“Chatting” with Christa

“Hello Robert. Thanks for chatting with me this afternoon. I hope you're doing well and I am happy to assist you.”
(Oh STOP! Just answer my question!)
“There should be an orange link at the top right hand side of the web page that says “checkout” or “basket”.
(Yer double-quotes should be after the period, honey! Tub-thumping CONSERVATIVES LOUDLY excoriated our Mighty Mezz head-honcho for faux pas like that.)
“You can access the basket here: https://www.orvis.com/store/basket.aspx
Are you still with me?
I’m sorry, but I believe that we may have been disconnected as I have not heard from you in some time. If you have any other questions, please feel free to come back into chat or you may e-mail me at cs@orvis.com and I'll be glad to assist you further.”
(Yep. I split. —Meanwhile, can you say “comma?” Yer blathering is desperately in need of commas. You can also trash “that.” [The proofer speaks! Mouthing the advice of my good friend ****** ******, ex of the Mighty Mezz = “Keep it short.”])
Two months ago, Yr Fthfl Srvnt got a new rescue Irish Setter to replace Scarlett, who I put down last Thanksgiving. She made 13.
My new dog’s name is “Killian;” he’s nine, a divorce victim. Like Scarlett I always walk him on-leash. If I didn’t I’d lose him. Sense a deer and zoom!
I also had him chipped. A microchip was inserted in the flesh atop his neck. A chipped dog’s owner can be identified.
I also ordered a personalized collar with my name and cellphone number embroidered on it. That saved Scarlett twice.
Unfortunately that new collar is too big. I ordered “large” when I shoulda ordered “medium.”
Almost two months have passed with Killian wearing Scarlett’s old collar, only because that has my phone-number. I been getting flak from people to get Killian his own collar.
It was so hot I couldn’t mow, so I had time to drill a new hole which would tighten the oversized collar. Still too big; part of the lettering was obscured.
I figgered I’d order a “medium” — I could afford 26 buckaroos. I fired up “Froogle,” in search of personalized dog-collars.
Begin online ordering; what I did months ago to misorder. Where I found Scarlett’s collar, also online, I have no idea. That was 10 years ago.
I measured Scarlett’s collar to get the correct size. The misorder was 4-5 inches too long.
At this point friends tell me to quit being rebellious and stupid. I should drive all over creation, perhaps 100 miles, to accept something I don’t want.
Well, online leads to what I do want, and I’m not leaving my house. And Heaven-forbid I prefer dickering wondrous technology.
Color-choice = blue.
Embroidery-choice = white. I had to peruse three or four sites to get that. Many don’t allow lettering color-choice.
I set up to order. “Place in basket.”
At this point stroke-effects horn in. “Scroll the site dude; there’s a lot more than what’s on yer screen.”
Okay, where’s “view-cart”or “place order?” I don’t even see “continue.” I looked around, stroke compromised as usual. I noticed “chat.” I clicked that.
So began my “chat” with Christa. Yeah I know: born in the wrong century, and we never went to no Moon. And now quotes come before end punctuation, unless yer Limberger railing against the media.
In her favor Christa prompted my ordering a collar for Killian. Which I hope gets critics off my back.

• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over 12 years ago. Best job I ever had — I was employed there almost 10 years — over 11 if you count my time as a post-stroke unpaid intern. (I had a heart-defect caused stroke October 26th, 1993, from which I recovered fairly well. That defect was repaired.)
• “Limberger” is Rush Limbaugh. I call him that because I think he stinks.

Hup-hup!

