Believe Me, I Was As Shocked As You

Remember last Wednesday, when I tried to redeem my Series EE Savings Bonds over at our financial institution in Bill-Paying Town? Okay. Maybe you don't, because it's really not a very interesting way to spend an afternoon. Anyhoo, they said that their system wouldn't take the serial numbers as they tried to type them in. And that they'd give me a call when it worked.

Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Monday...

ON TUESDAY, I GOT THAT CALL!

Yeah. I guess it took a while for everybody higher-up than my Desk-Teller to get out of that meeting! She was very polite, and said their system was now ready to accept my bonds for redemption.

"Oh. Okay. I'll try to find a day when I can make it back down there. Thanks so much for calling."

You know, because I'm not gonna run out and jump in T-Hoe and speed 20 miles to do that the instant they rescind their rejection of my bonds. I have to get used to the idea again. Decide if I really want to get up EARLY to get over there and back before dark. Wonder if Farmer H might be roped into driving me again.

The more I thought about it, I decided that I really should get it done this week, because I'll have to start my Chex Mix making soon enough. I asked Farmer H, but all he does is fritter his time away over at Pony House. So I got up at the Not-Heavenish hour of 11:15, and got ready to leave the Mansion by 1:00 on Thursday.

I made it to the institution without incident. There was a parallel parking space on the side of the building, right where Farmer H had parked us before. Good thing there were TWO spaces. So I didn't have to back up at all. Just drove T-Hoe up through one space into another. I grabbed my folder and headed inside. I went to the first teller I came to.

"I know you don't do this, but I'm here to redeem some savings bonds. Last week I talked to Firstname Lastname."

"Oh, you need to see the receptionist."

RECEPTIONIST? I didn't see any receptionist. Oh. Sitting sideways in a kind of booth with plexiglass around the desk. What an odd place for a receptionist. Her back was to those who entered from the side street like me. Her side to the people at the teller counter. 

She pointed me straight across from her booth, to a desk beside the one I'd been at last week. Which was empty. I guess that gal had a day off. Or got fired for breaking the savings bond system.

 

Anyhoo... this new Desk Teller was good enough. She was polite. She took the copies I had from last week, of my ID and the death certificate. Then she had the nerve to say, "Um. I need the bonds." Well! I guess she was within bounds, asking for the bonds.

 

First thing she did was leave me and go to the back. I think they go take a stiff shot of whiskey so they can deal with those bonds. Then she came back and started pecking at her keyboard. So I used that time to text my sister the ex-ex-mayor's wife about Christmas Eve festivities. In about 20 minutes, I had to sign a paper. Then Desk Teller put my bonds in a little contraption that reminded me of a sideways see-through toaster, and they got sucked in one at a time. 

 

"Is that a copier?"

 

"No. It's a scanner."

 

What will they think of next? An actual toaster to serve the customers a snack while they wait?

 

My business was done easier and sooner than I expected. I'm still kind of in shock that somebody actually called me back like they promised. I wonder if a POOP BOX would be frowned upon as a token of my appreciation...

I'm Pretty Sure It Wasn't Sent By A Secret Admirer

We're not doing our usual extravagant Christmas this year. The boys are older. The Pony will be getting items for his HOUSE when he moves in. Genius will only be here for a day, the week after Christmas. A cash gift is good enough. Nobody's going to turn that down! AND it means I can avoid the angst of dealing with package deliveries! 

I have only ordered a few things this year. They are not for Christmas. I'm waiting on the shoes for Farmer H and The Pony. They have not yet shipped. I have two bottles of vitamins on the way. And some cows for my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel. Not real cows, silly! Collectable CowParade Cows. I give them to her every year.

Monday evening, as I came upstairs to make supper for The Pony, Farmer H told me I had a package. He had left for the auction, then discovered it was only toys, so he came back home. That's when he saw the box on the front porch.

"I put it on the kitchen counter."

 

"Oh. Was it a box, or an envelope? Is it my cows, or the vitamins?"

 

"A box. Probably cows. It's too big to be vitamins."

 

I started frying hamburgers for The Pony. I'd barely glanced at the box on the counter. Just a quick look as I walked into the kitchen. While waiting for The Pony to get his burgers out of the pan so I could wash it, I turned to the box.

