What do you think would happen if I just decided that I didn’t want to take care of business? For instance, how about if I didn’t show up for a concert? Or if I blew off going to a gig to accompany a student and left him hanging with nothing? I’d never get away with it, that’s what. Yet, people apparently do just that on a regular basis.
I trusted one “professional” person to make sure the escrow account on my mortgage is overfunded (and of course, I pay extra to make it so), and for the second straight tax billing period, I look at my statement to see huge late fees because I didn’t have a sufficient balance to make my escrow payment. So I call them. AGAIN. I say, politely, “Um, remember the last two times we dealt with this? Could you check your records and see where I paid extra so this would be taken care of?”
Then I get the “Oh, yes. I see that here. Well, we have to charge the penalty this time, but we’ll be sure to adjust it for next time.” The double-talk, the end-runs around me, the quoting of rules and guidelines that make no sense: they love to lay it on in hopes that if they baffle you with enough BS, you’ll just say OK and go away. That’s about when I lost it last night. Dragging home at 9 p.m. after a decidedly less-than-stellar rehearsal which followed a day full of bad news on one front or another, only to find this familiar friend staring me in the face — it was about all I could take. Mama Fink went on the warpath. And I have the 3.5 hours of sleep to show for it.
The absolute bottom line is this: they don’t listen. You can explain your issue to them as if they were toddlers, after which they puke out hollow epithets like, “Yes, I’ll notate that in your account,” and “It’s all taken care of!” — then they forget they ever heard of you.
Someday, I am going to just let stuff like this go. Meh, it’s just inefficient people. No biggy…
Welp, today is not that day. BOOT to the head.