“You just gave me a blog-topic!” I screamed.
“YOUR IMMEDIATE ACTION IS REQUIRED!” (Their caps.)
...versus.....
“Your new password will be mailed to you in a couple days. Please check your mail.” (My underlining.)
“Yo Andy,” I yelled. “You want ‘IMMEDIATE ACTION,’ yet I gotta wait ‘a couple days’ for a mailed password.”
“Andy” is Andrew Cuomo, governor of the State of New York.
I have an E-ZPass in my car. It pays my toll on area toll-roads via radio at toll-booths.
Not long ago I changed credit-cards due to fraudulent charges. E-ZPass charges my credit-card to replenish my E-ZPass account. They can’t do so if I changed credit-cards.
I just made a long trip on the NY Thruway to get my new dog. My E-ZPass account needed to be replenished in order to pay that.
NAUGHTY-NAUGHTY! Flat-topped thugs appear in nearby pastures in antenna-festooned vans to warily eye my house through binoculars.
Hup-hup! www.e-zpass.com
    • click “my account”
    • login with your account-number and password
    • click “payment information”
    • enter new information
(Here goes.)
I fire up this computer, aimed at e-zpass.com.
E-ZPass wants a login with password: End-of-Story; like I remember an ozone password.
Supposedly my Firefox Internet-browser has it memorized. The End again: “password invalid!”
Have I gotta do what my wife did? Crank all my passwords into a tiny notebook, since Firefox doesn’t tell me what they are.
Uhm, that’s the same as Firefox memorizing my passwords, which it then enters, and they bomb.
Okay, the old waazoo; done it innumerable times = “change password.” I get that started, then “a new password will be mailed to you in a couple days. (My underlining.)
So much for “IMMEDIATE ACTION!” During those “couple days,” while I anxiously empty my mailbox looking for my new password, the flat-tops destroy my door: “You in deep trouble, boy!”
Fortunately, despite advancing age, I noted their machines presented me with the option of replenishing my E-ZPass account separate from auto-replenish.
I can think of others my age who would have walked away in despair. So far I’ve already blown a half-hour when I coulda been doing something enjoyable.
I successfully replenished my E-ZPass account from my new credit-card. What about “auto-replenish?” “Normal business hours: Monday through Friday, 8 a.m. through 5 p.m.” It’s Saturday of course.
Their machines indicated auto-replenish would be charged to my new credit-card. Really? More dickerin’ with their silly machine. I forget what actually happened, but it sounded like auto-replenish would be from my new credit-card.
I’m not braggin’. I have a hunch anyone else my age would have waited until the following week. “Just call ‘em.” Yeah, sure; machine-city.
Meanwhile the flat-tops disappeared. At least an hour parrying “wondrous time-saving technology.” And an entry-door in smithereens.

Continuing blog-material

“This is gonna get blogged,” I said to myself.
Yrs trly online purchased a Krups electric teakettle last week. It exhorted me to register.
“Go to www.krups.ca and save yourself a stamp.”
FAT LOTTA HELP THAT WAS; so goes at least an hour. Uhm, no “registration” tab on www.krups.ca. Lots of small kitchen-appliances, packed with plump sugary edibles = muffins, scones, Texas-toast, etc. But no “registration” tab.
Scrolling down I got “frequently asked questions.” I clicked it. How to develop tempting breakfast entrés with glittering kitchen-appliances — chrome, brushed stainless, etc.
Utterly clueless as always — born in the wrong century — WHAT NEXT? How about “Contact-us?”
“E-mail address required;” answers in two days.
Uhm, HELLO. I coulda registered snail-mail in five minutes.
This is the advance of wondrous time-saving technology? A five-minute process gets expanded to over an hour?
Perish-the-thought, I don’t see it that way!
A have a triple-A renewal suggesting online. PASS! Write check, seal and stamp envelope = maybe 10-15 minutes; most of which is getting this ‘pyooter to print the check.
Do it ONLINE, and blow an hour.
No way José!
Stabbing around, and entirely on my own, I tried adding “/register/” to “www.krups.ca” to the web-address in the address-bar of my Internet-browser.
WHOA! A Krups registration-site appeared. It worked, and not by any suggestion by them = entirely on-my-own.
“Try-it-and-see-what happens;” a shot-in-the-dark on my part. I sent a second e-mail to “contact-us,” telling Krups I thought I registered my kettle, but not by their doing. I took a stab at adding “/register/” to their web-address, and that got registration.
Not the first time. For renewal or registration often a site sends you to Never-Never Land. As one born in the prior century, I don’t see Never-Never Land as Valhalla.
Triple-A will get snail-mail. Born in the wrong century = utterly clueless about Never-Never Land. Garbage-in, garbage-out! The fact I say that proves I’m a rebellious geezer. One of them ‘60s Ne’er-do-Wells. Reform-school for you, baby!

Blog-material

“Does yer Alexa® laugh at you?”
I woulda asked that to *****-the-lifeguard at the Canandaigua YMCA swimming-pool. But she wasn’t there yesterday. She’s the only one I know with Alexa®, which appears to be Siri-like programming on Amazon’s Echo® smartspeaker.
Siri is Apple’s voice-activated personal assistant on my iPhone. There are 89-bazilyun things Siri can do, but pretty much all I do is have her make phonecalls. I’ve had her play YouTube thingies.
The other day the national TV-news reported Alexa was transmitting chuckles.
“Laughing Alexa® is blog-material,” I woulda said.
A lot of what I blog is madness that comes with technological advance.
For example, ordering something online is supposed to be a slam-dunk. But it always takes way more time than buying it at a store. I order online to avoid dragging all over creation looking for purchases.
“So go to WallyWorld,” I’m told. By so doing I add at least a half-hour getting there-and-back, plus parking. That’s probably a dollar’s worth of gas. Then I hafta search the store, plus endure being snapped at by WalMart associates because I interrupted their day-long donut-break.
Plus shopping WalMart risks getting hugged and kissed by a urine-smelling geezer-greeter, although I think WalMart stopped that.