 

"THIS ISN'T MY COWS! It's a POOP BOX!"

"What? A WHAT box?"

"A POOP BOX! It's one of those ColoGuard tests! Why am I getting a POOP BOX? I didn't order it! In fact, when I was at my last appointment, my nurse practitioner asked me if I wanted to take the poop test, and I said NO. Because last time it cost me $649! Even though he swore it was covered by my insurance! AND it was useless anyway, because I never even got any results!"

"You know, my brother who actually had the surgery for colon cancer says that test is useless. His doctors told him that. It has too many false positives, and doesn't really tell you anything."

"I'd like to know why I'm getting this POOP BOX! I am NOT taking this test."

"Open it up. Maybe it says something inside."

"No. Why would I want to open it? Then I might be responsible for it."

"There might be a letter inside saying who sent it."

"All right... Oh, no! I wish I hadn't opened it! It's just the same kit they send everyone. Nothing about why it's here. Just the stuff and instructions. I am NOT paying for this!"

"Call your doctor and see if he sent it."

"I never get anything done when I call over there. They didn't do anything about my prescription needing further authorization."

"Just call and ask. Then you'll know."

So I called on Tuesday. On the house phone. Went through the automated section. Got a person. Asked for my NP's office. Got a recording saying to leave a message. Well. That was a bite in the rumpus. I didn't leave a message. But now I'll have a long-distance call on my AT&T bill.

When I went to town Tuesday, I used my cell phone to call again. So no long distance. And my cell phone works from the parking lot of Country Mart. Again, I got the recording saying it was the nurse, and to leave my name, number, and question. I did.

 

"This is Hillbilly Mom. 777-7777. I'm calling to see if somebody there ordered a ColoGuard test for me. Because a box was left on my porch, and I didn't order it. In fact, at my last appointment, I specifically said I did NOT want a ColoGuard test, because the last one cost me $649."

Of course I have not heard anything back. Isn't THAT a surprise? Of course they won't call, because they've been caught in a sticky wicket of prescribing something I said I didn't want. Or else they didn't, and don't want to hear me go on about it. Still, a simple YES or NO response to the origin would be nice.

I consulted my estranged BFF Google about "ColoGuard didn't order," and found an interesting link to the BBB. That's the Better Business Bureau. Seems I'm not the only one dissatisfied with ColoGuard's business practices! Many people are mystified when a POOP BOX arrives on their porch. Many more are outraged when they have to pay $649.

ColoGuard seems a bit snippy in their responses, saying they cannot send out a collection kit unless prescribed by a medical professional. They get all passive-aggressive about being happy that the complainer is being screened for their health, and sad that they don't want to pay for it. 

 

However, they say that if you don't want the test, to recycle it. Heh, heh! I'm sure THAT isn't going to happen. But I'll throw it away. Because if you don't sent it in, you can't be charged. Some poor honest POOP BOX recipient sent the kit back, and WAS CHARGED $649! Even though he/she didn't poop in it. Sent the unopened box back (paying shipping to return it) and got billed!

Oh, and some victims paid the $649 for their test, and didn't get results, and were told that results could only be given to the doctor who ordered the test. AND some others got a positive result, and had a follow-up colonoscopy at the hospital, for which they had to PAY, since their insurance said it was no longer a PREVENTATIVE TEST, since the ColoGuard counted as that. Which sounds like it was a problem to these people, since supposedly ColoGuard has a 40% false positive rate. All according to the Better Business Bureau correspondences that I read.

Here are my POOP BOX experiences from back in 2018:

I Can't Guarantee That It Don't Stink, But Apparently It's Made Of Gold

I Would Imagine That They Rue The Day Every Night

Maybe I can set my POOP BOX down by Mailbox Row, and somebody will steal it. Then again, it probably has a tracking code, and I might end up paying $649 for somebody else's poop...

The Carrier Has No Clothes

The Pony will soon be all decked out in official work gear. He came home Monday night with a new letter for his uniform allowance. He's been asking for it since two weeks after he returned to work when released by his ankle doctor. He passed his 90-calendar-day probation while off with his injury. So he was eligible for the $500-something uniform allowance. 

