Personal Posts

The airplane is a great invention and it has had a somewhat noticable effect on the world we live in, but ever since they’ve started flying directly over my house, I want them all destroyed.

Last week, I reluctantly purchased a television* from Amazon. Typically, Amazon ships with FedEX or UPS or the USPS. This time, however, they shipped the TV with CEVA Logistics, an outfit I’d never heard of. And it was not a good experience. For two reasons.

1. Where’s my package?

I love the package tracking feature that the big delivery companies use. I, like anyone who orders a package from Amazon, obsessively tracks the package’s progress from its origin point all the way to my doorstep. It’s fun.

But CEVA ruined my fun.

According to the package tracker, my package sat in Chicago for seven days! It was even listed as being in Chi-town on the day that it was actually hanging out in a warehouse in St. Paul! There was no fun to be had here. Only anxiety. Is my TV going to get here by the estimated delivery date? Is it really in Chicago still? Where’s my TV???

2. The agony of arrangement

It did arrive in St. Paul on time, despite what the tracker said (the tracker was post-humously edited to indicate this). I wasn’t made aware of this fact by the delivery of my TV, but by receipt of an email which prompted me to call a phone number in order to arrange delivery to my home. So I picked up my phone and began on a blessedly brief but no less maddening journey of frustration.

My call was answered by a receptionist who identified the company she was working for and asked how she could direct my call. This is typical for a receptionist, only the name she gave wasn’t CEVA.

I told her that I was calling to arrange delivery of a package from Amazon. I was surprised to learn that she didn’t know who exactly to connect me with. But she made a guess and put me through to a department that handles deliveries. Unfortunately, it was the department than handles Target.com’s deliveries.

After explaining my request a second time, I was informed by the Target person, that I should have been transferred to the Amazon department in Seattle. Seattle? I asked, and was promptly given an 800 number to call. I took it down and hung up.

Seattle? Why would I call Seattle in order to arrange delivery from a St. Paul location to a Minneapolis residence?

Answer: I wouldn’t.

Irritated, I called the receptionist again. This time, after the third explanation of my situation, I was a little more insistent with the receptionist. This time she went with another guess and put me through to one of, apparently, many customer service departments within CEVA Logistics.

For the fourth time, I expressed my desire to have my TV delivered from St. Paul to Minneapolis. The rep on the other end of the line told me that I needed to be transferred to the customer service department that handled residential delivery. Well, that made sense to me. I asked to be put through to them, please.

I reiterated my request for delivery for the fifth and final time to a man in St. Paul, who happily pulled up my paperwork and arranged for a delivery the next day. I hung up.

And, after a deep and cleansing breath, I got on with my life.

The part that makes me mad

I wanted to learn more about this CEVA Logistics with whom I’d recently gone round and round with. Their company name gave me no real clue. So I did a Google search and found their site.

And suddenly, I realized why the receptionist was so completely without a clue as to who or how to direct my call. Apparently, there is nothing that this company doesn’t do. I imagine this gets confusing for young receptionists who get stuck alone behind the phones on a Friday afternoon where everyone else has left early.

Curiosity made me click on the CEVA Brand Promise link. And what I found there made me sad:

Company Mission Statement

CEVA stands for operations excellence by instilling a LEAN operating culture and by empowering front line employees to anticipate customer issues and needs.

We provide the most suitable solutions thanks to an in-depth understanding of our customers’ business, based on the expertise of the sectors in which we work. ?>As a company, we are easy to work with: open, honest, responsive and providing quick access to senior decision makers.

I call bullshit. Complete and utter.

Links

CEVA Logistics Brand Promise

Wired has an interesting article that spotlights a few employees of comics shops.

I put in a few years working a dream job in a comics shop. From 1996 to 1999, I worked at several of the now defunct Shinders stores. I even rose through the ranks to earn the title of Assistant Manager at the Maplewood store.

I’d been going to Shinders since I was a kid. A trip to Shinders was a big deal for a kid who grew up in a tiny town about 50 or 60 miles from the Twin Cities, and who’s only local access to comics was the squeaky spinner rack in the local drug store. I dreamed of being able to spend hours in that store rather than the 15 minutes my parents allowed me whenever we made that rare trip to Ridgedale.

I clearly remember the feeling of elation as I walked out of the Roseville Shinders store having just shaken the hand of Ron the manager and accepted a full-time job. It was quite literally a dream come true. I didn’t even blink as I turned down what would, in hindsight, have been a much more practical and beneficial entry-level position as copywriter with some company that called me the next day. I know I should feel regret for that decision, but I really don’t.

I started just running the register, restocking the coolers with soda, and refilling the candy displays. But eventually, I took over as the games guy which came with the great responsibility of buying cards and books from the public. It was kind of a thrill haggling and swindling kids out of their precious collections (not really, I wasn’t evil), but I hardly played any collectible card games.