12-oz. SunDrop can, 12 per carton-case.

Yesterday morning I had 15-20 minutes before going to my YMCA aquacise class, so I decided to online order my SunDrop soda. SunDrop is southern, so is no longer available in a store up here.
A while ago I ordered from a candy outlet, but they were outta stock. I switched to WalMart, but SunDrop was no longer available online; only at stores mentioned. I didn’t fiddle; and do I wanna drive all they way to KY to get SunDrop?
10 minutes so far; my time-window was rapidly closing. I fired up a site selling SunDrop for a pittance, but they wanted $26.98 shipping-and-handling.
I try to be deft with this laptop, but “Are they nuts? NO WAY JOSÉ! They ain’t getting no $26.98 just to ship $11 worth of sody!”
Now up to 15 minutes. I fired up “Jet;” $29 total for a case of SunDrop, $10 of which is shipping-and-handling. On to EBay. $21.78 for the same case, but no shipping-and-handling.
EBay wins. $21.78 is still ridiculous for a case of SunDrop, but EBay was lowest.
Quickly approaching a half-hour. Sure, only five minutes if ya let the vipers drain yer wallet.
“So why doncha buy a carton-case of Mountain-Dew at the supermarket?” a girl in my aquacise asked. “That’s citrus-based too, just like SunDrop.”
“Mountain-Dew is toxic,” I cried.
“All sodas are toxic,” the girl wailed.
She has a point, but “What are you, my mother?”
Another lady laughed.
“Glad I made ya laugh,” I told her later.
She laughed.
“Made ya laugh again,” I said.

Time-saving technology

“Book it,” texted my niece from Fort Lauderdale.
**** is the only child of my sister who died of cancer six years ago. Together she lives with her husband **** in the northern reaches of Fort Lauderdale. They have two children, one by a previous marriage.
My sister was a year younger than me; I’m the first-born. My wife died of cancer too. I find myself wondering why I’m still here. “Yer here to make us laugh,” people tell me.
I visited my niece last year, based on the fact I flew to my wife’s mother’s 100th birthday a year before. That was my first long-distance flying journey in the three years since my wife died.
Things were messy after my wife died. I wasn’t inclined to go anywhere. About all I could do was drive to Altoona (PA) to chase and photograph trains.
**** is much like her mother, more prone to take command than me. This is my own mother mainly — the so-called ******-genes; my mother’s maiden-name was ******.
I’m more like my paternal grandfather, more laid back, reserved, whatever. Not as inclined to make a decision. Push hard enough and it gets my Irish up — somewhat a ****** I guess.
Yr Fthfl Srvnt is figgerin’ to visit my niece again. That means arranging a flight to south FL. I started poking around a week ago, noting Allegiant Airlines no longer flew to Fort Lauderdale. That was a direct flight; I used it last year.
So I poked around some more — I ain’t travel-savvy. I found both Delta and United flew out of Rochester. But they were both tiddly-wink cigar-wrappers, requiring plane-change at JFK or Philly or Atlanta to get to Fort Lauderdale.
My guess was there were more serious ways to get to Fort Lauderdale that didn’t involve cigar-wrappers. More research was needed, but other things intervened.
Last night I tried again. Southwest Airlines, not suggested per a previous Expedia (or whatever) search, got to Fort Lauderdale without cigar-wrappers. I tried other airlines, but not the sputtering Curtiss Jennies Garrison Keillor always used on “Prairie Home Companion.” Southwest seemed preferable. Down was one fairly short plane-change, and back was direct. I coulda booked right then, but was hesitant. My niece said “book it,” so I set about booking it.
Things went well until “wondrous time-saving technology” reared its ugly head. Sometimes this laptop doesn’t trip my printer. That is, the document gets sent to my printer-queue, but won’t print. (This began when I upgraded my operating-system to OS-X El Capitan [10.11.6].)
So delete document from printer-queue and try again. Except it wouldn’t delete. Now we’re really hung. I’m gonna hafta kill this entire laptop; it won’t even “Force-Quit,” an OS-X feature.
Do that and I lose Southwest’s “Confirmation,” which also has my flight-numbers. How come bedtime every night approaches midnight? Can you say “Wondrous Time-Saving Technology?” What will supposedly will take five minutes is blowing an entire evening.
ZAP! Southwest’s confirmation is floating out there somewhere in cyberspace, and their site is drowning me with 89 bazilyun “features” well beyond the wherewithal of a stroke-survivor.
Okay, find “Contact-Us,” a struggle of course. Sites are always secretive about “Contact-Us.”
I set up another reservation just to determine flight-numbers. I didn’t process, but it’s the same flight-numbers. (And per usual that reservation wanted about $40 more = give ‘em a few minutes.)
“Contact-Us” also got sent an e-mail to which I hope they respond. If not, I think I saw an 800-number. I eagerly look forward to all their machines, which can route me in circles. —Plus “Please hold during the silence: BOOM-CHICKA-BOOM-CHICKA-BOOM-CHICKA-BOOM-CHICKA! Yer hold will be 26 minutes.” (Indonesia probably.)
Still figgerin’ to visit my niece. Last year was a flat tire; I drove to the airport on the donut.
I should want “Wondrous Time-Saving Technology” to drive my car?
Railroad locomotives now have a whiz-bang ‘pyooter-app to run trains without engineer input — the engineer is only stand-by. All-the-time I hear dickerin’ about “Trip-Optimizer” on my railroad-radio scanner. Train engineers reporting “Trip-Optimizer” is promoting locomotive wheel-slip, or shutting down locomotives.
“Run without it,” Trainmasters say.

