Thursday peeves.
Maybe it was too much unexpectedly uncomfortable sunlight, maybe too many pre-storm positive ions in the air today, but I find myself with a pocketful of peeves to share with you like so many marbles.
Dear 67 Burger:
I love your salty, crisped-edge beef patties; The Hub loves that you understand the words “medium rare”; The Scamp is all about your french fries. We don’t even mind that you don’t deliver; it’s worth the walk. However, if you are indeed going to make us walk to fetch our own 67 Burger goodness, can you please consider packing the food in recycled paper bags with handles? ‘Cos walking 12 blocks like this
while managing a stroller on bumpy sidewalks is pretty lame. And it makes me feel like my bag oughta have a McDonald’s logo on the side. Let’s kick it up a notch, ‘kay?
Dear Maclaren:
Love the lightness of the Volo. You understand how I’m living. Except for this:
A see-through panel at the top of the hood would surely add nothing to the weight of the stroller, and it would save me from constantly flipping or craning around the hood to see if The Scamp has stuck a Cheerio up his nose. Let’s work it out, ‘kay?
Dear New York City retailers:
There’s a modern concept known as customer service that you should bone up on. (Brooklyn retailers especially.) You see, there are magical places where a doctor’s office receptionist will actually take 30 seconds to make your appointment rather than put you on hold three times after picking up your call and then tell you to “call back in 10 minutes ‘cos we’re really busy right now.” Places where you can call a business to see if an item is in stock, and the operator doesn’t ring the necessary department eight times (yes, I counted) in vain because no one on the floor will be bothered to pick up the phone even after the operator pages them on the store intercom to tell them to pick up the damn phone. Places where once you’ve gotten someone on the phone, the response isn’t, “Hmm, I don’t know, I’ll see, call back in 10 minutes.” Places where, if the business is closed, they’ve been so kind as to have an answering machine pick up and give useful information like store hours and location. Places where store clerks actually stop gossiping for two minutes with their co-workers to acknowledge your existence, conduct your transaction with eye contact, and bid you a good day. I could go on — really, I could go on and on — but you get the idea. Let’s get real, ‘kay?
Dear Fresh Direct:
You may tout the eco-friendliness of your recycled boxes, but until you stop doing this
you are still a bit of an environmental disaster.
No love,
MotherSister Brooklyn.