 

For that, he needed a specific purchase order/letter thingy from a manager. He got one, but something was wrong with it, or he waited past the time period that it was active. I don't remember the full story. I think it was equal amounts his own fault, and then the manager for not getting him the replacement thingy promptly

Anyhoo... The Pony was planning to hit SEND on the order he already had waiting, but then I threw a monkey wrench into the process by announcing that I was going to buy him a pair of shoes. I got a BA MASON catalog in the mail that day, and saw some suitable black leather shoes, and was tired of The Pony putting off shoe-buying while waiting to get that uniform allowance. 

 

I'd been pushing him to get some shoes WHILE he was off with that broken ankle. His other shoes were already worn out, and he has now worn them another four months! He delayed, because the current shoes he has and likes were discontinued.

Anyhoo... I also wanted to order a pair of shoes for Farmer H, since I'm not getting him anything for Christmas. AND his birthday is coming up. PLUS, I could get a 25% discount on my order. I used to order shoes from there all the time. 

So... two pairs of shoes are on the way. And now The Pony has put off hitting SEND on his uniform order, since I'm buying him a pair of shoes, and he wants to take off shoes and substitute more clothing.

Eventually, The Pony will look like a real mailman. You might not notice, because all you'll see of him in the dark will be that light clipped on the bill of his cap.

My Next Goal Is To Make Them Mad Enough To Wash Their Own Dishes

Let the record show that Farmer H has done his own laundry since the early years of our marriage. All because he took offense to being told to put his dirty clothes in the hamper in the bathroom. He was an hourly worker back then, and wore jeans and t-shirts that got soiled with grease during his machine maintenance duties. When he came home, he'd undress for a bath, and leave those dirty clothes in a pile on the bedroom floor.

"If you expect me to wash your clothes, you'll need to put them in the hamper. I won't pick them up off the floor."

Well. Who could have known how strongly Farmer H would feel about this topic? Surely (heh, heh, I typed SURLY) not Mrs. HM. But as you might expect, it did not hurt my feelings at all for Farmer H to selfishly do his own laundry from then on.

The Pony does his own laundry since he's moved back home. Not that I offered to do it for him. I'm pretty sure he lives in fear that I will breach the sanctity of his room to look for clothes in need of laundering.

NOW... if I could just stir up something to make them want to wash their own dishes, I'd be a freakin' genius. Yesterday I did three sinks full of dishes. Yet I hadn't gone a day without doing dishes. It's not like I let them build up. There were just too many, in such odd shapes, to get washed and drained in the clean sink. I know you don't think Mrs. HM is going to DRY the dishes, too! They can evaporate while I take a load off my feet.

I had the Tupperware container from the Oreo Cake. And skillets from The Pony making himself chicken tacos. And the muffin pan from corn muffins to go with the pot of beans I made. I normally would have put the leftover beans in my Chinese Tupperware soup containers, but I did NOT feel like wrestling that big pot. Oh, then there were the bowls from bean-eating, and countless dippers and stirring spoons and spatulas.

 

The Pony will wipe out the skillets with a paper towel. Sometimes rinse them. And if he uses a plate, he will wash ONLY THAT PLATE. Which is more than Farmer H does. He only runs cold water on a plate, washing food particles down into the sink hole to clog the openings.

I had planned on doing a load of my laundry yesterday, but The Pony claimed the washer. So I put it off until today, only to discover that Farmer H came home early from the auction, and piled my stuff from the dryer in a clothes basket in the laundry room. I'm pretty sure some socks will be missing. That was a dirty trick! I went to town as he was coming up the driveway, my clothes just put in the dryer. And that dirty dog rushed in to start washing his tighty-whities. Meaning that my dryer clothes had no chance to wait for me to fold them when I got back.

 

The Lady of the Mansion expects better treatment...

Pony, Pack-Rat, Hoarder, SHEESH!

The Pony had Sunday off from work, even though he'd missed on Thursday with a migraine. He saw the schedule for next week, and he has no day off. Fair enough. He goes in at 5:45 every day, to do packages before starting a regular mail route. They've put him on the same route all week, which could help with efficiency. The Pony likes that route well enough. AND he is glad to get home at a decent hour, like 6:30 or 7:00, even if he has to work 12 hours.

