Curbed

Where Did It All Go Wrong?

So.

There we were in our new old house. It was a 1920's oldie, but a goodie (we hoped). From the outside looking in, it was a charmer. People would comment "oh, your house is so amazing." Then the stomach would grumble. "Amazing" is an understatement!

Time would prove that the house almost consumed us. Literally. Picture the Amityville Horror House literally ripping human heads off its visitors then flinging the headless bodies aside.

My recent post entitled "Down The Drain" mentioned a few of the home improvement projects. But to thoroughly understand the true spirit that is "Curbed," one must first understand the home improvement meteor storm that pelted the ego. The will to live. And ah, yes, the wallet.

Jumping In Head First

The house didn't seem so ominous. Sure it had been foreclosed on twice back-to-back. And it had sat empty for a year while paperwork was tied up by its owner - "the bank." After six months of searching for a bigger place to live, the email alert announcing the latest deal on the market arrived in my inbox and within a week, the find was ours.

We were able to look past the black cesspool in the backyard that was literally boarded up by the bank so there wasn't any risk associated with someone falling in and suing.

We looked past the ivy stalks as big around as a human arm that grew 30 feet up the pecan tree then cascaded down again toward the ground.

We looked past the garage that was missing its garage door remote, but featured a wall so rotten you could move it with the touch of the hand.

We looked past the empty hole in the kitchen where the oven was (it had been stolen by the previous Loan Defectors). I later learned the hole was not the home for an oven, but the palace for a "range," which costs about ten times that of its hickabilly cousin - the "oven." We later learned previous residents (a.k.a. the Clampetts) had their version of a range in the kitchen (a "range" also known as a B-B-Q grill). And for those of you who have been over for the nickel tour, you've undoubtedly heard the story of the replacement range project that literally consumed the profit from my last house and took four months of extreme project management skills due to the horrible situation bestowed upon me by the not so "Great Indoors."

We could look past it all. While we were visionaries, we weren't nelly belles. And we were ready to make this house a home.

Ding Dong

When you walked into the house, the eye was immediately drawn UP. To a ceiling where the texture was so thick, the only thing missing was glitter, a disco ball and some roller skates. I wouldn't have it.

The first check written was to literally scrape the ceilings flat again and it would set me back a few thousand American dollars. Where do I sign?

Wait. First Things First.

Before any work could be done, however, the house needed electricity. I was a TXU Energy customer at the time so I went online and submitted a "transfer of service request" to the new address.

After eleven days of no power and several emotionary phone calls with the electric giant, TXU told me that I would have to pay an expedite fee of $150 to get my power turned on. Turns out my service request was lost and even though I had a confirmation email as proof, they didn't care.

The ceiling scraper couldn't start work without electricity and there I was. Trapped. But with what seemed like enough rage to power a nation.

I love telling that story. Especially during an interview back in 2005 in the very halls of TXU where executives smiled at how easy it was to break their system. Despite the fact I was not a TXU customer any longer because of the wretched service, my made for Broadway reenactment got me the job offer. And scene!

One Fine Day

A cleverly-timed direct mail offer showed up mid-fiasco so rather than battle with my current company who couldn't give a rat's ass about my needs, I switched over to a new R.E.P. (that's Retail Electric Provider) called Reliant Energy.

It took over SIX MONTHS of constant follow-up, belly aching and even threats made to Reliant and the P.U.C. (the Public Utilities Commission, who was worthless) before the defiant electric company finally caved and granted my $50 "Welcome Bonus."

During the debacle I learned that "Defiant Energy" made offers to select meters (not customers) and since the offer was mailed to my old meter and I turned on service at my new meter, I was not eligible for the new meter welcome bonus. Go figure.

That's funny, I said to customer service lady. Your legal didn't disclose any of that secret information. Turns out I was the only one on the phone who had the direct mail letter and after much eloquent and fact-based old fashioned bitching, I finally was able to close the door on that chapter of this saga.

The $50 Was Mine. All Mine!

About a week later and the ceilings were done. No more lemon merange ceilings. No more urges to rollerskate to "the hustle."

I turned on the A/C for the first time and two days later noticed an ominous brown stain forming on the bedroom ceiling. I later was told that the "evaporator coil" in the attic was rusted, a leak sprung and my wet ceiling was rendered unsalvageable. So mere hours after moving into the bedroom, we promptly moved the bedroom into the living room and arranged for the ceiling scraper to remove crown molding and replace the entire sagging ceiling. Another $2,200 gone.

