Nothing's Easy
A lot of people couldn't believe that such idiocy would take place at CVS. It was as though CVS was known as some bastion of wisdom and customer care, and I just burst that whole bubble. It really upset some folks. Sadly, if you had the same high opinions of city employees, you might want to skip this entry, too. Because I can tell you that I spoke to one and a half competent people in my quest this afternoon. I say one and a half because it was really one person, and his sidekick was competent and helpful only in so much as he was not incompetent and unhelpful. And regarding the idiots I spoke to today, that was saying a lot.
I arrived downtown admittedly a little late. It was already almost 4:30 when I pushed open the doors at the human resources office, and I realized that at 4:30 PM, most people are ending their day and don't really want to begin dealing with anyone. So I already was apologetic, even though the truth is, I was just as tired as I was sure they were, and I didn't want to be there just as much as I was sure they didn't want me there. My point is, I wasn't expecting stellar customer service or anything. (And really, given my experience over the past few months, that's really an act of self-preservation.)
To give some background briefly, I had to bring my transcript downtown, sign my contract, and get my health insurance set up. The last two weren't a problem because it was something everyone had to go through, but the first one struck me as odd because I had already brought my transcript to them twice (on separate occassions) and had made them fill out a form checking-off that they had, indeed, received my transcript. Well, now they were missing page 2.
I went through the whole "but you have my transcript, it says so right here on your own form," but that ended quickly when I realized I had to be downtown to take care of the latter two items anyway and I had a transcript on hand. I'll give in to your nonsense. Fine.
Well, today I had brought everything I could think of: my license, certification, transcript, contract, lip gloss, social security card, license, you name it, I had every piece of important paperwork I could think of. The guy at the desk looked about as thrilled to see me as I thought he'd be.
I told him why I was there.
"For transcripts, you have to go to the third floor. For contract, you can sign that here. For health insurance, you gotta go to city hall. Here's the form to fill out." His name was Jamal. I find it helpful to get their names, even if it's just looking at a nametag. I like making the personal connection. That way, I can say "Jamal is a moron," rather than "the idiot at the front desk downtown is a moron," which just seems redundant.
"Okay. Well, should I sign the contract now then?" I was still hopeful about Jamal.
"No." There went that hope.
"I can't?"
"No. You have to bring the transcript to the third floor. They verify it, stamp it. Then you can come back and sign the contract."
"Ohhkay." I didn't really get this, but I'd dealt with January and Nina from CVS and a bunch of faceless assholes from Comcast, so I don't ask questions anymore because there's very little point or satisfaction and I find that no matter how deserving, you never do get those precious moments of your life back.
"The thing is," Jamal said, but not apologetically in the slightest, "it's already 4:30. I don't print anything past 4:45, and they take about fifteen minutes upstairs to get the transcript stamped. So you're probably going to have to do the transcript stamp today and then come back."
Well, now, Jamal, that just isn't happening.
The thing is, he made it sort of difficult to argue with him because he went back to playing Minesweeper on his computer.
"Umm, sir?" I asked.
He looked up and paused his game.
"Is there any way that I can get this all taken care of today? I realize it's 4:30, but I really don't have time this week to come back, and the deadline for having the health insurance start next month - meaning December - is tomorrow, and I have to have a signed contract for that to kick in."
He seemed to consider this.
"I make it a policy not to print contracts after 4:45 PM."
"Right."
"It takes 15 minutes to have them stamp the transcript."
"What do you mean by 'stamp the transcript'? It sounds like they just have to literally put a stamp on my transcript."
"They do."
"And that takes 15 minutes, for sure?"
"Wanda takes a while. She's fat."
(Umm, okay?)
"Well, what if I hurry and come back within the 15 minutes?"
He looked at the clock doubtfully. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Well, let me ask you this. Can you print a copy of the contract right now, and then I'll come back as soon as I can, and then even if it's just a little after 4:45, I can still sign it, but you won't have to break your rule of not printing it?" (I swear, do they put the government bigshots who negotiate with other government bigshots to these tests? Because I feel like if I could get Jamal to do this, and if I got Nina to get Eduardo to price check something at CVS, I might have a future career in this.)
He considered this for a moment.
"Please?" I asked. "I'd really appreciate you making the exception."
"Fine," he sighed. Jamal, not an asshole. A moron, yes. An asshole? No. I'd take that.
So I went upstairs and met Wanda.
Jamal turned out to be right: Wanda was fat. She was also very, very slow. I didn't necessarily think that one had to do with the other, and I didn't care that she was fat, but that she was slow was going to be a problem. I imagined if I went back to Jamal at 4:55, he'd be long gone.
"Hi, are you Wanda?" I asked.
"Yup."
