Showing posts with label big sister. Show all posts
Showing posts with label big sister. Show all posts
Monday, October 6, 2008
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Smoke and Mirrors
I spent way too long today, in the million-degree heat, walking across more acres of asphalt parking lots, in order to pick up my new glasses. "HAH!" said DOG.
First of all, last week I ordered the new lenses for my glasses at a place I shall call by its initials: PV. When I was in the exam room with the doctor who owns a bunch of PVs in the Atlanta area, I mentioned how horrid my current glasses had been; I was on the third pair because the little magnet that holds the clip-on sunglasses on kept falling out. I finally found a glue at Lowes that worked, but then the sunglasses went all wonky and wouldn't stay on the glasses. They have been a pain in the a** for a whole year. I wasn't being unpleasant and I didn't even think to ask for any sort of refund, but he agreed that he didn't like the glasses either, told me he would give me free frames to make up for the inconvenience and didn't charge for the exam. Sweet!
However, I wanted to keep the old frames, because I like the look of them, but wanted separate sunglasses. No problem! The sunglass frames would be free. Again, sweet!
If you've ever been to PV, you know that the pricing is based on magic, smoke and mirrors, and the click of the mouse. You never see the screen; you just listen to the clicks as the salesperson mumbles all sorts of things that you can never quite hear. As I looked at the receipt, I realized two things: I have no idea if I REALLY got free frames for the sunglasses and I have no idea if I've paid anywhere near a decent price for what I've bought. Six-hundred dollars for one complete pair and the lenses for another pair? I have no idea.
When I went in today, there was, as always, a line. So I waited and waited and waited... There is no one whose job it is to ask, "May I help you?" Everyone is at tables helping people pick out glasses, so until one of them is free, we wait. And wait. An indecisive teenage-age girl was picking out frames. Her equally indecisive younger sister was trying to help. Finally, the salesperson voiced her opinion and the teenager took her advice. Phew... Last week when I picked out my sunglasses, I asked the salesperson, hoping that she did not have an ugly or perverse sense of humor, to just tell me what to buy. She did and I did and that was that.
Well, when I finally made it to the head of the line, I got my sunglasses and they were fine. But I had to leave my regular glasses for two hours to have the lenses changed out. No problem. I went to my nearby LYS and knitted with friends who were there---a nice break.
But two hours later, back at PV, there was a problem: blurry spots right in my line of vision. So next week, I get to go back and stand in line again to get my correctly-made lenses (I hope).
Really, this is it. PV is always very good about repairing glasses and fixing problems. But it would be great if there weren't always problems, and it would be even greater if I knew if I was getting a good deal.
First of all, last week I ordered the new lenses for my glasses at a place I shall call by its initials: PV. When I was in the exam room with the doctor who owns a bunch of PVs in the Atlanta area, I mentioned how horrid my current glasses had been; I was on the third pair because the little magnet that holds the clip-on sunglasses on kept falling out. I finally found a glue at Lowes that worked, but then the sunglasses went all wonky and wouldn't stay on the glasses. They have been a pain in the a** for a whole year. I wasn't being unpleasant and I didn't even think to ask for any sort of refund, but he agreed that he didn't like the glasses either, told me he would give me free frames to make up for the inconvenience and didn't charge for the exam. Sweet!
However, I wanted to keep the old frames, because I like the look of them, but wanted separate sunglasses. No problem! The sunglass frames would be free. Again, sweet!
If you've ever been to PV, you know that the pricing is based on magic, smoke and mirrors, and the click of the mouse. You never see the screen; you just listen to the clicks as the salesperson mumbles all sorts of things that you can never quite hear. As I looked at the receipt, I realized two things: I have no idea if I REALLY got free frames for the sunglasses and I have no idea if I've paid anywhere near a decent price for what I've bought. Six-hundred dollars for one complete pair and the lenses for another pair? I have no idea.
When I went in today, there was, as always, a line. So I waited and waited and waited... There is no one whose job it is to ask, "May I help you?" Everyone is at tables helping people pick out glasses, so until one of them is free, we wait. And wait. An indecisive teenage-age girl was picking out frames. Her equally indecisive younger sister was trying to help. Finally, the salesperson voiced her opinion and the teenager took her advice. Phew... Last week when I picked out my sunglasses, I asked the salesperson, hoping that she did not have an ugly or perverse sense of humor, to just tell me what to buy. She did and I did and that was that.