• My wife died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her immensely. Best friend I ever had, and after my childhood I sure needed one. She actually liked me.
• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993 from an undiagnosed heart-defect since repaired. I pretty much recovered. Just tiny detriments; I can pass for never having had a stroke.

Born in the wrong century

“That does it!” I said to this laptop as I put it to sleep. “This has to stop. I’ve already blown an entire morning.”
Per my doctor I ate my protein, Eggbeaters®, as soon as I got up. Now, four hours later, it was time to eat my breakfast cereal.
I spent the morning setting up online access to my investment account. It began as initiating text access.
As one born in the prior century I don’t take text for granted. In fact, I’m amazed by it. Here I am alone last May in faraway Altoona (PA) chasing trains without my brother. My balance is bad, and I’m worried I might fall.
I didn’t, so I texted my aquacise-coach 250 miles away back home. I do aquacise in a YMCA swimming-pool to improve lousy balance.
Later I texted her again — I don’t remember why — from here at home. I found out she was responding from Hampton Roads, VA. This is amazing. A couple weeks ago I texted her again, and she responded she was in line to board an airliner. “Where?” I texted back. “Detroit,” she said.
56 long years ago, when I graduated high-school, this was Dick Tracy stuff.
Here I am at home texting my niece in Fort Lauderdale, FL. That’s well over 1,000 miles away. WHOA!
(Used to be long-distance phonecalls cost a fortune, and required a lotta dorking around.)
So, textual notifications from my financial advisor. He’s not the first. My pharmacy does it, as do my counselor and dentist; and of course my aquacise coach. I also do it because I can ask questions without interrupting. Plus text limits verbiage, which can be excessive with e-mail.
It’s the old newspaper jones: the average reader tunes out after a sentence or two. Possessed of the writing talent, I can freeze readers.
To set up text with my financial advisor, the investment firm wanted a log-in.
CRASH! Call ****, the office-administrator who helps my financial advisor. Mano-a-mano, **** facing her office ‘pyooter, me facing this laptop.
My stroke-jones makes things difficult. Throw too much at me, and my brain locks. I also hafta get off by myself to avoid messiness. “No offense ****; I like calling you. You tell me I’m funny.”
The investment-firm didn’t like my log-in. “Reset password?” I suggested. There was an 800-number I could call, but **** was doing it for me, I guess.
A lady from 800-land patched in. “Put yer phone down, “ 800-lady told ****. Guarded secrets were being exchanged. I still was lost, but it appeared we were resetting my password — which I’ve done before.
“IN!” I shouted. There was my financial advisor pictured next to a statement of my account.
“Have a nice day,” 800-lady said.
I let my Internet-browser memorize everything, although I thought later I shouldn’t. Lest Donald and the Russkies hack my investment holdings.
That’s another password reset, although I think I could do it without ****.

• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993 from an undiagnosed heart-defect since repaired. I pretty much recovered. Just tiny detriments; I can pass for never having had a stroke.

