Aqua Globes = Aqua Scam!

This company will take your money by tricking you. I know this because they took mine!

Watch out for... the "Aqua Globes!"

They overcharged me for a single set... then doubled my over charged order over $100 for what was a $15 purchase!

It's an Aqua Scam, folks!

Taj Garage

Thar she be.

She sported square lines (some called her boxy). She was worn. Could barely stand. We never knew how old she was, but we guessed she had been raised in the 70s.

Yep. There she was. Right in my backyard. Staring back at me with a tattered, bruised soul.

There was... my garage.

She was detached from the house - a standard feature of the 20s where garages were built detached, or not at all.

I had just "upgraded" from my one-car garage at my former house so was excited we could get two cars in her. But it wasn't pretty.

First off, when we purchased our house, we also purchased a missing remote for the garage door opener, so we had to manually lift or lower the door each time we moved cars. After numerous searches to find a remote replacement, we gave up. Turned out her garage door brain (the motor) was so old new openers didn't like her. Then there was the duct tape holding a cracked window pane together. Some would call that character, but I called it trashy. And structurally? The western wall would quite literally sway in the wind because it was so rotten, you could see through it. A result of years of poor water drainage left ignored.

Perhaps the biggest surprise was she had an active termite colony under her. This little nugget we learned the first week we moved into our new home after a "misunderstanding" with the inspection company, when they revealed they wouldn't inspect detached structures. So the termites went unnoticed during the inspection process.

After seven months of cursing her, we finally agreed to put her broken soul to rest. We were going to erect something magnificent. Along the lines of the Taj Mahal, but garage-like.

We were going to erect our first Taj Garage.

Wanted: Good Contractor

But who would build this magnificent structure? Like most, we didn't have a "GC" in our hip pocket. We asked around but no referrals. So we made a short-list of people to call from yard signs posted around the area.

During the bid process, we were quoted numbers all over the board. Some guys were thrice the price of others, which convinced me they were just throwing out numbers to see if we'd bite. Regardless, all the numbers were outside our budget of $30k. $30k? For a garage?

This is true. Despite being advised otherwise, we wanted a two-story garage so the second floor could house a small office or at least provide more storage given our space-starved "main cabin." Since we were going to have to get a loan to pay for this sucker, we opted to stretch outside our initial budget and go for the gold.

We finally settled in on a contractor named Homer*. He was clean-cut. Spoke English. And lived nearby, so he was a known entity. He was also one of the few who could see an estimate into our hands. And he got the job.

And the walls...

The day finally came for demo. There was an excitement that could be felt throughout the house. We hoped we were making the right decision because once she was gone, she was gone.

The deconstruction took about 3 hours. Hammers, saws and the sheer force of three men were used to finally level the former garage. Like tigers dragging their innocent kill to the ground.

Construction Dysfunction

Shortly after the construction began, we learned that the framers were holding-up the show. Each day after work I'd inspect what (if anything) had been done that day. I soon learned the framers were working at the pace of two 1/2 days per week. At this rate, our garage would take years - not weeks - to build!

I tried to reason with Homer and was told "they aren't my employees," so how could I expect him to crack the whip?!? Really?

The tides began to turn. And turn they did. We later learned that the plans we had prepared from our budding architect referral "Mevelyn," we'll call her, were flawed. And flawed bad. "Sheer mathmatical errors," our GC said.

We encountered several issues during construction (click below for larger). Like when the electrician went drilling holes in the garage exterior "willy nilly" - picture unleveled holes drilled in the dark. Or when we learned Homer was the laughing stock of his contractor's breakfast when his group learned he didn't use a "glue lam" over the garage door for supporting the weight, compliments of the second floor. He later swallowed pride and redid the opening before word got out any further. My favorite was when the city shut down the project twice because there wasn't enough "head room" per city code to walk from the downstairs floor up the stairs without hitting your head.

It was apparent to us that our GC, Homer, was oblivious to city code and he pointed all issues back to the architect, or worse, to us.

In the end the project took over 5 months - almost twice what we were promised. It was like pushing water uphill, but we saw it through to the end. We prepared the final check and were excited the day our "release of lien" paperwork showed-up from the bank.

In retrospect, the lessons from this garage debacle are clear:

1) Know your GC. Make sure you thoroughly investigate your GC. Ask for references for projects similar to yours and talk to them. Remember that you're unlikely to be provided bad referrals by your GC, so probe for the issues you're most concerned about.

2) Get it in writing. Make sure and document the critical milestones in the project contract. If I could go back in time, I would have levied financial penalties to Homer (discounts to us) if the project took longer than 10-15% of what was quoted.

3) OBTK. This stands for "One Butt To Kick" and it means that someone at some point has to take accountability. Make sure you and the OBTK know who is who. In our case, Homer was our OBTK, but he thought he was the victim.

Oh, he has no idea!

Despite the experience, we are happy with our Taj Garage. To date we have not completely finished some of the work like window ledges, topping her subfloor upstairs or baseboards, but she's standing tall. She's termite free. And the house? He says they make a good couple.


