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.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Curbed
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
U-Verse = U-Werse
When Something So Right Goes So Wrong
In sharing this story around the water cooler, I realized a lot of you aren't aware of what "U-Verse" is (or "U-Werse", as I've dubbed it). In other words, you still have time to prevent a lot of suffering if you heed my consumer victim experience proudly brought to you by AT&T.
So before I go any further, let me define U-Verse for you.
AT&T categorizes U-Verse as part of its "Advanced TV" solutions. Where "digitally delivered television" collides with high-speed Internet collides with some phone calling features, provided you also subscribe to AT&T's voice package(s).
I would define U-Verse as an experience so maddening it sent me running for the hills, arms in air. I was about to literally set my own house on fire just to see the damn thing burn in front of me.
Get Your S'mores, Everyone!
The marketing assault on us went on for weeks and still continues to this day (more on that later). The marketing campaign made U-Verse sound like the greatest thing since sex. Top that, sliced bread.
The U-Verse programming was a no-brainer. The technology was so far advanced, Martians feared Earth. And it was so affordable; it was even FREE for the first month AND included "professional installation."
We thought long and hard about this. We were DirecTV subscribers and leery of no-brainer deals out in the market. We visited the AT&T Experience Store at NorthPark Center to do just that. While the demo didn't perform as the sales rep expected, Joe and I made the decision to jump head-first into the lifestyle upgrade.
We were riding one big-ass wave of innovation!
Big Kahuna Turns Big Flop
So here's where it all went wrong. Shortly after the install, we learned U-Verse didn't work. Literally. In the course of about six weeks, we stumbled upon every defect we would have never wished for. Including:
1) Not one - but both - receivers didn't work and had to be replaced. Since this was a new service, I was dumbfounded how new hardware could already be defective. Clearly these receivers couldn't catch the ball... much less a signal.
2) Shows we set to record didn't record at all.
3) Some one-hour shows were recorded. When we went to view them, they were literally one second long. That's what I call editing! After missing more season finales than I care to stomach, I realized this technology wasn't reliable and certainly not worth paying for.
4) We were told that the service was "cutting edge*" and more reliable than satellite TV that is often going out in a rain shower. So, surprisingly, in less than two weeks after install, we had technicians in our house for an entire day and later learned (along with the technicians) there was a network-wide service blackout in Dallas that we found out about at 4pm. Guess AT&T didn't send an FYI to their staff about the outage. Or issue a much needed phone call from the mother ship of telecom.
In retrospect, I later learned that AT&T threw this "U-Werse" product out into the market before it was really tested. We wound-up being the human guinea pigs fumbling into each and every deficiency a product had to offer. Even the phone rep told me "you aren't the only one."
From a marketing background, I later went back and dissected the marketing claims and felt there was so much lipstick on this pig, it couldn't get much "werse." Consequently, we took so much time off work to arrange the numerous service calls, we should be able to file a loss on our taxes.
AT&T + U-Verse = One Wretched Customer Experience
After coming to the conclusion that we had to have this disservice ripped out of our house, we called AT&T and learned that we would have to disconnect the service ourselves and reconnect our DirecTV service (for a charge). In fact, AT&T would not come out to retrieve the hardware they installed; we'd have to mail it back to them after waiting several days for boxes to be sent to us.
To make matters Werse, I was being hard-sold by AT&T on keeping my U-Werse DSL
Gateway. All I needed to do was pay $5.00 more a month vs. the AT&T DSL Pro I already had and accept a separate bill from my other AT&T services. Um, no way, Jose!
Really. This new AT&T was quite a different from the former AT&T that couldn't wait to install this crap to begin with! The former actually worked around our work schedules and came out on a weekend for the install. The de-install was quite the opposite.
This legitimizes my belief that companies would rather lose a customer to gain a new customer than to do what's right to keep a customer happy.
Smelly Tellie
This relationship was wreaking a stench so foul and so far it smelled like month-old sardines.
For once, we outsmarted the fox. Well, sort of. We were lucky enough to never uninstall DirecTV so after we aborted the flawed service, we managed to reconnect DirecTV back ourselves and begin living our lives through programming like the rest
of America.
Please Release Me...
So there we were. Unconnected. And Unsatisfied. But we were free from the ball and chain.
So we thought.
Statements started showing up for months reflecting a credit balance. We had received a credit during the hoo-hah when AT&T tried to save the deal with a "one month free" credit but as I told one poor rep "when I can't watch the shows I've set to record, no, you cannot pay me to live with this service."
Three months after receiving invoices reminding me of the credit, I finally took the time to call-in and ask for the balance to be refunded to me. The AT&T rep told me that I was not entitled to the money "because no monies had been paid." How brilliant!