“No way José”

“Ten buckaroos to ship $8.35 in merchandise? No way José!
I gotta blow 15-20 minutes on this ‘pyooter to avoid $10 shipping-and-handling?” I yelled.
You lose, Staples!
Yrs Trly is looking for Paper-Mate “Flair” pens. My Flair pens are about dry. I Froogle Flair pens. My first hit is Staples. There are alternative hits, but they’re buried.
I click Staples, and as always they’re secretive about shipping-and-handling. I figger maybe $4.95, which is ridiculous enough. Four pens $8.35 or so; $9.95 shipping-and-handling. For Heaven sake! They shippin’ in a chauffeured Rolls? “Yer pens, sir.”
I hit an alternative at $7.32 for the pens. $4.95 shipping-and-handling.
PASS!
Wally* wants about $8.50 for the pens, $3.95 shipping-and-handling.
Still PASS!
Amazon wants $8.50, then maybe $2.59 shipping-and-handling; free with “Prime.” No Prime for this kid! Triggered it once, then had to quickly shut it down before it automatically charged a maintenance-fee.
EBay wants about $8.50 for the pens, no shipping-and-handling.
Now we’re talkin’. Into-kart, checkout, submit.
$8.50 is also ridiculous for four pens I might be able to get in the supermarket. But that’s part of a supermarket trip, and what I want may not be available. It usually isn’t.
There used to be an OfficeMax nearby, maybe eight miles away, but they closed. I had to be going that way, plus just like the supermarket they usually didn’t have what I wanted.
So online it shall be, after which my browser suggests I order more pens. What is it with these goofballs? I order something online, and Facebook, whatever, wants me to order more.
Yesterday was my birthday. I fire up Google and it displays flickering candles. Used to be Santa knew everything; now it’s Google.
Ten smackaroos to ship $8.35 worth of merchandise? And my EBay order came in an Amazon envelope. Shipping was supposedly by UPS, but it was in my mailbox.

SHEESH!

“Ya mean I gotta open a new account just to cancel my doggy’s medical insurance?
Rob Peter to pay Paul?”
About two weeks ago I had to give up on my beloved dog “Scarlett.”
She was 13 years old = an old dog.
Never before have I had an Irish Setter last that long. She was Irish Setter #6, and rescue #4.
Scarlett hung with me despite my wife dying over five years ago. She became “The Queen.” I spoiled her rotten. I let her prewash the plates and pans, walked her a lot, and helped her hunt — even at 3 a.m. in snow.
She started having seizures perhaps two weeks earlier. My local vet prescribed anti-seizure pills, and I gave ‘em to her.
She spit one out, then almost immediately had another seizure. There was probably cancer in her head. Off again to Veterinary Specialists & Emergency Services near Rochester. It was too late to visit my local vet.
They hospitalized her overnight, but taking her home was too risky. Emergency-vet was 40 minutes from my house. What if I had to go there late-at-night again? Beyond that, she’d probably only get worse. She already looked old, and was hard-of-hearing.
Extremely loyal though. BEST dog I ever had.
So I gave up — except my boarder calls it “caring for my dog.” That boarder runs the kennel where I boarded my dog during long trips. They loved my dog too, and came for moral support.
So now my dog is back to dust; ashes dispersed in a nearby park she loved.


My dog’s ashes are between the bench and the pond. (The kennel owner is sitting with me.) —Scarlett would go down into the pond to get a drink, plus hunt for frogs. She also addressed geese out on the pond (LUNGE).

That kennel also cremates dogs.
I’m DEVASTATED! I knew this would happen sometime, but held off as long as I could. Scarlett meant the world to me — but she got old, and boss-dogs usually outlive their secondary dogs.
So now I’m dispensing her stuff. Dog-food, treats, medications, etc. And telling anyone that knew her, which I never can do without crying.
“How do I tell you this without crying?” I was delivering a donation to a nearby charity the other day. I did so previously, and usually had Scarlett with me. The attendant loved Scarlett, and always fussed her.
I still had to cancel my dog’s medical insurance — which I never used because filing a claim meant giving up hours of time. Even though a bill might be over $1,500. I could usually slam-dunk it; like my time was more valuable.
My wife set up that medical insurance long ago, probably because a previous dog got cancer. We didn’t have the insurance then, so treatment was out-of-pocket ($6,000). If Scarlett got cancer we/I woulda filed a claim.
I clicked “new account.” Filled stuff in. “Our records indicate this policy number is already associated with an existing Pet Account Access page login ID.”
AW MAN!
I called the medical insurance. They referred me to their website.
“Our records indicate.....” etc, etc.
Beyond that their site was mental overload.
Step-by-torturous-step I slowly pored through it; I got better things to do.
This is turning into a high-school science project. All I wanna do is cancel my dog’s medical insurance.
“So send a letter!” There goes maybe an hour or so: compose letter, address envelope, mail from a nearby post-office drive-by mailbox. On-and-on it goes. My time is precious. I can’t easily spare an hour.
“Or cancel online.” Sure; if I can figger yer website. At which point the service-rep calls Security. Geezer-alert! Older friends I know throw up their hands if “online” is suggested.
Sometimes I think the world is leaving me behind. Every online contact wants an account. Fer what? So they can sell my information to thems that e-mail me hottie-links?
I shouldn’t need an account just to cancel it.
Is this the new century’s paradigm? (Thank you, Suckerbird.)