* But where are the names!!? We want names!!!

Joe forbid me to reveal the true names of the folks involved on the great garage project of 2006. He was worried there'd be some sort of retaliation, let's call it. So names have been changed to protect the guilty. If you'd like more offline information about who not to use, ring me. If you live outside the East Dallas bubble, you're unlikely to cross paths with the clowns involved on our project.

Talk about victim!

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Marooned

With 16+ years experience in the advertising business, it baffles my mind how some seemingly legitimate companies can misrepresent and mislead customers while not getting sued or run out of business.

Looking back, it's like rearranging the chairs on the Titantic when thinking of all the time and energies I've spent in legal meetings combing through statements and claim support ensuring that the truth was upheld... only for other companies to bend the truth and get away with it.

The experience I just went through with Napa Style really takes the winds out of my truth in advertising sails.

Let's Go Back

Way back, to February, 2008.

Joe and I received the newest Napa Style catalog like we had many times before. We had been on the quest for a new kitchen island for a few months and there were several to choose from in the spring catalog.

This was a big-ticket purchase for us costing $1,700 so after a few conversations debating our worthiness to spend such an amount, we placed the order for the "Heirloom Carving Block Island" (shown above).

We couldn't wait for it to arrive. Or would we?

Shortly thereafter, we received an out-of-stock alert stating that Napa Style hates it when they, too, "wait for great items to come in the mail."

Looks like this order wasn't going to go off without a hitch.

Marooned. Without Island

The part of the story that holds no water is multi-fold.

1) Napa Style has been advertising the Heirloom Carving Block Island in every monthly catalog featuring a "tutto pronte" badge which means quite literally "ready to ship," when it in fact, it was not.

The island was backordered! Had Nappy not read their own emails? I get there are lead times for print catalogs but four months? If so, how can a company make such a timely claim with such a non-timely print lead time?

2) Nappy Style must have hired former J. Peterman writers to pen clever copy for their well-poised catalog.

After re-reading the copy numerous times, I'm still confused how the piece can in fact be coming from India when the copy mentions multiple times the country of France and that the piece is imported. From France? For real? Think twice!

3) When contacting customer service, they explained the reason for the backlog was that the nearby port in California was closed for a week. Didn't I get the 4-1-1? I guess they forgot that 4 months minus one week is, um, fifteen weeks without island.

4) I placed an online order in March for five items and guess what? All five were on backorder! I wrote to customer service and never heard back. Seems Nappy is well versed in taking and making money, but not in providing good customer service.

Mistruths In Advertising

It's up to us to hold companies responsible for standing up for our consumer rights when they go wrong as they sometimes do. But in the case of Napa Style, it's a nasty reminder of how prolonged poor customer service can deteriorate the human soul.

This post is my most recent in terms of the frequency and freshness of rage - we're supposedly on the eve of receiving the island tomorrow - almost one week after it's been sitting at a Dallas FedEx facility. When it's convenient for the delivery company, I'm sure it will arrive.

In the meantime we're unsubscribing from future mistreatment from Nappy Style. Arrivederci, Chiarello!

Tutto di Annullare

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.

Loco For Mico

If you know anything about the places to see and be seen, you'll agree Mi Cocina makes the cut. Their food is my absolute favorite and I'm willing to endure the hoity vibe by the location nearest me in the high lands of Highland Park.

I shudder to know how much money I've given the Rodriquez family; my bills usually top $100 largely in part to the intoxicating margaritas that are about $9 a pop. And worth every penny.

I was a regular customer at the Galleria location for about five years. I'd meet-up with friends, get my drink on, then do some drunk shopping... Dallas-style! Now that I'm in my older years, I've segued from drunk shopping to drunk ONLINE shopping, where it's easier to order-up some things I don't need from the comfort of my armchair or floor.

One heckuva character there at the Galleria "Mico's" was a lady named Maxine. She knew me by name and when I was in her eyesight, she knew a "margarita on the rocks, no salt" was to be ordered rapidamente. Mico's wasn't a place where everybody knew my name, but it sorta felt that it was as close as I was gonna get.

Mesa Por Dos, Por Favor

One day back in 2005 Joe and I went there for a sensible lunch. Being the glam that I am, I actually wore my sunglasses into the mall to avoid anyone recognizing me and rushing me for my autograph.

During the meal I took my glasses off and set them on the table top. When we were done, we got up and made it about 20 steps from the table before I realized I had left my glasses. You see, without them, I'm a little Helen Keller.

In a matter of mere seconds, the busboy had already frantically disassembled the table and there I was: frantically trying to find my glasses.

They were nowhere to be found!

Que Horrible!

How could this be? I won't spare you the gory details so read the letter here at right for the full nitty gritty then report back to this post for the conclusion to my contusion.

Angry Letter Shown At Right: Not Actual Size. Click the letter's image to enlarge it for your viewing pleasure.


Did you finish reading the letter? Bueno!

