we're talking about Canadians, Mike. In Montreal, they are French Canadians. And I'm telling you they spoke English with me. But just so you know, many French people also spoke English with me on my trips to France."

Mike stubborningly insisted, "No, no they refuse to speak English."

I was annoyed. "What's your problem? I keep telling you they spoke English. I don't understand why you refuse to believe me."

At this point, Barb spoke up quietly, "It's because the French refused to support the Iraq war."

"But we're talking about Canadians, not the French, and anyway, that has nothing to do with Iraq."

But Mike just shook his head. "Yes it does. They're French. They came from France two hundred years ago."

"Okay," I said, "then I guess we're British, since we came from England 200 years ago."

God bless America.