Then there was the check to replace the coil. Then repainting. The list went on and one.

So What's Up With The Curb?

In amongst the rubble going on inside, we shortly learned that outside, our curb was literally disappearing. The day I made the connection of where the curb was going, I almost lost [what's left of] my mind.

The Shitty of Dallas trash collection crew was literally eating our curb! Since humans don't pick up trash anymore - machines do - we literally saw the claw machine picking up our bulk trash. And front and center of the debris was a chunk of our curb. The non-curb hole had grown to about four feet in length and the only thing holding our yard together was a squashed piece of metal edging clinging on for dear life. The edging was put where the curb void now was by previous residents who probably ran screaming, arms in air, for the safety of the hills.

Several phone calls with the The Shitty later, and a case number was issued for further investigation. A few weeks later and The Shitty rendered it's decision. "Curbs are decorative," we were told. And they weren't going to replace it.

This Just In: Curbs Are Decorative!?!

Really! If that were the case, surely curbs would be more, um, decorative!?! Like glitter-covered curbs. Macaroni art-studded curbs. All lit-up-at-night curbs. Easter egg colored with fluffy bunny tail curbs. Christmas-time by the curb. WTF??

This attempt by The Shitty to brush us off made me laugh. Actually, I think it was a chortle. The Shitty had no idea who they were dealing with.

You see, to truly be a Consumer Victim, one must embrace the fact that they will be screwed over the simple things. Like The Shitty not replacing what they stole, right? Key for a Consumer Victim, however, is that she must also know how to dig-in and hunker down for one's rights. To be a bigger butt-head than the one on the other end of the phone.

I Am That Butt-head.

Literally a year had transpired. Patiently waiting for The Shitty to clean up their own mess. Joe called in one day and learned our case had been closed and nobody told us! Simply amazing. We resorted to notifying our district-woman and her office jumped-in and within two weeks, our replacement curb had been poured.

The Sweet, Sweet Smell Of Concrete

Some days I stand in front of the house and admire our "decorative curb." It reminds me how painful persistence can sometimes yield satisfying results. It also reminds me of how The Shitty, given the chance, will try and beat you into assimilated submission.

Little did I know the experiences with The Curb would undoubtedly pave the way for the much-needed intestinal fortitude needed to combat The Shitty after they repeatedly punched holes in our backyard fence - this time with alley garbage trucks.

But, oh, that's another Consumer Victim saga for another rainy day.

A Special Note To My House: If you are reading this, please know that we love you. We know you at least like us as we still have heads and are living. Please be good to us because if this keeps up, we will go broke and move out and The Clampetts may move back in. With their kitchen B-B-Q grill.

MINI Madness

Strap yourself in!
It's gonna be a long, bumpy ride!

It was 2003 and I was about 6 months from my Accord's lease expiring. I was searching for another car - this time to buy - and a coworker suggested a MINI Cooper.

I had never heard of it.

A MINI Love Story

I ventured to John Roberts BMW (my closest MINI dealer) to test drive the hottest thing landing on American soil. I instantly fell in love with the sucker because it was, well, so different. Driving the car made me feel like a combination of Austin Powers meets Evil Knievel meets nurd-boy.

After extreme inner debates pouring over all the whistles and bells I wanted tricked-out on the artful car, I eagerly threw a 1,000 clams down to secure my order in advance. The MINI could be custom-built in 3 months, but I ponied-up 6 months in advance to allow enough time for the car to arrive to the U.S. and ultimately to Dallas soil.

MINI really has a great ad campaign and works to create a MINI Movement with their owners. I was hooked. In addition to a postal campaign, there was an online portal where I could sign-in and check the status of where my MINI was. Each day I'd routinely log-in and double check the remaining dates against the estimated arrival delivery date circled on my calendar.

Turns out I wasn't the only one eagerly awaiting the MINI arrival. My coworkers were all excited, too, and chomping at the bit to be one of the first to go for a spin in the new kid on the block. Ads, tchotchkies and emails all sporting MINI pin-ups began coming to me via coworkers further supporting the craze.

The MINI Has Landed

I was able to unload the Accord without a hitch - I sold it to a coworker in my company's accounting department who patiently waited for it and loved it as much as I loved my MINI to be. Finally the day arrived when I received the call: The MINI was in! Little did I know at the time, but this was where my fairy tale started to turn nightmare.