Sunday, Pony only wanted to rest. I don't blame him. But Farmer H had other ideas.

"I woulda took your car to get the tire fixed, and an oil change, if it was clean. I could come by from your house, and pick it up where you park it at work, and take it back. But I ain't takin' a dirty car to get worked on. I remember when I worked in the station. When we had one of those trashy cars, we all talked about it."

Yes. Farmer H worried about what a mechanic will think of him if he brings in a car whose "passenger" is a person-sized pile of McDonald's wrappers.

Anyhoo... I told The Pony, "At MY convenience, we'll take the trash bag of junk mail out of T-Hoe, because it's getting heavy, but still has a lot of room left. I can hold it while you throw in your McDonald's trash. AND we'll take a box out there, to get back all my containers that you're hoarding! The ones I put your Chex Nuts in for you."

"I can do it. You don't have to help. I'll do it when I get up."

I had every intention of helping, but I was elbow-deep in a pot of beans at 10:30 when The Pony ate a bowl of instant spicy chicken ramen noodles, and headed out to his Rogue. He came back with an armful of the plastic tubs I use to give out Christmas Chex Mix.

"I didn't know you took THOSE! I was talking about my little containers. The ones that came with the shredded parmesan cheese."

"I've told you, Mom, every time you ask, that THOSE are at work, in my locker!"

"Well. I'd like to have them back, because I use them to give out stuff where I don't care if I get the containers back."

Heh, heh. The Pony let that one slide. No educational or advice-y comeback for me.

Anyhoo... when Farmer H got home from his Storage Unit Store, he took the Rogue to town for an oil change and tire inspection. They didn't find anything wrong with the tire that The Pony says has a slow leak. But ALL tires had 20 lbs of air, when they NEED 32 lbs.! Also, Farmer H filled up the Rogue with gas, because it was low, and he figured The Pony will be busy enough this week without stopping for gas.

Then gave him receipts totaling $59. I did not charge for my parmesan cheese containers.

People Who Work As A Team To Not Do Their Job Right, But With A Justifiable Excuse

Thursday on errand day, I stopped by the Sis-Town Casey's for T-Hoe's gas, and scratchers. There were six people ahead of me, two cashiers working. One of the waitees was a former work colleague! I slapped him on the bicep with my winning scratchers, and he squinted at me like a slug in the sun exposed by overturning a rotting log. Because he was actually looking into the setting sun, which is quite bright through the front windows.

We chatted a moment about old times, and his new times, then the drive-thru guy came out to help with customers, and said, "Is that soda all you have? Just take it." So he got a free soda! Time had passed, and I was next. I stepped up to the left register when a man completed his transaction.

The Young Man Cashier fiddled around with something laying on the front of his register. No use delaying the inevitable. It was my turn, and he was open, and I had three scratchers to cash in for $22. He scanned my winners, and printed out the little receipt, and said I had $22. I told him I wanted $22 in gas on Pump 4. And that I was also buying scratchers.

Young Man Cashier tore off the scratchers as I asked for them. He rang them up. $20, which is what I had planned. Then he went to ringing up the gas and scratchers, and I punched in Farmer H's code (which is my phone number) to get his Casey's Reward points.

It looked like Young Man Cashier had everything under control. He was not the most friendly guy in the world, but he was courteous, and seemed to know what he was doing. No hesitation. Then he did it over again. Then he called for help.

 

A more experienced gal stepped over. "Oh, here's what you do." She rang up my gas and scratchers, then took off the $22 credit from the scratchers winnings. Only she didn't. She tried it all again. Then called for a manager. I'm sure it was a manager. She was carrying a clipboard.

"Okay. Let's see..." She cleared out the entire transaction. Rang up the gas and tickets again. Took off the ticket winnings. NOT! It didn't work for her, either. "We're sorry. We'll get it figured out."

"No problem. I'm not in a hurry."

 

Manager was perplexed. Then a light bulb went off over her head. Figuratively. "I KNOW! Just cash out that ticket for $22, then use the cash to pay for the gas!" 

 

Easy peasy. Same result. I owed them $20, which I'd been holding in my hand, ready to proffer when the told me my total.