• A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. (Scarlett was from a failed backyard breeder.) By getting a rescue-dog we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Scarlett wasn't bad.
• “Suckerbird” is Mark Zuckerberg, head honcho of Facebook.

“Fer cryin’ out loud!”

It was 10 a.m. this morning. I had 45 minutes before getting ready for a dental cleaning.
The appointment was at noon in a suburb of Rochester.
Getting to it takes about a half-hour — I try to allow 40-45 minutes.
To do it I had to daycare my dog. Doing so takes maybe 15 minutes.
Just driving to doggy-daycare is about eight minutes. Then there’s waiting inside for a clerk, plus possible jawing. Perhaps another eight minutes.
I should be heading to the dentist by 11:10.
45 minutes should be enough time to order two things online: -1) an ink-cartridge for my wife’s old copier, and -2) a new flag.
I fired up this laptop. Froogle-Search for Hewlett-Packard “21” ink-cartridges.
I clicked on one but they wanted $9.95 to ship a single $17.50 cartridge. (Actually its was two for $34.99.)
PASS! That’s ridiculous.
My second hit was much less per cartridge, and only $3.39 shipping.
In the cart it went. Next was checkout.
I could use PayPal, so I set that up.
“Complete order.”
NYET! Alarums-alarums! “You forgot your phone-number.”
Crank in phone-number.
Again, NYET! Alarums-alarums! “You forgot ‘method-of-shipping.’”
I thought I set that up: $3.39 via Post-Office. You told me.
I tabbed that again, or so it seemed.
NYET! “You forgot ‘method-of-payment.’”
“I did not!” I screamed. “I already set up PayPal.”
Fast approaching 10:45; so far at least a half-hour trying to order a simple ink-cartridge.
Another attempt at designating PayPal, but into the ozone this time.
“Do a ‘chat,’” it suggested, so I fired up chat. I also fired up my word-processor, since I do my chat-entries at first in that.
I should know better. At 79 words I already exceeded the attention-span of the average reader by 74 words.
Okay, call the seller’s 800-number. “Please hold.”
It was 10:45, my alarm was sounding.
So much for ordering a simple ink-cartridge online, plus a new flag is beyond-the-pale.
“Time-saving technology,” they tell us. But ordering an ink-cartridge shouldn’t take an hour. —That is, I never was able to order it.

• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her immensely. Best friend I ever had, and after my childhood I sure needed one. She actually liked me.

Good Old Amazon

“Good Old Amazon,” I said.
“Always hyper-friendly, but if you muck up, Amazon punishes.”
Maybe not. I could probably reverse my mistake, but doing so requires hours of figgerin’ gigantic menus = trial-and-error and into the ozone.
I could ring up my Amazon authority in south FL, but I figger I’ve bothered her enough.
Like every time I have anything to do with Amazon, I hafta call Amazon-lady.
We deduced I unintentionally have two Amazon accounts: one under an ancient e-mail I no longer use, the other under my current e-mail.
I used to do “Subscribe-and-Save” with the ancient e-mail.
“Subscribe-and-Save” is an Amazon thingy where they send regular shipments for less.
They were Arrowhead-Mills puffed cereals. But they kept being out-of-stock, so I switched to Walmart*.
It just so happens I need “Wellness-Simple” dog-food for my dog.
I could “Subscribe-and-Save” that with Amazon, so I set that up. But apparently with a new Amazon account under my most recent e-mail.
Look at my previous account, and no “Subscribe-and-Save” dog-food.
My most recent account has it.
It took moving Heaven-and-earth to surmise I had two Amazon accounts. The helper in India couldn’t see it. Their command of English is little more than “We’re deeply, deeply sorry.”
They’re also near impossible to contact. There’s no “Contact-Us.”
I got an e-mail from Amazon saying they were about to ship my “Subscribe-and-Save” dog-food. They don’t say it, but I can skip the shipment (it ain’t easy).
I also have a “Subscribe-and-Save” at Chewy.com for “Greenies,” the chews that supposedly clean a dog’s teeth. —My dog gets two per day, about 12 hours apart.
I knew I had too much of something. —It was Greenies. My mistake was thinking it was dog-food. I shoulda looked.
I keep a spare dog-food on hand in a closet. But I was out = I needed dog-food.
So I mistakenly skipped my “Subscribe-and-Save” dog-food from Amazon.
For that I am punished. I probably could reverse that, but it’s simpler to hit my local Petco® than figger out Amazon’s contorted site.
Throw 89 bazilyun menu-options at a stroke-survivor, and he overloads.

• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered. Just tiny detriments; I can pass for never having had a stroke.

Stroke addled?