I thought I'd be able to pick up the car that night after waiting six months, right? Wrong. But they called me, right? Right, but wrong! My sales person said they would need FOUR DAYS to get the car ready because they had received a shipment of over 50 MINIs. WHO HOO FOR YOU! Regardless of the fact that I pre-ordered months in advance, I must have been promptly pushed back in "priority" by the dealership. "FIFO" meet "FILO" (First In Last Out).

On Day 4, I had handed-over my Accord and after work was dropped off at John Roberts to pick-up my new baby.

There he was: "The Silver Bullet," as I coined him. He only sported a little over a 100 horsepower but it wasn't the size of the motor that counted, but the motion in the ocean (or in this case, my ability to perform hair-pin turns literally on a dime).

My heart skipped every other beat for the first few minutes of being introduced to my mail-order groom there on the showroom floor. Just like a parent frantically inspecting their newborn baby's fingers and toes, I, too, was reviewing the personal particulars of this vehicle that would ensure it was the baddest boy on the road.

Make and model? Check!
Body Color? Check!

Roof Color? Check!

Aluminum alloy wheels? Check!
Black dimpled leather seats? Check!
Sunroof? Check!
Heated Seats and Mirrors? Check!
Premium Sound System?

Premium Sound System?

PREMIUM SOUND SYSTEM?

This story took a tragic turn for the worse. If we had been on a plane, this would be the point where the flight attendants jump out the window, rosaries are pulled-out, and the emergency oxygen cups drop from the ceiling.

My premium sound system was back in the motherland!

My salesperson was out that day so I had a sales "sub" who was quick to ask "Are you SURE you ordered premium sound?" I was like WTF? Do you honestly think I have waited all these months drooling and finger-tapping for my wheels to arrive and I might have forgotten what I ordered, I said!?! The sub went to the back and pulled my paperwork. "Yeah, you ordered it," he said.

So there I was. Standing before my premium soundless MINI. I threw out every option I could think of... starting with could they install the sound system here in Dallas? I was confidently assured "NO." They did offer me the bright idea of me taking the car to CAR TUNES to have them install a third-party sound system but I wouldn't have it. I wanted the Harman Kardon sound system with silver shark fin-shaped speaker grills. Not some HACK JOB done by a non-sanctioned MINI shop. Turns out, too, as I asked the magical question "Wouldn't this invalidate my electrical warranty" the answer was YES, so I clearly knew what I had to do.

I had to reject my MINI love. Be willing to abort mission. Pull out. Be without a car until we could settle up this fine mess.

The following day I spoke to my sales rep and asked what they could do about the situation. Turns out not much. They told me my options: 1) Take the car "as is" and they wouldn't charge me the extra $500 for the sound system (um, thanks, since it didn't have it?!?); 2) I could order another car and wait 3 months for it to arrive; or 3) Wait another 2-3 weeks and accept an alternate vehicle that the dealership pre-ordered.

I culled through a listing of the cars coming in and settled on one that was not an exact match, but close.

Things escalated to the head of Sales when I asked to be put in a loaner car for the 2-3 weeks until the car came in because my Accord was no longer mine. I was told that was not acceptable for the dealership. "Patrick, it's not our fault you sold your car early."

REALLY!?! Sold my car "early?" Clearly I was dealing with a mental midget head of sales who knew nothing of the facts. Or how to provide customer service in a time when they were the ones who had screwed-up, not me.

Let's recap: I gave a deposit in advance, waited 6 MONTHS and even waited 4 days for the dealership to pull their heads out "making ready" my car and this is the response I got? The icing on the cake was when they admitted to me that custom MINIs had shown-up before missing a few features here and there. It was beyond me why they didn't catch it before my butt was in the driver's seat.

Sadly, I realized the dealership couldn't give a rat's ass about my satisfaction so I offered a way out of the pain by asking for my money back and surprisingly, they gave it back! Sans six months interest, of course. Thanks a lot for your "service," John Robertsmutherf*kin' BMW!

From that moment forward that dealership was dead to me. If my powers were such, I would have summoned a giant pile of crap to implode the dealership bigger than the pile of crap they bestowed on me. So, as a mere mortal, I went out of my way to steer friends wanting a MINI to the Arlington dealership and a few months after my debacle, I was pleased to learn the dealership's namesake was no more.

What To Do... What To Do...

