Day: May 6, 2020

It was a slight mistake to wear my painted-wood, bone-shaped Bow Tie o’ the Day to DICK’S MARKET on my masked-and-gloved grocery run this afternoon. You see, often when I wear a shiny piece of neckwear somewhere—especially if it’s a bow tie—some people turn into chimpanzees, and they feel compelled to reach out and touch said shiny neckwear. Even though it’s kinda weird when a stranger occasionally feels free to touch my bow tie, it’s not normally a potential health hazard. However, in our lovely Deseret, in our lovely COVID-19 spring, I’m both askeered and miffed that one shopper in the grocery store allowed themselves to be so overcome with bow tie love that he completely forgot we’re in the middle of a pandemic—and this other shopper automatically touched Bow Tie. Honestly, you’d think only I would fall into such mindless infatuation with a bow tie. I think it is in my best interest to wear a dull bow tie on my next grocery run—if I have a dull bow tie. I kinda doubt I own a dull anything.

It’s 9AM and I’m already about to blow a cork—and I’m not talking about champagne! I’m a grown-up, literate woman so I’ll go for an appropriate tie metaphor and settle on wearing a Bow Tie o’ the Day made out of cork.

What got me all ticked off? I got the annual bill for my tie-o-the-day.com site security. For some reason, my account was billed 3 times for the same site security license. But that’s not the part that got me angry. I knew an innocent mistake had been made somewhere in the Land o’ Billing, so I calmly called the company to get things straightened out.

Of course, I reached the voice of a phone menu. After I had tried everything on the phone menu to no avail, I decided I needed to communicate with a sentient being. The phone menu voice told me it could understand full sentences, so I asked the voice to connect me to a living human being. It did not understand my request. I then asked for “a representative,” then for “a customer service representative,” then for “an operator.” The menu voice still did not understand my simple request. Finally, I asked to speak with “a person.” “Person” was the password. I was ultimately connected to a lackluster, but helpful, gentleman to whom I was quite polite, despite how frustrated and ticked off I was by the time I finally spoke to him. The error was supposedly fixed. We will soon see for sure, when autopay does its scheduled thing.

So far, I have managed to put on a civil facade to write a post which is honest about what happened, but reigned in substantially in tone. If I were to write this with the words and attitude that correspond to my real feelings about my phone-y morning thus far, this post would look something more like the following:

blah, blah, blah, cork Bow Tie o’ the Day, blah, blah, blah, #@&*”:?!@!#&^&(>”@$#(+(+”@#$%$%&%@”#%$%@!)&*@>:”:}#$%##$*&*@?%!~#@&^(*%^7!!!!!!!!!!!!!#&^@(*)%#