"Jamal sent me upstairs."
"Why?"
"For a stamp on my transcript."
She looked over my paperwork. "Says here we got your transcript."
"I know," I said, sighing in relief that someone understood their own paperwork. "That's what I told the woman on the phone last week, but she insisted that my check mark was a mistake and that I had to bring my transcript downtown, because you were missing page 2."
"Doesn't indicate that here," she said.
"Right. But, well, I guess that doesn't matter now that I'm here, huh? Not that big a deal, I mean, I had to come down anyway for my contract. So this is minor."
"Well, you can go back downstairs."
"I need the stamp on my transcript, though, or Jamal won't give me my contract."
"Show him this sheet," she said.
"He saw it. He wants the transcript stamp. And, honestly, I'd feel better if we just made the copy, got the stamp, did the whole thing for my file now that I'm here."
Wanda did not like this. Wanda did not like this so much that I actually found myself wishing for Nina from CVS.
"Do you think I have a job for a reason?" she asked me, dripping with sarcasm. Normally I'm the sarcastic one. If the other person in the equation is more sarcastic than I am, I'm in trouble. Never a good sign.
"Umm..."
"Because contrary to your belief, I'm not paid to do pointless tasks like make extra copies of papers we already have for people who think they deserve several copies! You're not entitled to come in here and just demand copies for copies' sake."
"Oh, no I know, it's just that - "
"I mean, take a look around!" she continued to shout, pointing at the stacks of papers and envelopes unopened. "See how many papers we have here? This place is crawling with papers. Just crawling. They might get up and walk around, we got so many papers! Do you think we need another copy of - " she took her glasses down to her nose and read my name - "your transcript from hoity-toity Boston University (hoity-toity BU?!) lying around?"
"No."
"Well then, why would I make a copy of something we already have?!"
Wanda was right in theory. It made absolutely no sense to make copies of something they already had. In actuality, they were probably creating more papers than necessary, like she was saying. It occurred to me momentarily that maybe Wanda was slow and mean because she was worn down from the idiots she worked with who insisted on making multiple copies of everything rather than taking five minutes to locate already existing copies.
I told her as much, in fewer and nicer words. Then, thankfully, this guy Glen got up and had heard me begging for help and said, "Wanda, I have to make a copy anyway. Why don't I just take hers and put it in the "to be filed" bin for Lydia tomorrow?"
Wanda seemd okay with this. "That girl doesn't do anything anyway," she said. "Fine." She turned back to me. "Don't come back asking for any more copies, you understand?"
Umm, yes. I will never, ever, EVER come back to make copies again.
Glen made the copy. Wanda stamped my transcript. I went downstairs. Jamal gave me my contract, waiting for me in the print tray. I signed the contract, without any ceremony. Not even a congratulatory pin or pen or anything.
Then I asked about the health insurance. "Fill out this form. Since it's time sensitive - the deadline's tomorrow - you gotta bring it to City Hall yourself. Across the street. I'd hurry though, because they close in 10 minutes."
"I thought I just dropped off the form with you."
"Normally, yes. But it's almost 5:00, and I only go over on my lunch hour, when I'm on my way to the food court in Faneuil Hall. I get my ham sandwich and drop off the health insurance forms."
"Okay, so can you bring mine tomorrow with the rest?"
"Nope."
"Is the deadline today or something?"
"No. But tomorrow's Tuesday, and I bring my lunch on Tuesdays because I eat with Al and Jennifer from upstairs."
"Okay..."
"So I don't bring any forms over on Tuesdays. So tomorrow's the deadline, so if you left it with me, I'd bring it over on Wednesday, past the deadline, and you'd have to wait until January to get the coverage."
"Wait a minute," I said. "Are you seriously telling me that because you bring lunch on Tuesdays I'm going to have to wait an extra thirty days for my health insurance to kick in?"
"I go to my aunt's every Monday night and bring the leftovers on Tuesday. If I don't bring them on Tuesday, they'll go bad. Tonight's pot roast."
"Okay, well, I have to go then," I said. "I mean, I only have five minutes to get across the street and all."
"Good luck," he said. "I hear they don't accept things past 4:30."
Of course. Why would they?
It was at this point that I ran into the one and a half competent people. These two security guys at City Hall, the first who made a little joke that my bag was too heavy to be carrying around and the second who gave me correct directions to the office I was looking for and wished me luck. These were the nicest gentlemen I've met in a while, and it occurred to me that it might be because they seemed to enjoy their job of greeting people as they came into the building. That's the key, really. Find someone who likes what they do. They'll be decent to others.