I sat alone in my house trying to come-up with a viable option. I had waited so long for the MINI to arrive that I decided I had to forge ahead. I'd find another MINI from another dealer - just not the one who abandoned their responsibility and left me high, dry and full of rage.

I made a list of have-to-haves and nice-to-haves and shared it with the next closest dealers in Arlington, San Antonio, Houston and Baton Rouge. The cars were selling like hot cakes so inventory was limited at the dealerships. A nice guy from Baton Rouge found the needle in the haystack: a silver/black number on a boat bound for the East Coast.

A $500 delivery fee later plus incremental $750 for a navigation system I didn't want but had to pay for in order to get the deal done and the car was mine. In a little over 2 weeks, the MINI was dropped off from a covered delivery truck at my front curb like a LUNAR LANDER. It was awesome!

Over the next 3 years, me and The Silver Bullet had the greatest of times. From flying over curbs to jetting in and out of traffic. It was a match made in heaven.

Until it came time for service.

The car wasn't a lemon but there were obvious production issues - "kinks" let's call them - that needed to be worked out. My nav system's software had to be re-installed, both door power window motors went out and one day the car actually turned off while I was in stop and go rush hour traffic. I was told that was "normal" because of a known micro chip issue. Um, OK!

I dealt with each blow over the three years and chocked-it up to my investment in being a MINI owner. What was hard to swallow, however, was every time I took the car to Moritz BMW in Arlington, I was reminded that I didn't buy the car from them and somehow the service I would receive would be less than the usual.

In June of '06 the motherload of screw-ups occurred when I took the MINI in for its 3 year check-up. I was told the dealership would put me in a rental (not a loan car, but a rental from the on-site National car rental). I was fine with that as I usually had to arrange my own pick-ups back to work.

What I wasn't fine with was that I made an appointment to drop The Bullet off a week in advance and after checking-in the car and waiting for the rental guy to show, I was told they were out of rental cars and I'd have to wait for who knows how long until they could find one somewhere else.

I explained I had made an appointment and I was told the rental outfit didn't take appointments - only the service area did - and it had been a busy day (keep in mind it was 8 am).

I had a 9 am meeting back in downtown Dallas so I unchecked my car from service. My service tech who appeared "surprised" at what happened told me to give him a few days and he'd make the situation right.

Two days later I received a phone call and was told they would drop-off a loaner car but to give them a few days to work my car's check-up into their schedule. Once again I bit my tongue (not an easy task for me) and exhaled.

Moritz had my car for ONE FULL WEEK for the routine service. Wow. In one week I could have flown in a balloon to London for crumpets and back but apparently the routine service was pretty complicated.

The day finally arrived when the car was ready and a porter was deployed for downtown so we could swap cars. There I was hanging out on the corner of Crack Whore Lane and Defecation Station waiting for the guy to show-up and finally he arrived.

I asked him if I needed to pay over the phone for the service (assuming they were going to charge me for this job) and he looked like a ghost who had just seen his own reflection. The porter sat there in my car staring back at me and I asked if he was going to keep my car until I paid. WTF?!?!

So two phone calls later and I was on the phone with a lady giving her my credit card info, which I had to fumble out of my wallet on the street corner. Not good, not good.

3 - 2 - 1... Blastoff!

By this point, my blood pressure had shot through the roof. I was more than ticked-off. I was hacked-off at the blatant ignorance. That day I realized I was far too old to drive a MINI and with no other service options in the D/FW metro area, the time had come for the MINI and I to split.

I set my eyes on a dealership that was close-by and 3 months later I was driving my new baby: a Lexus IS. To date our relationship has only been good. The only challenge is that I have a hard time pulling into my driveway because the car has a low profile and the Shitty of Dallas has concrete layered my street so many times if I don't invest about 30 seconds strategically pointing the car into the driveway just so, I'll rip-out my transmission. And my hair.

The MINI Saga is a good life lesson in the importance of choosing who and how you do business.

My purchase decision was initially compromised when John Roberts dropped the ball and refused to accept responsibility for their mistake. Insult to injury was topped-off by Moritz for the sub-standard service they dished for three years of what could have been a return customer for live situation.

For me, I should have known to buy the car from a local dealer and invest in a therapist and a big happy pill of patience.

MINI called me a few months later on a routine service follow-up and when I told them I didn't own the car any longer, that was that. There were no questions as to why I lost my marbles by defecting from the MINI Union. I was now dead to them.