“Three hours shot to Hell, but the Arrowhead Mills puffed-corn cereal is ordered from Walmart*.”
So I said to my sister-in-law in FL on her landline voicemail.
I call my sister-in-law “Amazon Lady.” Not the “Amazon-Lady” at the Canandaigua YMCA, musclebound and striding about like Arnold Schwarzenegger — although she’s a nice lady.
My sister-in-law is expert at fiddling the Amazon website, a surfeit of contorted machination.
“Here I am calling you again,” I said. “Last time was also because of Amazon.”
We have deduced I have various problems with Amazon.
It appears I have two accounts, one under an e-mail I still use, and a second under an e-mail I left long ago.
If I hit my Amazon bookmark, and enter the password I normally use, it logs me into my ancient account.
So it’s fairly active. I ordered corn-puffs through it recently.
But my “Subscribe-and-Save” dog-food is via the more recent account.
Subscribe-and-Save is Amazon’s thingy where you sign up for something every month or two, like dog-food or Huggies.
It took an act of Congress to deduce I had two accounts. Like why is there not a Subscribe-and-Save on the ancient account, the only one that logs me in, so I (we) thought it was the only one I had.
My more recent account doesn’t like the password from my ancient account, so won’t log in.
So, what to do?
Set a corrected password for my recent account, set up a new Subscribe-and-Save on that account, than vaporize the ancient account and discontinue the Subscribe-and-Save on that.
Easier said than done!
Resetting a password is usually easy. Request a password reset, and Amazon gives you a code that proves it’s actually you.
Really? Suppose some ne’er-do-well has hacked my e-mail?
Moving ahead, Amazon e-mailed me a code.
It bombed!
Call Amazon Lady.
A while ago I had Amazon Subscribe-and-Saves for puffed-corn cereal and puffed-rice.
Amazon ran out-of-stock for puffed rice — I had to buy it at Lori’s Natural Foods. (That’s their jingle, readers; via YouTube.)
I decided to try online elsewhere. Mighty Walmart* had it.
They also had puffed corn, so cueing our Prez to Amazon: “You’re fired!”
Last February I needed corn-puffs, but Walmart* would no longer log me in. All-of-a-sudden my usual password was invalid.
Switch back to Amazon, but it’s my ancient account because my valid password logs into that.
But I (we = Amazon Lady) don’t see my dog-food Subscribe-and-Save. It’s on the other account.
“I don’t really wanna Subscribe-and-Save the corn-puffs,” I said.
Plus Amazon is always sending me into the ozone. Their site is so packed I can’t crunch it.
This is the bane of a stroke-survivor: encounter Amazon’s 89 bazilyun buttons, and lock up.
“So call Walmart* and reset your password for them.”
Not that simple. Telephone calls for me are difficult. It’s called aphasia, a common stroke-effect.
I hafta serenade each person I call asking for patience during my stony silences while I try to get words out. And if I ask for a repeat.
I’ve found I usually get understanding, but if I don’t ask I often get anger (I have).
So I called Mighty Walmart*.
They e-mailed a reset code.
“Nothing yet. This is what happened before. Lemme look in my junk.
Nothing from Walmart*.”
We tried again and again; at least four more times.
“Nothing from Walmart*,” each time.
Then I happened to notice five “Customer-Service@Walmart” e-mails in my junk.
“Whoa!” I exclaimed. “Here I am looking for ‘Walmart’ instead of ‘Customer-Service@Walmart.’”
SLAM; password reset, corn-puffs ordered from Walmart*; Amazon fix delayed.
“You did good,” I told the girl. “Parrying a 73-year-old stroke-survivor with slight aphasia. Make sure your husband knows.”
Looking back at all this, three hours of precious time lost, I wonder if my long-ago stroke affects my ability to parry stuff like this.
I seem to make better sense of things writing out this blog. Not confronting a screen, or a service-rep counting seconds.

• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered. Just tiny detriments; I can pass for never having had a stroke. It slightly compromised my speech. (Difficulty finding and putting words together.)