Anyway, I went upstairs and met Cheryl who wasn't nice at all but wasn't horrible, and I signed up for health insurance and I'll be set for December 1st start date. And then I came back here and did laundry and I have to now make dinner and plan for tomorrow's classes, but I take comfort in knowing that somewhere, Jamal is enjoying his pot roast, and that tomorrow, he'll have it for lunch.
(And in December, goddamnit, I'll have health insurance.)
I arrived downtown admittedly a little late. It was already almost 4:30 when I pushed open the doors at the human resources office, and I realized that at 4:30 PM, most people are ending their day and don't really want to begin dealing with anyone. So I already was apologetic, even though the truth is, I was just as tired as I was sure they were, and I didn't want to be there just as much as I was sure they didn't want me there. My point is, I wasn't expecting stellar customer service or anything. (And really, given my experience over the past few months, that's really an act of self-preservation.)
To give some background briefly, I had to bring my transcript downtown, sign my contract, and get my health insurance set up. The last two weren't a problem because it was something everyone had to go through, but the first one struck me as odd because I had already brought my transcript to them twice (on separate occassions) and had made them fill out a form checking-off that they had, indeed, received my transcript. Well, now they were missing page 2.
I went through the whole "but you have my transcript, it says so right here on your own form," but that ended quickly when I realized I had to be downtown to take care of the latter two items anyway and I had a transcript on hand. I'll give in to your nonsense. Fine.
Well, today I had brought everything I could think of: my license, certification, transcript, contract, lip gloss, social security card, license, you name it, I had every piece of important paperwork I could think of. The guy at the desk looked about as thrilled to see me as I thought he'd be.
I told him why I was there.
"For transcripts, you have to go to the third floor. For contract, you can sign that here. For health insurance, you gotta go to city hall. Here's the form to fill out." His name was Jamal. I find it helpful to get their names, even if it's just looking at a nametag. I like making the personal connection. That way, I can say "Jamal is a moron," rather than "the idiot at the front desk downtown is a moron," which just seems redundant.
"Okay. Well, should I sign the contract now then?" I was still hopeful about Jamal.
"No." There went that hope.
"I can't?"
"No. You have to bring the transcript to the third floor. They verify it, stamp it. Then you can come back and sign the contract."
"Ohhkay." I didn't really get this, but I'd dealt with January and Nina from CVS and a bunch of faceless assholes from Comcast, so I don't ask questions anymore because there's very little point or satisfaction and I find that no matter how deserving, you never do get those precious moments of your life back.
"The thing is," Jamal said, but not apologetically in the slightest, "it's already 4:30. I don't print anything past 4:45, and they take about fifteen minutes upstairs to get the transcript stamped. So you're probably going to have to do the transcript stamp today and then come back."
Well, now, Jamal, that just isn't happening.
The thing is, he made it sort of difficult to argue with him because he went back to playing Minesweeper on his computer.
"Umm, sir?" I asked.
He looked up and paused his game.
"Is there any way that I can get this all taken care of today? I realize it's 4:30, but I really don't have time this week to come back, and the deadline for having the health insurance start next month - meaning December - is tomorrow, and I have to have a signed contract for that to kick in."
He seemed to consider this.
"I make it a policy not to print contracts after 4:45 PM."
"Right."
"It takes 15 minutes to have them stamp the transcript."
"What do you mean by 'stamp the transcript'? It sounds like they just have to literally put a stamp on my transcript."
"They do."
"And that takes 15 minutes, for sure?"
"Wanda takes a while. She's fat."
(Umm, okay?)
"Well, what if I hurry and come back within the 15 minutes?"
He looked at the clock doubtfully. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Well, let me ask you this. Can you print a copy of the contract right now, and then I'll come back as soon as I can, and then even if it's just a little after 4:45, I can still sign it, but you won't have to break your rule of not printing it?" (I swear, do they put the government bigshots who negotiate with other government bigshots to these tests? Because I feel like if I could get Jamal to do this, and if I got Nina to get Eduardo to price check something at CVS, I might have a future career in this.)
He considered this for a moment.
"Please?" I asked. "I'd really appreciate you making the exception."
"Fine," he sighed. Jamal, not an asshole. A moron, yes. An asshole? No. I'd take that.
So I went upstairs and met Wanda.
Jamal turned out to be right: Wanda was fat. She was also very, very slow. I didn't necessarily think that one had to do with the other, and I didn't care that she was fat, but that she was slow was going to be a problem. I imagined if I went back to Jamal at 4:55, he'd be long gone.
"Hi, are you Wanda?" I asked.
"Yup."
"Jamal sent me upstairs."
"Why?"
"For a stamp on my transcript."
She looked over my paperwork. "Says here we got your transcript."
"I know," I said, sighing in relief that someone understood their own paperwork. "That's what I told the woman on the phone last week, but she insisted that my check mark was a mistake and that I had to bring my transcript downtown, because you were missing page 2."
