If a person is currently dealing with a big problem, then I believe it’s in their best interest to deal immediately with a small problem. If you don’t, then invariably one of a couple things tends to occur. The small problems fester and become bigger, or other small problems materialize and now you’re dealing with a bigger cumulative problem.
On top of the original big problem, which now seems less manageable because of the accumulating smaller problems.
Today I was faced with a series of smaller complications that have managed to utterly piss me off. All problems tend to annoy me in varying degree’s, otherwise they wouldn’t fit my definition of problematic. But today was a pissed off day because I thought these issues were handled, and they’ve resurfaced as obviously not resolved. Also the resurfacing was not because of an error or omission on my part.
Problem number one was a form that needed to be filled out by a third party and sent to Revenue Canada. We had to pay for the form to be completed, and today we were notified that a significant claim on our tax return was rejected because Revenue Canada didn’t receive the fucking form.
Not on file says the tax man or woman. So, I’m assuming that dealing with a corrective action from Revenue Canada is going to be a nightmare, and further assuming that it’s going to be a challenge to track down the original person that was supposed to send the paid for paperwork in the first place.
Problem number two is with another government agency. This one is another reimbursement that has failed to arrive. Eventually I was able to find out that processing of this particular piece of papier is six weeks behind normally expected times. I guess making people wait a month and a half for someone to even look at your submission is acceptable government efficiency.
And now for something completely different.
Problem number three is a new neighbor who thinks our front lawn is the best place for her dog to empty it’s bladder and bowels. I’ll get back to that stupid assed dog owner in a moment. But first I’m going to vent about a secondary problem that’s common to any bureaucratic fuck up, government or otherwise. Basically my first two problems.
Automated telephone answering systems.
I think that the sadist that introduced the concept should be located, and each day for at least a month be forced to endure a thousand or more selection options that lead to the wrong department. Once they’ve managed to navigate that ordeal, then they should be placed on a seemingly infinite hold with the shittiest music possible. If the inventor of this system is a Canadian then they get to navigate in two languages, and when they finally get a person on the line that person barely speaks either of Canada’s two official languages.
That’s not being racist by the way. It’s a fucking observational reality, and I’m guessing it’s a long shift for the person on the other end being asked repetitively and with increasing frustration, to please repeat what it was they just said.
Sometimes I think the newly learned speaker of English is a pawn in the sadists game I referenced earlier. The entire purpose of the invention is to make the process so arduous that the caller eventually says fuck it and hangs up.
I guess in a way that solves the problem. Well, half the problem. The caller still has an issue and raised blood pressure, but the company or government agency has at a minimum delayed an action remedy, and depending on how frustrated the caller has become maybe even eliminated any response at all.
So the masterplan seems to be to make the automation challenging to navigate, and then have the communication difficult to translate. Assuming that you even stayed on the line after an AI voice, devoid of any emotion, informs you that we are currently experiencing above average inquiries, please stay on the line, you are caller number 35 in the queue.
I’m not even exaggerating. I was caller number fucking thirty five this morning. So I hung up. When I finally got through around one o’clock I got another machine. This one asking me to leave a detailed message. The person monitoring the machine hasn’t called back.
And so I get to repeat the process tomorrow. And possibly the day after that.
All of which turns small problems into larger problems, which seems counter intuitive to the expressed purpose of service or help lines.
Which makes me think it’s intentional at worst, or at best a fuck you that the creator of this monstrosity should relish with sadistic pride on a job well done.
I shall endure however because it’s not just about a desire to unburden myself of a problem. There’s money involved and it’s also a pride thing. I refuse to get screwed, but I have to remember to meditate before tomorrow so I’m not one of those callers that hurts their feelings and gets labeled as abusive.
Assuming I get to talk to an entity that breathes.
Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, it’s time for problem number three.
Dogshit girl has been astonishingly difficult to deal with. A person would think that once it was pointed out to her that her dog was shitting in our yard that she would have apologised and cleaned up the mess. This has not been the case. Her first reaction was to become offended by the word dogshit and demand another choice of words. Nice try but I wasn’t going to let her control the language of my reaction. In fact she came perilously close to an amended reaction that used the phrase stinking fucking dogshit. But, for some reason she abandoned her language control request and instead declared that the dogshit in question was a minor inconvenience.
In the grand scheme of things she’s correct. The dogshit is not an immensurable tragedy. It’s also something of an inconvenience but the part she appears to be not understanding is that it’s her inconvenience to manage.
I think that she privately acknowledged that the shit was her shit to deal with, because she started to make an effort to bag some of the canine offerings. But she hasn’t been consistent, and there’s another small problem. The snow is melting and as the white lawn covering diminishes, the dogshit appears in quantity and she doesn’t seem motivated to bag any of the freshly uncovered nuggets.
For anyone reading this from a Southern climate I should tell you a few things about thawed dogshit. It’s actually more disgusting than fresh dogshit. For some reason it stinks more and it loses its firmness. It’s kind of like pudding and it smears when you try to clean it up. Its definitely a shovel job. Even the strongest stomach’s are challenged to deal with it with a hospital glove and a plastic bag.
Maybe that’s why she hasn’t tried, but I’m not fucking slapping on a glove either. So as each new fido pile rears it’s ugly brownness to the sunshine, I grab a snow shovel I haven’t put away yet and fling it across the property line onto her driveway.
She then drives over it and mushes it into the gravel and the problem is solved. It’s going to stink I think, but so far she hasn’t said anything, so I guess she’s accepted my solution to the minor inconvenience.