A light snack before our late dinner.
A light snack before our late dinner.
My birthday is on Tuesday. Paul asked what I wanted, and I said, "DISNEYLAND!" So that poor, Disney-indifferent soul had arranged for a one-day, turnaround trip for Tuesday.
Well, then it turns out he's going to be in Southern California on Monday, and it seems silly to take a flight back that evening only to get up at the crack of dawn to haul my Mickey ass to Disneyland, so we decided to stay over Monday night, with me flying out after work and meeting him there.
Because I have an Annual Pass, I get discounts. I called the hotel and got a room at the Disneyland Hotel for $100 less than it would normally cost. AWESOME. One catch - I have to present my pass at check-in. I don't have my pass. It was stolen. I had planned on taking a flight from San Jose that gets me into Orange County at 8:45. Guest Services closes at 8:00. No problem, thought I, I'll just take the earlier flight and get there in time to get the pass. I gave the very nice and helpful reservation agent my Visa card, and made the nonrefundable reservation. The next earlier flight is at 4:45. DAMMIT. Too early. What happened to the 6:30 flight?!?
I tried calling the Annual Passholder hotline to talk to a real-live human to explain my plight. Surely, Disney being a customer service-type company will help me out, right? The hotline turned out to be a voicemail. Nothing more. Oh, but they promise to get back to you within 48 hours. WTF? How is that acceptable customer service?
Okay, fine. I get the general Disneyland phone number for human beings (thank you, MousePlanet) and get somebody. "Hi!" I said in my nicest voice. "I have a problem." I was explaining the situation regarding my stolen pass and my hotel reservation and she cut me off. "OKAY," she said, "You need to go to Guest Services and get a replacement pass." "No, I know that," I said, "but I'm not sure I can get there in time." "Well, that's the only thing you can do," she said. I paused, waiting a beat. Seriously? That was all the help she was going to offer? Not put me through to someone else who could help me? Get creative? Anything?
"Um... okay," I said, "Well, is it possible I could have the pass sent to the hotel?" "No." Again, nothing. No explanation. Whenever someone tells me just "No," I always respond, "Why not?" So I did. "Because we need to verify your photo and you need to pay the replacement fee." Fair enough. "Okay, what if I called Guest Services, gave them my barcode number and faxed my ID? They could send the card to the hotel, where I would verify with my ID and pay the money there."
"No," she said, impatient.
Beat. Beat. Beat.
"Why not?"
"Because. Because it's not - er, because it's not our policy."
Beat. Beat.
"Okay, so, you're just not going to help me with this at all, because it's not your policy?"
"Yes."
CLICK.
I hung up on her. I was so mad at that point I couldn't bring myself to be even a little civil. There was no helpfulness in her voice, no sympathy, no inkling that she even remotely wanted to help me. Even a, "Wow, I'm sorry you had your pass stolen. Gee, I'm not sure if there's anything we can do," would have gone a long way. I couldn't continue the conversation any further or even say "thank you" before I hung up on her.
I know Disneyland "cast members" hate Annual Passholders. I get it. But maybe there's a reason why we sometimes act the way we do.
Disneyland: You're on notice.
I took a look at my TweetStats, and found my Twitter usage has exploded (much like everyone else's). What I found particularly interesting is my Tweet Cloud; it's more like my Life Cloud.
Take a look:
Some of the words in the cloud coincidentally make small phrases. Here are a few of my favorites:
"bring burrito"
"champagne check" (If read as, "Champagne? Check!")
"cool crap"
"did disneyland"
"finally finished"
"free friday fun"
"happy hate head" (I'm going to register that domain)
"home hooray!"
"jim juice"
"live long"
"omg oof"
"party paul"
"playing pretty"
"tmbg today"
"totally trying twitter"
"wine wish"
"www yay!"
"yes yoga"
Perfect to soak up all that wine we've been drinking today.
I remember these days. I remember this tour.
Just...
Um..
*drool.*
I have a lot of goals. So many that it's impossible to keep track of them, let alone accomplish them. Add to this the fact I have a tendency to beat myself up over the smallest of "failures" and you have a Keri who is constantly in a state of Not Good Enough. I wondered what it would feel like to live up to my own expectations - my somewhat realistic ones, that is - for even a short amount of time.
Starting on April 1, the Month of Good was born.