Screw the fact my left hand was writing checks for years to who (oh yeah - AT&T) for my local, LD and cell bills. The new AT&T wasn't answering that customer's needs anymore. Ironically, five months after disconnecting, I am still receiving invoices reflecting the credit despite three attempts now to "make it all go away."
The velocity by which my mailbox started being stuffed weekly with reinstated U-Verse trash-mail despite my multiple attempts to be removed from the U-Verse mailing list is greater than before. It's like Godzilla's middle finger protruding from my mailbox each time I open it.
So long, U-Werse. You're like reoccuring reflux and I'll always hate you. Try you once, shame on you.
Try you twice? Not gonna happen!
* You're reading the legal per my earlier plea, which is a good thing.
By "cutting edge" I suppose AT&T means the ability to pause only ONE DVR ever per household. This was a major set-back for us as we pause live TV in the living room at night on DVR #1 and pause live TV in the morning in the bedroom on DVR #2 while getting ready for work with DirecTV's better than cutting edge solution. So recording four TV shows at once doesn't do so well when you can only do that on ONE DVR per household. You can add as many "viewers" as your wallet can shove in your house yet ONLY ONE will be able to record and/or pause live shows. A small detail AT&T has left out of their advertising.
Read the fine print regarding how many hours you can record with the "cutting edge" hi-def. It's exponentially much less than you might expect!
Read the details, folks!
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Rebate Hate
a.k.a. Bait Hate
As an individual with fifteen years experience in the advertising industry, it's both professionally and personally depressing to realize the degree by which customer service has deteriorated. It's spreading this country like a plague.
Gone are the days of Mr. Oleson's Mercantile where people skipped happily out the door with an apple, some flour and a good story to share when they got home. Hello to the days of law suits and outsourcing customer service while ensuring strict adherence to the "bottom line" regardless of quality.
Today's consumer experiences can best be likened to a salmon feverishly trying to swim upstream.
Why, then, are many consumer experiences so unfulfilling? So frustrating? One reason is found in the nucleus of that ball of frustration. The clever marketing bait: THE REBATE.
"So, What's In It For Me?"
I recently had the pleasure of renewing my service contract with AT&T for a new PDA. You see, my last PDA and I agreed to terminate our hate/hate relationship after two years of mutually tormenting each other. No more dropped calls. No more buttons that didn't work. No more cursing.
A Victim No More?
On January 6th, I set my renewed hope on a Blackberry Curve, which I have since been thrilled with. I skipped into the office the day after my online purchase boasting about how I scored it for 100 clams. My office mates didn't understand how I did it. "It was easy," I said.
All I had to do was: 1) Renew my commitment with my service provider for another two years. Who cares about the fact that I've paid thousands of dollars over the past five years alone to my AT&T for the privilege of being their customer; 2) Pay an $18 upgrade fee. Again, for the privilege of upgrading my sub-optimal experience; 3) Pay $200 for the PDA and; 4) Ah, yes, get my $100 rebate, which means I'm really paying $100.
Apparently, getting this rebate wasn't going to be easy.
I later learned AT&T went out of their way to mak
e getting the advertised rebate extremely difficult. The new PDA was shipped without a rebate form. The order confirmation emails I received mentioned nothing of the rebate. Best of all, the online rebate form was taken OFFLINE from ATT.com on January 20th when it was promptly replaced with "fresher bait."So while the rebate promotion period is valid until March 4th, the ability to find the rebate form was removed six weeks before it expires? That's hateful!
After 45 minutes on the phone with an AT&T representative, I was finally emailed the rebate form. After completing the form which asked for me to regurgitate in writing all the information AT&T already had on file AND deface the product packaging in order to rip-off the "IMEI Proof of Purchase" label required for the rebate process, I now await my rebate in about 8 weeks. Two months.
Really!?!
Rebates Decoded
There's a term in the industry called "breakage."
- From the marketer's perspective, breakage is what happens when someone doesn't redeem an offer you extend as bait. For example, not capitalizing on a rebate you were entitled to but forgot to send back in. For marketers, breakage is like beefing up the bottom line (profit). Like realized savings. Or a rebate, right? WRONG!
- From a consumer's perspective, breakage occurs when they get screwed.
Rebates are nothing more than a maddening exercise. Rebates require flawless attention to detail, a timely
response and lots of patience as you wait for whatever it is (a check or rebate card) to show up weeks after you purchase something. Personally, I think I could perform the perfect balance beam back-flip with better odds than navigating this life without any rebates gone unfulfilled.In the case of my Blackberry purchase, the "Promotion Card," should I be lucky enough to ever see it, will only be valid for 120 days - just 60 days longer than the time it took to wait for the card in the first place. So there's more opportunity for breakage if I don't use the funds on the card before they expire.
If you try and use the cards for amounts greater than what's on the card, brace yourself. You have to use the precise amount on the card or a lesser amount. I spent many a maddening moment at the POS (that's Point Of Sale for you people not in the business) wondering why my card was constantly being denied before I figured out this little nugget. Thus, promotion cards don't "work" like gift cards. So much for convenience.
