One April afternoon, I ventured to address three pieces of personal business. Way too ambitious, even for a woman born in the Year of the Dog. Yes, dogs know how to dig in and take pursuit. But, not all of us like to leap through hoops, some aflame.
Hoop #1
Respond to correspondence from Florida Sunpass, a 3-page Toll Enforcement Invoice: Due $3.50. Contains photo of my car passing through a deserted Cash Only $1 Toll Booth at 5:21 p.m. on 03/03/21. Nailed leaving Pass-a-Grille.
Issues to address:
- No one was in the toll booth to accept the dollar bill I held out.
- I canceled my Sunpass in 2020 when the pandemic kept me from going anywhere.
- Calling Sunpass takes time – estimated 45 minutes – as the message repeats every 60 seconds urging a visit to the website.
- Visiting the website wouldn’t help since I no longer have an account.
Outcome: Day #3 of calling, I reached Sunpass Rep Melody. She is blasé when I point out the booth was closed at rush hour. I could almost hear her filing her nails. "Yes, we're closing all of them. It's all pay by camera." I say, "How does one know?" Melody says a sign clearly states it. Just this once, she'll give me a courtesy pass on $2.50 of the $3.50. I pay my $1.
Follow-up: On the way from Passe-a-Grille Beach to the St. Pete Beach toll booth where the whole thing started, I see no sign indicating the toll booth is empty. There might be a sign when you're already approaching the toll booth, but that's no help. Solution: Drive north through to Treasure Island and a no-toll bridge.
Hoop #2
Mortgage company correspondence requiring proof of condo flood insurance. This is an annual slog, my 15th year contacting the condo management firm to request fax of proof to mortgage company. Reply: this management company does not do this anymore. I get to do it. Emailed company that faxes mortgage companies. Confirmed the fax was sent. Brush hands of the matter and file my nails.
Outcome: Three weeks later received a second notice from mortgage company threatening charges for my own new flood insurance policy. Call confirms mortgage company got the fax. Told to expect a third letter to disregard the second letter. Sigh.
Hoop #3
AT&T cell phone billing error: My online visit shows I am auto-enrolled in plan as I understood it. Credit card shows I’m being billed for a previous plan. Making my third call since February 5 to a rep to correct it. Courteous Shea and Henry in Manila had said they fixed it. Not so. Rep Wilson in Manila says to go to the website and unenroll. Nope. I hang up. Wilson texts me a phone number to a rep who has the authority to refund me. But, I'm finished for the day. Called the number a week later. Was told to call another number for a person with the authority to refund. Right. Opted to see if April charge is correct. So far, no April bill. I do have phone service. Will the next hoop be in flames?
Here's the Deal
After four years of tumult, I am fine with the way President Joseph Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris handle the country's business. I sleep nights. I no longer fear for our lives and for our grandchildren's future. There's much work to be done. Cannot cancel my subscriptions to The New York Times and Washington Post and leave caring to someone else.
But look at what I get to call hoops now. Minutia! Trivial! Folly! I sound like I should - Charlie Brown's grumpy neighbors. Wah. Wah.
Wait, I hear the condo mailboxes slamming shut. The USPS truck driving away. Time to check the mail.
April Is Poetry Month
In the spirit of the month, I share a 2016 poem about a smoldering hoop:
I Know From Whence I Speak
Got to figure two-three hours
pacing the gray carpet tiles.
Squinting under bright lights
as voices echo and
clash like cymbals.
It's your fate to wait.
To scan walls lined with
tech gear and cell cases.
Tug at tethered phones
locked on pedestals
with smudged faces.
Geeks speak of Two-for-One.
You buy in for Pay-As-You-Go.
First, wrestle your account
from a flailing carrier and
mumble a fictional why.
Seize your secret number
on the very first try.
Feel a flutter, a thrill,
set free and moving on.
* * *
But the minutes
... tick ... off.
All is slow motion.
Like a tween, you plead, "Can I just go?"
A geek peeks from a tablet and says,
"Um, no."
As he cracks a nutty electronic form,
the geek mutters, "Can't talk now"
into a private phone.
You long to see the light of day.
"Dinner break?" you say.
"Almost done," he lies. "Stay."
* * *
First, there are data bytes to run
into your brand new groove.
You trail a meandering clerk
to install your top ten.
Finally, you breathe, "Amen!"
The new phone is so cool.
Off and Volume sides do fool.
But, new ringtones will turn a head.
It's just buying a phone that you dread.
by Reggie Morrisey
"Thumbs Up" by Ed Morrisey
Note: For more than half a century, my brother Ed and I lived 3,000 miles apart, connecting by phone. He created this statue of plaster and telephone wire, a gift for encouraging him in his art.
Visit my Poetry Reading Room and Listening Booth.
Puppy Sketch by Ed Morrisey