"Doesn't indicate that here," she said.
"Right. But, well, I guess that doesn't matter now that I'm here, huh? Not that big a deal, I mean, I had to come down anyway for my contract. So this is minor."
"Well, you can go back downstairs."
"I need the stamp on my transcript, though, or Jamal won't give me my contract."
"Show him this sheet," she said.
"He saw it. He wants the transcript stamp. And, honestly, I'd feel better if we just made the copy, got the stamp, did the whole thing for my file now that I'm here."
Wanda did not like this. Wanda did not like this so much that I actually found myself wishing for Nina from CVS.
"Do you think I have a job for a reason?" she asked me, dripping with sarcasm. Normally I'm the sarcastic one. If the other person in the equation is more sarcastic than I am, I'm in trouble. Never a good sign.
"Umm..."
"Because contrary to your belief, I'm not paid to do pointless tasks like make extra copies of papers we already have for people who think they deserve several copies! You're not entitled to come in here and just demand copies for copies' sake."
"Oh, no I know, it's just that - "
"I mean, take a look around!" she continued to shout, pointing at the stacks of papers and envelopes unopened. "See how many papers we have here? This place is crawling with papers. Just crawling. They might get up and walk around, we got so many papers! Do you think we need another copy of - " she took her glasses down to her nose and read my name - "your transcript from hoity-toity Boston University (hoity-toity BU?!) lying around?"
"No."
"Well then, why would I make a copy of something we already have?!"
Wanda was right in theory. It made absolutely no sense to make copies of something they already had. In actuality, they were probably creating more papers than necessary, like she was saying. It occurred to me momentarily that maybe Wanda was slow and mean because she was worn down from the idiots she worked with who insisted on making multiple copies of everything rather than taking five minutes to locate already existing copies.
I told her as much, in fewer and nicer words. Then, thankfully, this guy Glen got up and had heard me begging for help and said, "Wanda, I have to make a copy anyway. Why don't I just take hers and put it in the "to be filed" bin for Lydia tomorrow?"
Wanda seemd okay with this. "That girl doesn't do anything anyway," she said. "Fine." She turned back to me. "Don't come back asking for any more copies, you understand?"
Umm, yes. I will never, ever, EVER come back to make copies again.
Glen made the copy. Wanda stamped my transcript. I went downstairs. Jamal gave me my contract, waiting for me in the print tray. I signed the contract, without any ceremony. Not even a congratulatory pin or pen or anything.
Then I asked about the health insurance. "Fill out this form. Since it's time sensitive - the deadline's tomorrow - you gotta bring it to City Hall yourself. Across the street. I'd hurry though, because they close in 10 minutes."
"I thought I just dropped off the form with you."
"Normally, yes. But it's almost 5:00, and I only go over on my lunch hour, when I'm on my way to the food court in Faneuil Hall. I get my ham sandwich and drop off the health insurance forms."
"Okay, so can you bring mine tomorrow with the rest?"
"Nope."
"Is the deadline today or something?"
"No. But tomorrow's Tuesday, and I bring my lunch on Tuesdays because I eat with Al and Jennifer from upstairs."
"Okay..."
"So I don't bring any forms over on Tuesdays. So tomorrow's the deadline, so if you left it with me, I'd bring it over on Wednesday, past the deadline, and you'd have to wait until January to get the coverage."
"Wait a minute," I said. "Are you seriously telling me that because you bring lunch on Tuesdays I'm going to have to wait an extra thirty days for my health insurance to kick in?"
"I go to my aunt's every Monday night and bring the leftovers on Tuesday. If I don't bring them on Tuesday, they'll go bad. Tonight's pot roast."
"Okay, well, I have to go then," I said. "I mean, I only have five minutes to get across the street and all."
"Good luck," he said. "I hear they don't accept things past 4:30."
Of course. Why would they?
It was at this point that I ran into the one and a half competent people. These two security guys at City Hall, the first who made a little joke that my bag was too heavy to be carrying around and the second who gave me correct directions to the office I was looking for and wished me luck. These were the nicest gentlemen I've met in a while, and it occurred to me that it might be because they seemed to enjoy their job of greeting people as they came into the building. That's the key, really. Find someone who likes what they do. They'll be decent to others.
Anyway, I went upstairs and met Cheryl who wasn't nice at all but wasn't horrible, and I signed up for health insurance and I'll be set for December 1st start date. And then I came back here and did laundry and I have to now make dinner and plan for tomorrow's classes, but I take comfort in knowing that somewhere, Jamal is enjoying his pot roast, and that tomorrow, he'll have it for lunch.
(And in December, goddamnit, I'll have health insurance.)
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