Tricks Of The Bait Trade
There are six tricks I've learned that are simple for sharing:
1) First off, always get your rebate form in your hands wherever you were enticed with it. In my case, I should have known to print the rebate form from the website the day I bought the phone vs. expecting my provider to take care of me by enclosing it with the product;
2) After making copies of everything you return by snail mail, make yourself a reminder to ensure you get your promotion card as you will most likely forget about it after a two-month fulfillment cycle;3) When your incentive card finally arrives, RUN - don't walk - to the nearest retailer and redeem that sucker for all it's worth. Putting it in your wallet or purse will likely result in what? That's right, breakage!;
4) Strive to redeem the card one time for the full amount originally loaded on the card;
5) If you don't adhere to #4 above, make sure you know the remaining amount on the card by putting a sticky with the leftover dollars and cents on the card and tell the salesperson the exact amount to process; the balance you'll have to make good with another form of payment. Let's hope it's not another "promotion card" and;
6) Light candles and pray hard to whatever Greater Form you believe in during this process.
Red. With Envy.
I look back now and wish this consumer experience could require a little less involvement by me in order to get what's due. Until then, the hate for the rebate rages within.
Ultimately, your ability to successfully navigate the choppy waters of rebates depends on how well you fish, or (quite literally) cut bait.
More On Rebates Link #1
More On Rebates Link #2
Saturday, January 26, 2008
My First Let-Down
Well, based on a un-normally distributed vote, (where "n" is less-than 30), I've decided to start at the very beginning. When I was screwed as a ten-year old. (a.k.a. My First Let-Down). Let's Go!
"THE MIRACLE OF NATURE", read the ad's headline I stumbled upon in Sports Illustrated.
I salivated.
Little did I know this miracle would lead to my first life-long non-dream of being "TWOCV" (The World's Original Consumer Victim).
For $5.98 - or $7.98 "post-paid," I would receive a miracle incubator from GQF - that's the Georgia Quail Farm - in Savannah, Georgia.
Pictured at right, the incubator was pretty simple: a plastic device that kinda looked like a spaceship. Inside, there was a small heat-producing light bulb and some foil that could be positioned to deflect direct light from the eggs.
This thing would ensure me a miracle?
The instructions seemed to say so. You see, should I choose to follow the directions to a "T", in about 21-24 days, I'd have five baby quail hatch before my eyes: thus, the true "Miracle of Nature!"
My eyes couldn't have been bigger. Nor my heart beating any faster.
I happily drummed-up the $7.98 for the miracle to-be and stuffed the money in a #10 envelope. Including change. Yes, change. Surprisingly, in a little over a week my to-be miracle showed-up via United States Mail at my very own front door.
I read the incubator's instructions. I folded the wire just so. I tested the light and ensured the humidity level was ever so perfect. I was scared into perfection because (per the instructions) too much humidity during incubation would "drown" the baby chicks when they tried to release themselves from their egg; too little humidity and the baby chicks would be stuck to the egg and unable to get out of the shell-like prison.
A few days later, I bolted home from middle school and lo and behold, there was a baby chick in the incubator!
What was I doing at school when there was a miracle similar to the Baby 
Jesus
going down in my house? The baby Coturnix quail was so cute. (miracle sample picture at right, multiplied by many). About the size of a marshmallow, it was my newest best friend.
I was one proud pappa.
I must have seemed like "Godzilla" to the baby chick. But I was all it had. I'm sure it was bored sitting in it's bright yellow plastic space dome-home. "Let's get outta this dump and do something!", s/he must have thought.
A few hours later, I was graced with the presence of yet another miracle - #2! Yep, another baby chick hatched and I was just as eager to welcome this little baby into the world as if it were my first.
The next day after school, I tore straight for home to welcome #3, #4 and #5 into the world. But to my dismay, when I rounded the corner in the upstairs "playroom turned holyland", there were still just the two miracles.
Just the two of five "miracles."
Hmmmpf.
Another day and another day after that passed and no more miracles.
I was jipped.
After all hope was lost, my disappointment turned to rage. My rage incubated like my un-hatched miracles. Rage then turned to the typewriter. An IBM Selectric, to be precise. I did the only thing I knew: I wrote the Georgia Quail Farm one nasty letter (keep in mind I was ten years old).
I told the GQF a thing or two. I told them how I supervised my eggs. How I carefully hand-turned the eggs multiple times daily. Ensured the heat was just so. And the humidity was "on the dot." Despite all that, three of my eggs were un-miracles! How could this be?
My parents applauded my nasty letter. It was the first sign that I would not be bullied around in the big, bad world.
I was ten. And I felt ten feet tall.
I mailed the letter off in my pre-teen rage, not expecting a response (Yes, I was jaded even before puberty).