For one month, I will be good. I get to define what "good" is; I even have a list. It's supposed to be difficult, in fact, nigh impossible to achieve. I'm doing this publicly to keep me honest (let's face it... I would have quit by now otherwise), and come equipped with a blog, YouTube channel, and of course, Twitter feed (collect them all!). Even sitting here on Day 3, I've already fallen behind on blogging and getting enough sleep, because let's face it, when given the choice between karaoke and sleep, I'm going to choose karaoke every single time.
At the end of this experiment, I hope to identify the things that make me the happiest and most fulfilled, and finally be able to chuck the rest (well... at least be able to feel somewhat okay about chucking the rest). It's an exercise in priorities, choices, and control.
Wish me luck. I'm definitely going to need it.
So, we're sitting here drinking wine and watching The Godfather Part II (part of the Friday night Michael film education series) and we get a call. We ignore it as per usual.
A little while later, Michael listens to the message. It's from SFPD asking for Erika Hall (???) and informing us they found an iPhone.
I call back and talk to Officer Tony. Yes, they found my iPhone and if I can pick it up in the next hour, they'll just give it to me. Otherwise, they have to book it as found property and I'll have to go get it at the Bryant station.
I've had a little wine and the station is in the Tenderloin, so Paul graciously agrees to drive me. There's no legal parking, so Paul parked right in front of the station - in between two cop cars - and blocking the station driveway. I went in, and they immediately knew who I was (they had seen the photos on the phone), and Officer Tony came out. He held up my iPhone - my Precious - in perfect condition. I literally clapped my hands and jumped up and down.
"Where did you find it?" I asked him, incredulously. "On a homeless person," he said. Officer Tony went on to explain the homeless person insisted it was his, but Officer Tony said, "Uh, I can't even afford an iPhone," and took it from him. The battery was dead, so get this - THEY TOOK IT TO THE APPLE STORE AND CHARGED IT. I guess "Hall" is close to "Home," which explains the name mix-up, but they found me just fine.
"Um, you may want to clean that off pretty good," Officer Tony advised me. I thanked him profusely, and dashed outside to rescue Paul from his precarious and illegal location.
I'm now sitting here watching my little iPhone charge away, so very, very happy and delighted they took the time to find its rightful owner. Seriously. Who does that?! So very very very very cool.
Thank you thank you thank you, SFPD. And Tenderloin station? Your cookies are on the way.
What's the most valuable thing you've ever had stolen?
Oh, Vox. It's like you follow me on Twitter or something.
This question is especially timely considering I spent part of last evening in front of a bar in the Mission dressed as Madonna (Borderline/Lucky Star) examining each and every bag that came out of the door.
My bag went missing last night (well, technically, this morning) and with it my wallet, phone, and a friend's wallet and phone I was carrying. And we were there. We were Standing! Right! There! Right next to the bench with all of the coats - piled on top of the bag - and still it was swiped.
I've never had my bag stolen before. And you know, there's this optimism - it will turn up, SURELY it will turn up - which is rapidly replaced with a horrifying, sinking feeling when you realize that, no... no, it's gone. Then your mind races, taking inventory of the bag's contents. MY IPHONE! SHIT! MY WALLET! SHITSHIT! REBECCA'S PHONE AND WALLET! SHITSHITSHIT! Then you break it down further, and take stock of what was in the wallet. MY DISNEYLAND PASS! OH DEAR GOD NOOOOOOOOOO!
What a helpless feeling. No money, no cards, no phone to call somebody who might have money, phone, or cards (but this was handled nicely by Rebecca who grabbed a random person and said, "Can I use your phone?"). But still, still, you hold out hope that it was somehow a case of mistaken bag identity and the person who accidentally took it will be a good, decent human being and return it, untouched.
This was debunked when our cards were used to buy gas in the wee hours of the morn.
This is the point you realize that your bag and stuff is gone, all gone... And you now have permission to start calling people "fuckers."
But then you count your blessings. I, for instance, debated whether or not to carry my Nikon D50 around last night, and decided against it (based on some sound advice I received). My ID still has my Southern California address on it, so I don't necessarily need to change the locks (though I probably will anyway). My iPhone had been synced recently. I didn't have a ton of cash in my wallet. It wasn't a particularly expensive bag (though well-worn and well-loved; dubbed "The Woobie" by Paul because I carry it around so much). So yes, it could have been a lot worse.
But it could have been a lot better if some people didn't suck and weren't, indeed, how shall we say, fuckers.