This morning I have a situation in my office where a brand spanking new piece of equipment whose total invoice ran over $20,000 has a serious defect. When I call the equipment provider, I am told that I first have to send over a detailed letter stating the nature of the problem before someone can help me. This, in and of itself, on the right day, would be enough to make me see red but I am in quite the good mood this morning so I comply with this rather ludicrous request. I fax over the letter and then immediately call back to get the problem cleared up. (Hey, I said I was in a good mood not that I was playinâ€™ da suckah role.) While I am attempting to find a solution with this woman on the line, the fax rings, and they are returning my letterâ€¦ with edits?
WTF?!?! The letter looks like if Lynne ripped it apart!
Our story ends with me practicing my breathing a few times, punching a cardboard box full of paper (which is progress considering I used to punch office furniture on the regular back in the day), and me calling out everybody and their supervisor for the vulgar treatment shown to me and my company.
I am back on the breathing exercises and believe I will partake in a spot of tea. Chamomile, anyone?