Well, when I finally made it to the head of the line, I got my sunglasses and they were fine. But I had to leave my regular glasses for two hours to have the lenses changed out. No problem. I went to my nearby LYS and knitted with friends who were there---a nice break.
But two hours later, back at PV, there was a problem: blurry spots right in my line of vision. So next week, I get to go back and stand in line again to get my correctly-made lenses (I hope).
Really, this is it. PV is always very good about repairing glasses and fixing problems. But it would be great if there weren't always problems, and it would be even greater if I knew if I was getting a good deal.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
The Middle Child
My older daughter and her husband are expecting their fourth child in November. They hope that child #2 and new baby will be buddies, no matter the sex of #4. Child #1 (almost 8) and child #3 (almost 2) are great buddies, and that is helped by the fact that #1 is old enough to understand personal space, and knows that she can’t force #3 to like her. Instead, she plays with him in an appropriate manner, reads to him, and generally lets him be him. #2, however, tries to make #3 love her, and is way too enthusiastically and physically affectionate. (You don’t want to play with me when I love you so much? See how much I love you? Momma, he’s running away and I want to HUG him!)
My sister is the middle child and she has always been opposed to anyone’s having a middle child. She told her husband that if he wanted four children, fine, they would have four. But they wouldn’t have three. He pointed out to her that they couldn’t have four without first having three and she explained that three guaranteed four. They have two children.
When I see how #2 and #3 interact, I realize what my sister meant all these years. I think back to how my brother (#3) and I (#1) treated her. There were five years in age between my brother and me, and we got along well. My poor sister was often the odd man out. My brother was (in my memory, at least) the worst of the two of us when it came to tormenting her. There was a period of time in his youth when he was obsessed with robots; they didn’t exist yet in any form but there was plenty written about their development and my brother was fascinated by the idea of them. When my sister was angry with him and told him off, he would repeat in a monotone voice, “That does not compute. That does not compute,” until she gave up and went away.
A lot of what we did to her was the result of her having her birthday on April 1st. It wasn’t her fault that she was born on April Fool’s Day, but my brother and I made the most of it. One year we sent her on a scavenger hunt. She followed clue after clue, only to find a gift-wrapped apple core at the end. I really, really hope that we had the generosity (and the budget) to give her a decent gift after all of that, but I don’t remember. We often told her that she had won the Fussbudget of the Year Award (after Lucy in the Peanuts cartoon), but no wonder!!! We tormented her and she, understandably, fought back.
So, for #2’s sake: I hope new baby just loves, loves, loves his or her big sister!
Oh, and---sorry, Linda!!!
My sister is the middle child and she has always been opposed to anyone’s having a middle child. She told her husband that if he wanted four children, fine, they would have four. But they wouldn’t have three. He pointed out to her that they couldn’t have four without first having three and she explained that three guaranteed four. They have two children.
When I see how #2 and #3 interact, I realize what my sister meant all these years. I think back to how my brother (#3) and I (#1) treated her. There were five years in age between my brother and me, and we got along well. My poor sister was often the odd man out. My brother was (in my memory, at least) the worst of the two of us when it came to tormenting her. There was a period of time in his youth when he was obsessed with robots; they didn’t exist yet in any form but there was plenty written about their development and my brother was fascinated by the idea of them. When my sister was angry with him and told him off, he would repeat in a monotone voice, “That does not compute. That does not compute,” until she gave up and went away.
A lot of what we did to her was the result of her having her birthday on April 1st. It wasn’t her fault that she was born on April Fool’s Day, but my brother and I made the most of it. One year we sent her on a scavenger hunt. She followed clue after clue, only to find a gift-wrapped apple core at the end. I really, really hope that we had the generosity (and the budget) to give her a decent gift after all of that, but I don’t remember. We often told her that she had won the Fussbudget of the Year Award (after Lucy in the Peanuts cartoon), but no wonder!!! We tormented her and she, understandably, fought back.
So, for #2’s sake: I hope new baby just loves, loves, loves his or her big sister!
Oh, and---sorry, Linda!!!
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