I was surprised that a few weeks after sending my letter to Mico's Mothership, I received a gift card in the mail from them. The $100 gift card didn't come close to replacing my $600 spectacles, but it was some sort of peace offering. An attempt.

In the end, I had to reorder new glasses and swallow my pride. I couldn't stomach the thought of boycotting my favorite food source no matter how much rage I had within.

However, I still hold the grudge against the Galleria location and have not been back in over three years.

I narrowly dodged a near fatal break-up with my favorite restaurant but rest assured when I eat there, I don't take off my glasses!

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.

Down The Drain

This featurette validates the truth behind the statement "when bad things happen to good people."

Let's table the validity of my goodness for now and focus on the facts. I can assure you this was one heckuva ride that resulted in numerous "WTFs", clenched fists and head-thunks levied against the wall.

It was May, 2005 and we had just purchased our newest project: a 1920s house that had been foreclosed on twice back-to-back. It had been completely vacant for a year and the previous owners had cherry-picked most embellishments out of the place (except the home's battered soul, which was in need of a RedBull booster shot). The front yard's grass was a lovely shade of dead while the back yard looked like a neglected swampland.

I was ready for the challenge after a relatively successful eight-year relationship in my first home - a 1950s "cottage" in the Lakewood area in Dallas and Joe eagerly joined in on the cause.

Breathe In? Breathe Out!

The house was in a sought-after area and just on the market so we snatched it up quickly before selling our current homes despite what common sense would advise. We could barely afford the two houses we were in and now had the responsibility for three houses. So we organized the sale of two homes plus a joint move-in, which required lots of swift coordination.

There were obvious projects needing quick attention. Scraped ceilings, a new range for the kitchen to replace the one that was "removed" by the previous owners and literally pumping putrescence out of the boarded-up pool, which was filled with leaves, limbs and cloudy, black water nearly 3 feet deep.

Projects like this make you discover what you're willing to subject yourself to!

Out of all the projects - one should have been a slam-dunk: repairing some plumbing in the only bathroom downstairs (one would call this the master bathroom in a small, old house like this).

Little did we know a plumbing company I had used at my former house "Pyramid Plumbing" would take our money and leave us without an operable tub/shower for months. This was going to be one slippery ride.

I had used Pyramid Plumbing before at my old house without issue and went ahead and paid for the job up front to get them started (more on this later). The plumber began work on the project which involved reducing the number of vintage porcelain faucet handles on the wall from five to one sleek puppy.

Halfway through the project the plumber literally vanished after cutting a pipe flush with the tile wall (shown at right). After numerous phone calls initiated only by me married with excuses from Pyramid Plumbing's front desk, it was obvious the guy had abandoned the job because he screwed up.

Three months after patiently waiting for the company to stand up and fix the mess and after following the BBB's worthless process, I sent a demand letter to the company via certified mail, which they promptly ignored. I realized the only hope was to take this company to court.

Court. Small Claims Court

The case was pretty much an open/closed case. I had enough documentation to land this guy behind bars (or so I thought). Prior to the hearing, the owner and I were able to talk freely outside the judge's chambers. I showed him the pictures, the documentation and he still didn't want to fix the situation.

The hearing took about 10 minutes of which I was declared the victor by the judge. Sadly, the judge did not award me the full amount of the work (which was never completed) but a small portion. The judge turned to the perp and said "Do you have a check" and the guy said "No." The Judge said it was up to the plaintiff and defendant to settle out of court.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. Not only was I screwed, I was getting the double shaft!

I called the court's clerk and explained the situation. I was told that if the defendant didn't pay up I'd have to pay MORE MONEY to have a court-appointed Sheriff or Constable visit the company to try and get the funds by confiscating owned (not leased) property and selling it in an auction. The best part is there were no guarantees that 1) they owned any property outright; 2) it was worth anything; or 3) that they could even sell it.

So there I was. At the end of the line. And at the end of my emotional roller coaster for the better part of a year.

And... Scene!

In the end, this episode closed with a complete loss of respect and confidence in our judicial system which had me chasing my tail for months.

The lessons learned from this fiasco are clear:

1) If you give people the opportunity to screw you, they probably will.

2) Never pay for work upfront even if you know the person and have a previous working relationship with them.

3) Always make sure you hold the upper hand in any contracting relationship.

4) Seek to do business through you referral network (friends) vs. trolling for companies via newspaper coupons or door flyers. You can get lucky, just don't expect it. We've had success with AngiesList where you can read other people's write-ups on companies they've done business with.

5) Try and work with bona fide companies vs. independents, where it's easier for them to fly under the radar (disappear) in situations where they don't take the high road.

6) Most importantly, don't rely on our judicial system to bail you out of a situation even if you have complete documentation, witnesses or even video diary back-up. Read up on the small claims process.

You may find the people enabling false hopes and perpetuating shoddy service aren't the ones who have split with your money and left jobs undone. They are the ones representing a pointless process that in the end, protects the guilty.

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!

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 make 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

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.