A few days later my mom said something came in the mail for me.
A catalog, I thought? No, it was a special box. And in it contained a miniature egg crate complete with two dozen quail eggs.
24 quail eggs!
My joy was soon replaced with sheer fear. What was I going to do with all these eggs of joy to be? The miracle incubator only held 5 eggs... 7 eggs at the most!
So I did what any normal American kid would do... I tugged on my dad's sleeve and presented my case: I needed a bigger incubator. And his wallet was my only hope.
We took a quick trip to a downtown San Antonio "feed and seed" store to look for better incubator. Screw the bright lightbulb and the limited square footage. My eyes and hopes rested upon the Mother Load: the Mercedes of incubators. This uber-techno incubator held more than 24 eggs, was ergonomically-designed, had an electronically-controlled thermostat and if I so chose, an automatic egg turner!
All this for just $40 United States Dollars.
Schwing!!!
Days later I had so many "Miracles of Nature," I didn't know what to do!
Raising quail had became my special hobby. I was ten and I had ten times ten-fold the miracle-babies in my backyard turned farmyard. Each Easter, me and my family colored the miniature brown-spotted eggs and I reveled in the fact that I had made these miracles materialize. And they were just steps away in the yard.
My yard.
Although the Georgia Quail Farm was my first "nemesis," I look back now with fond appreciation. Whomever sent me those 24 eggs probably didn't think s/he'd foster and propel a love for animals in a little kid. During this special time of my life, I learned my heart could grow and love as many animals as I could acquire.
But let's be clear: those 24 eggs were the proverbial "middle finger" of customer service.
Someone who probably thought "Here's your eggs, Mini-Mo-Fo!"
But oh, how customer service has deteriorated ever since.
It's not a surprise the Georgia Quail Farm is still in business. Tonight I visited The Farm for the first time. Online. You see, back when I was a tiny tot, the Internet was non-existent. Visit the GQF online and pay them some respect for they give our wee-ones hope in an time filled with violence, bad news, and unthinkable acts, like 9/11.
Hats off to The Georgia Quail Farm!
Sunday, January 20, 2008
My First Post!
I'm 41 years old and I just created my first Blog! Weeeee! Thanks, Blogger!
I'm not sure really where to start other than to say that I'm going to test the waters with this puppy and see how it goes. I hope at some level those of you reading this will find some peace knowing that my life will always be more tragic than yours. Don't get me wrong - I have a great life - but the experiences I've shared as a consumer victim aren't anything I'd wish on anyone. For that reason I'm proclaiming myself THE WORLD's GENUINE CONSUMER VICTIM. Sorry, Rosa.
This week, a co-worker urged me to start documenting my consumer nightmares-turned-life-dramas because they, well, were just so damned hilarious that certainly I'd want to share them with others.
I think most of my "vignettes" (let's call them that for now) are best served in person with the style, conviction and sweaty brow that is all my own. Some say I missed my calling for stage but I think I'm probably better off serving those of you on the streets of America. After all, if only the fun people were on stage or TV, how much fun would it be, say, chatting by the company water cooler or perhaps waiting in the check-out line if the "blue-collar performers" like me weren't there?
To that point, I think it's appropriate that I develop some code of honor for this Blog. Something to help steer it in a positive direction. Something like this:
sound mind and moderate health, do hereby
promise to report the truth and only the truth.
I will ensure I "keep it real*" when reporting
I yearn to be a great protector of the unfortunate
from the big, bad entities (be them people, or companies
comprised of people) who try to get away with something
at other's expense."
That all being said, by "real" what I mean is that I will pepper no more than 8% (+ or - 2%) of my stories with unadulterated bullcrap. Bullcrap is defined by me as the spice of life. The nuts in ice cream. The beer at the end of a long day. The "wiggle room" of the truth. Why we get up each day. The reason you are reading this now.
There. That's not bad, huh?
Well what about you? What kind of commitment are you going to make to me? I mean, I'm not charging for this thing, am I? I'm not going to put myself out there if you have no responsibilities. Well, then - here's what I expect of you:
Patrick's Original Blog
do hereby promise to read Patrick's life drama and learn from it.
I will laugh, and/or cry and share his experiences with the people
I care about whether they be known or unknown.
Real. Or "mostly-real."
There. That's good. Light and fluffy crap.
Well. On with the show! Stay tuned for my first tragedy. Read it for what it is and comment (or not) as you see fit.
Blog Update: 2/24/08:
How interesting the results from my first Consumer Victim Poll (shown at right)! A full 100% of you voting about legal disclaimers felt that they were confusing or subjected you to something you were not aware of!
The "Proof Is In The Pudding" as they say and legal footnotes, although "helpful" or "required" from the inside of corporate America are, in fact, misleading and damaging from a consumer perspective.
Keep reading the legal, folks!