Encounter with Amazon.com

“Dread!” I thought. “Another e-mail from Amazon suggesting I review my “Subscribe-and-Save.”
I’m running out of dog-food, so I need to verify Amazon is about to ship me a bag.
“Subscribe-and-Save” is a bit where Amazon ships me a bag of dog-food every month (or two) to save money.
You sign up for regular shipments.
People Subscribe-and-Save Pampers®, for example.
Last month it looked like I should skip, so I did after madness and calling my sister-in-law in south FL.
I call her my Amazon-lady, which isn’t fair, because she’s not “Amazon-Lady” at the Canandaigua YMCA, muscle-bound ********, a nice lady, but striding around like Arnold Schwarzenegger.
I started dorking around. Utter madness ensued. An hour passed. Finally “How come I gotta call my sister-in-law in Floridy every time I fiddle Amazon?”
I called her up. We were both at our ‘pyooters. I had Amazon on, and so did she.
“I’ve already blown an hour,” I screamed. “This is not progress! All I had was a simple question, but it’s not answered. What I get is a deluge of madness.”
She opened my account, and suggested I call their secret help-desk based in India.
We dorked around, trying this link and that, all of which seemed to lead to what’s pictured above, a site that’s no help at all.
And of course every time I tried to do anything it wanted me to log in. Security, ya know. Techy alert!
Generally my log-ins failed. “Wrong password” it kept saying.
Might it say “wrong e-mail address,” what was actually wrong?
When I cranked in an e-mail I haven’t used in years, log-in worked.
She hung up so Amazon could call.
“We’re deeply, deeply sorry,” said the dude in India.
“Deeply sorry” seems the extent of their mastery of English.
I managed to fire up Amazon’s Home-Page; cranked “Subscribe-and-Save” into their search.
“There it is again,” I cried. “Seen it hundreds of times” (what’s pictured above), “no help at all.”
“Do you see ‘manage Subscribe-and-Save’?” the dude asked.
Yet again I slowly pored through their gigantic list.
Minutes of stony-silence passed.
“Hello?”
“I’m still here,” I said; “trying to read your gigantic list.
I haven’t mentioned it yet, but years ago I had a stroke. Yer list is visual overload.”
“I’m deeply, deeply sorry, but do you see ‘manage Subscribe-and-Save’?”
“Uhhhh, no! I’ve fiddled this page hundreds of times, but never ‘manage Subscribe-and-Save’.”
Finally “Tell ya what! I give up! I can always buy my dog-food at Petco. Yer site is too much for a stroke-survivor.”
Meanwhile Amazon’s e-mail is telling me my dog-food will deliver next week.
Yet my sister-in-law, fiddling my Amazon account, deduced I have no Subscribe-and-Save.
Her I trust, but not Amazon.
We’ll see if it arrives. If not, Petco.

• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered. Just tiny detriments; I can pass for never having had a stroke.

“What’s your mother’s maiden-name?”

Last night (Friday, June 20, 2008) I was updating our online checking account.
So I decided to verify our Visa account.
Capital idea! Access Chase-Visa online, verify our charges to date, and make sure nothing fishy is going on.
I’ve done this before — in fact, just recently when a gas-pump ate our receipt, so I had no idea what our purchase was.
Chase is a FireFox bookmark, but (uh-oh......) it’s showing me the full log-in screen; like it forgot my user-name.
So I enter my user-name and password (which I have on a monitor prompt-tab), and NOW WHAT! Looks like Chase has decided I no longer exist, or perhaps an unrelated software upgrade has vaporized everything on restart.
Chase demands the kerreck log-in and password.
I do so, and Chase stonewalls. It demands I create a new password.
I log in again; “Naughty-naughty! Too many log-in attempts. Back to square-one. Verify identity. Create new password. What’s your mother’s maiden-name?”
For crying out loud! Chase is turning a simple two-minute log-in into a HUGE two-hour hairball.
I gave up. Some other time. Chase is demanding I create a new password. I got e-mail to process. It’s 9:30 p.m.
I don’t have time for madness like this.

My Internet browser is “FireFox.”

So I need a belt

My old belt, which was leather, was purchased many years ago at the uniform-store as part of my Transit uniform.
I like it, because it’s two inches wide, and very durable.
But it was a 44, and has had at least four holes drilled in it, and not too long ago I cut about 10 inches off it with my tin-snips.
Even then it was feeling like I might have to drill another hole in it.
So I Froogle for another belt.
One site had leather belts that looked similar to my old belt: $7.49 plus $5 shipping-and-handling.
On the other hand, the uniform-store, which has a huge markup, has what I want — or at least -A) I can verify it’s what I want, and -B) I can get the right size.
So I go to the uniform-store.
We compare a 36 and a 38 to my old belt — 38 is probably what I would have got online.
The 36 looked more like it, so that’s what I got. It also was the same belt as my alterated 44.
So you tell me what makes more sense.... Back-and-forth with online belts I can’t see until they show up, or make a single trip to the uniform-store?
-Uniform-store: about $12; check it out before I buy.
-Online: $7.49 plus $5 shipping-and-handling; blind until it arrives ($5 postage to return).
I ain’t interested in the online merry-go-‘round.

RE: “Transit......” For 16&1/2 years I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service, the transit-bus operator in Rochester, N.Y. We had to wear uniforms, for which they gave us an allowance which we could use at the uniform-store. (Those uniforms were frump-city.)