 

I suspect that Casey's might REALLY have a problem with that register. Unless that Manager trained them all poorly, heh, heh. Because last week, they had that register closed completely. At least that Manager could think her way around the problem.

 

And they were all polite.

People Giving Excuses For Not Doing Their Job Right

Last month, when my bank cut me off from cashing my Series EE savings bonds, saying "We don't do that anymore" one week after doing it... I called around to assorted financial institutions, trying to find someone to break my bonds. Our savings & loan over in Bill-Paying Town does it! Or so they said, over the phone. I even asked if nine bonds was too many. My bank didn't want to do more than three or four at a time. The S&L phone-answerer said that was fine.

I wasn't in a hurry, what with Thanksgiving on the horizon. Besides, if I waited until after December 1, another bond would be matured. Which would give me the nine I had asked about. When Farmer H said he was going over there to pay the taxes at the nearby courthouse, I invited myself along with the bonds.

We were greeted as we walked in. I went directly to a teller, as I always do when I have business there. The people at the desks are for discussing loans, I assume. The Teller asked how she could help me. I said,

"I'd like to redeem some Series EE savings bonds. When I called, I was told that you do that here."

I pushed my bonds, my driver's license, and my mom's death certificate through the slot. That's what is needed, since they are all TOD, which means Transfer On Death. My name is on the bond in that space, even though Mom is listed as the owner.

Teller looked at my stuff. Then shoved it back.

"I don't do bonds. Let me show you to someone who can help you."

Seriously. She could have told me when I said why I was there that SHE didn't do that. No need to let me drag out the paperwork, then look at it. Off she went out of sight. She came out a door to my left, and darted down an aisle between the desk partitions.

"There she is! Go!"

Teller hadn't motioned for me to follow, but Farmer H thought I should. You know how the young people these days dart around like they have somewhere to go. And they are not good communicators. So I started after her. But Teller reversed her route, and was headed back up that aisle towards me.

"No. Not here. Come around."

She took me down the main walkway, and sat me down at a desk with a Desker. Again, I explained my purpose. Got the papers out of my folder, and shoved it through the slot in HER plexiglass barrier. She looked it over. Hesitated. Picked up the phone. Talked in a hush-hush tone, but I could still hear when I decided to listen. Which I did, because it was taking a minute.

"She's right in front of me. She's right in front of me! Okay. Bye. Um. I need to take this to the back. I've never done a Transfer On Death."

Seriously? Are people just bringing in their 30-year-old bonds to cash them? Surely somebody else in the county has inherited a bond or two! Desker was gone for about 10 minutes. Farmer H had grown restless after the first minute. He said he was walking over to the courthouse to pay the taxes. He gave me T-Hoe's keys in case I got done first.

Desker finally came back, and apologized for the delay. She started typing into her computer. Then called somebody saying it wouldn't accept the numbers off the bonds. Waited. Waited. Then called Teller, to ask if she would log into that program. Then went over to Teller's counter with my bonds. Then came back and said Teller's computer had the same problem. Then called to ask if EVERYBODY was in that meeting. Seems so. Unless that's just a euphemism for not helping, it's an hour to close.

"I don't know what else I can do. We have a new program. Last time I called to get it resolved, they called back within an hour. I can't guarantee..."

"Well, I drove all the way from Hillmomba. Because I was told that you can redeem the bonds here. But I don't want to sit for an hour on the CHANCE that it will work."

"Oh, I can call you when it works again."

"Okay. You'll get a recording, so you can leave a message."

Desker gave me back my bonds, and the copy of my license, and the copy of the death certificate. Though I'm sure they'll not trust that when I come back, and want to copy them all over again.

Right now it's Friday night. I've heard nothing from Desker since I left there on Wednesday. You'd think she would have been able to find out something by now...

I told Farmer H, "It seems like we got better service there when we had more money in our accounts, rather than what we have now!"

"Yeah. Or when we still had a loan that we were paying regularly. They're really not benefiting much from us now, compared to then."

Surely that has nothing to do with our service... but I'd think a courtesy call would be nice, to update me on whether or not I can expect to have my bonds redeemed there. Otherwise I will mail them to the Treasury Department with a long form, and I don't especially want my bonds in the Christmas mail rush.