Ever called Netflix customer service? They take informality to a new low. The person I talked to, a kid probably half my age asked, "And how are we feeling tonight, my sister?"
I kid you not: "How-are-we-feeling-tonight-my-sister."
I told him I couldn't be his sister, because my brothers died as babies, one of them in my mother's arms, and my father couldn't even come to the funeral because he was in Africa or God knows where, we still don't know, and no, I was not at peace with any of that, and thank you for stirring up trauma from my youth. If I developed a drinking problem at any point in the next twelve calendar months, I was going to attribute it to him.
Needless to say that shut him up long enough for me to ask that he transfer me to someone more professional. He said---again I quote---"Wait a sec." Then mentioned I was going to need to take a one question survey. I was going to NEED to. The one question was about whether I was satisfied with my service, so I smacked "2" for no. And I did it with my middle finger for emphasis.
Well a microsecond later this woman who sounded a lot like the pastor off King of the Hill, total northern Midwest whine like she's from above Milwaukee, south of Canadadada (yes, classic Gwar reference for you Rob---the Jonbenet bit that about made me throw up in high school? Yes, that one.), goes, "Aw, we're sorey to hear that, what can we do to make your experience better?"
I said (a little apologetically because I can only sustain pique for about a minute), "Not make me take surveys for one thing." (And I'm even someone who likes surveys, they stoke this mental disorder I have called parahyperthymesia. No one will EVER do a telethon for parahyperthymesia. Seriously, I am like neurotic. You wouldn't believe it. For instance it makes me furious when people drop names, like I told Anna Kendrick. But I love surveys. Whoever you are, send me one and odds are I will take it.)
So this Minnesota woman tried to talk to me more, like she was counseling me, I swear, but I said real nicely, "I just want to speak to someone about adding an extra account. My five-year-old is starting to clash over programs with my eight-year-old so we want to go up to four accounts."
I guess that was the right thing to say because she put me through to someone who had our debit card number in about thirty seconds, all good there, I guess, but I don't know, there is such a thing as being too unprofessionally personal. It smacks of fakeness. (If that's even a word, and if it's not it is now.)
Whatever happened to all those ultra-polite Indians from the '00s? Honestly, Steve in Mumbai never would've talked like that. I loved Steve. He made renewing our Smithsonian subscription pure pleasure, and got me off the phone "fahst."
But why did I come to this thread? Oh, yeah, I also have a random thought. It is that Indonesia has some really fine seamstresses. I would put a twelve dollar Indonesian-made children's t-shirt up against one from Pakistan or Honduras anytime, anywhere, God love 'em.