Sidebar: I wondered how my original order was screwed-up and I think I solved that conundrum. The order was hand-written on an order form and signed by me and the sales person. I can only guess that at some point it was keyed-into an electronic ordering system and someone might have engaged in coffee talk, taken a bathroom break or had a slight seizure in the middle of keying my order.

In hindsight, I should have asked for an electronic print-out of the order. Had I done so, I would have been able to figure out earlier that a (John Roberts BMW) + b (Moritz BMW) = me getting screwed.

Destination Frustration

Viva Italia!

If you've never had the opportunity to visit Italy, you need to shut this window down and book a trip there immediately. You will be changed for the better for ever.

I first experienced Italy in the Summer of 2006 when I "avoided" turning 40 by going on my first out of the country vacation. And oh, what a vacation it was! Naples, Capri, Pompeii, Rome and Florence. In just eight whirlwind days.

The love I have for Italy produced a second return trip there in 2007. I visited Genoa, Cinque Terre, Portofino and performed a perfect 10.0 dismount from Nice, France back to the States. This second trip was even better than the first and deepened my love for the country and it's people.

Love + My Credit Union = Hate

That love was augmented with full-on hate as I realized I was abandoned by my credit union just shortly after leaving American soil.

For some mystery of the unexplained, my credit card was promptly "deactivated for my protection" when I tried withdrawing Euro-cash at the Italian "Bancomat" on Day 1 of my trip. Little did I know at the time the card was deactivated because the error message at the terminal was not very specific.

I presumed it was because the ATM's network was unique and may not process foreign cards so I tried again at another location. And another. And another. On day FOUR of my trip all hope was lost as I realized nobody was accepting me - or my funds.

Frustration turned panic as I realized that I was in a fantastically foreign country with limited Italian-speaking skills, little remaining cash and NO CASH PRIVILEGES, compliments of Texans Credit Union.

Texans Discredit Union

How would I eat? How would I buy any souvenirs for friends? Would I have to sleep in a borrowed box?

The $400 US Dollars I brought with me were wearing extremely thin, as was my patience. I had already borrowed cash from my partner and was embarrassed to say the least. I felt like a circus freak thrown out of his own circus.

So, Where Did It All Go Wrong?

Prior to the first year's trip, I was cautioned by an internationally savvy friend that domestic credit cards may not be automatically "turned on" for international purchases. So I called the credit union in advance of my trip to ensure they had my travel dates. No problems, Year 1.

I replicated the same approach for Year 2, yielding much different results.

Since the small-sized credit union was only open limited hours and timing was hard because of the seven hour difference I opted to call my CHASE credit card, who smartly offered 24-hour customer service. Go figure.

A half-day later and she-bang! I used my CHASE card with success.

Brace Yourself, Italy!

I bought. I spent. I purchased. I spanked that CHASE card for the remainder of the trip and couldn't wait until I returned to the USA so I could return the favor, by spanking Texans Credit Union.

I called them and released the larger than Vesuvius-sized rage from within. The poor lady I spoke with had nothing to say. No explanation. No canned excuses. Nothing.

After three more talks with representatives from Texans, I was finally presented with the answer "We have no idea why your card was deactivated." They could see in my account that I had called ahead and yes, that my card was deactivated.

Thanks, Texans for confirming your organization is about as lame as a cold, wet blanket.

From what I could gather after the debacle, Texans outsourced their credit card operations and the credit card provider didn't get the 4-1-1 from Texans that I was traveling. And yes, it was left to me to determine that the two companies didn't talk when things went wrong. Sounds like a fantastic operating procedure, huh?!?

So when the card was deactivated, there were no escalation procedures to notify me.

1) I was never notified of the issue via phone or in writing. Ever.
2) I never received a reason for the malfunction.
3) I never received anything for the mishap or the shite it caused.

WTF? This is protection? Where was access to my funds?

What I felt I deserved was some serious credit to my account. How about $500 for the pain and f'd up suffering on what was to have been my second trip of a lifetime? Not even 1/2% off on my next loan? A toaster?

Nothing.

I have to believe I'm not the only traveler this has happened to. Or, is their a bigger force out there working solely against me?

This month, my last account with the dirty-handed Texans Credit Union will be closed bringing to end an eight year, unfortunate relationship.

In retrospect, "The ruins of Italy met the ruins of customer service, compliments of Texans Credit Union." And I was punished in the process.

As for you, Italy, I shall return! (sans the Texans credit card)


Psssst! Italy Lover? Read more about my Italy experiences here and here.