I had a ton of fun with the crew in Roseville. Scherber, Wayne the lifer, Thomas the bass player, Justin the goofball, and Ron the manager. Easily the best group of people, the best team I’ve ever worked with. Everyone had their area of specialty, was responsible, and enjoyed their job.

At my peak, I was the comics, games, and, much to the entertainment of my friends, ‘adult material’ manager**. And while I do not, DO NOT, miss managing the porn section, I do miss the excitement that Wednesday brought as tote after tote of new comics showed up.

** *Despite the distasteful nature of the material, the porn was the most profitable sector in the store, with profit margins of up to 80% on much of the movies and magazines, so I was trusted with some pretty big, bouncy responsibilities.

And while I gained a number of funny yet disgusting stories, a part of me died during that year.*

Links

Secret Lives of Comic Store Employees – Wired

via – BoingBoing

Shinders closes remaining stores – MPR.org

As I write this, I’m still in the grip of the Grippe. It’s gotten after me in a crazy way. My lungs and voice have been the primary targets in this attack, but my sinuses were hit hard as well.

Most of the last 7 days, my blood and other bodily fluids have been tainted with foul-tasting lozenges, fizzing cold remedies, and other modestly effective tinctures. It is a pitiful existence to be certain. But I keep on, following a dim, ghostly hope that one day I will again draw a breath that doesn’t rattle and hitch in my chest, that my larynx and esophagus will be free of the unseen abrasive that rubs them raw.

Thankfully, my mom was scheduled for an extended stay with us, and she was up to the task of wrangling the small children for a couple of days while I weathered the worst of this vile pestilence in a prone position. I prayed for the solace of sleep, but it would not come. However, Saint Netflix On-Demand saved me from days of staring at the ceiling in utter misery.

The Grippe lingers, but I have summoned the strength to post my missives not chiefly to provide some modest entertainment for you, my readers, but more to prove to this rot, whose black and glistening tendrils still coil tightly around my insides, that I am not yet defeated.

My favorite hobby and source of entertainment is role-playing games. D&D, Vampire, Mage, and the like. It’s been years and years since I picked up a polyhedron, but the stars have aligned, a new group has gathered, and (most importantly) I’ve been given permission to leave the house to play! I get to game again!

This past week, I pulled down my trusty gaming binder, a 17-year old black binder that holds the mummified remains of characters. And in these creased and yellowing pages, I see nearly a dozen fractured reflections of me from years and years ago. Whenever I page through this binder, it’s always astounding how vivid the memories are that come flooding back.

It’s like hearing a song and remembering where you were and who you were with and these memories are like that…but they’re also memories of strange worlds, epic adventures and fantastic characters:

Late nights and pizza in the swivel-chair room in the UMM Social Science building / wielding a holy sword and enduring the maddening taunts of a ghost.

Sitting on the floor in the candlelight of Travis’s off-campus apartment / crashing a plane as one half (the insane half) of a vampiric Lewis and Martin routine.

Playing in that big old house in Minneapolis where Martin lived / tolerating human mages and pulling political strings from the sewers as Nixon the Nosferatu.

I also lifted my venerable, worn dice bag from where it squatted on my shelf. A hand-me-down from Martin, this fringed leather pouch has traveled many miles with me since college. The talismanic dice contained therein were never overly kind to me, but I think may have been a blessing in disguise.

The only time they performed exceedingly well was in rolling up a nearly perfect character, Bwiste, a character who’s ability scores should have brought limitless might and power…but who ultimately was killed in his first session. I gave Bwiste to a friend in need of a fast character, but the curse remained; Bwiste again died in his first night of adventure.

These dice told and rolled the fortunes of my many characters who, while they slumber pressed between the covers of my binder, are still very precious to me. Among my favorites are:

Rolly the warrior who suffered hernias and died nobly but alone (and unaided) by the claws of a wild beast. (DECEASED)

Baron Don the Paladin, holy warrior with a loose-ish interpretation of “Lawful Good”, hater of ghosts, and friend of Untz the barbarian.

Nedved the martial artist; hemophiliac, master of the (much maligned) hummingbird style. (DECEASED)

Nixon the Nosferatu, master of the sewers, reluctant ally of mages, and unlikely political power. (UNDECEASED)

Teeth the Life Mage, pusher of reality’s limits, pusher of gamemaster’s limits, first of two characters ejected from a game.

Burser the Malkavian, crasher of planes, annoyer of many (but mostly Rael), and t-shirt slogan writer; still carries a torch for Sammi the Samedi. (UNDECEASED)

Darkson the Bard, master spinner of swords, tales, and lies, friend of Soth, 2nd character to be ejected from a game (but did return some years later due to my vigorous lobbying).

I miss them all, and the sad fact is that I’ll probably never play any of them again. Thanks to GMs Travis and Martin, and all the folks in the various groups I’ve played with over the years who helped me tell great stories with these characters.