Tracey’s shit list

1. Chloe. Please be advised that when your barking awakens everyone in the house at 5:11 AM it falls under my job description to get up and investigate. Discovering our neighbor’s dog (think huge, slobbering, and looks like it should have a keg of brandy around its neck) unleashed and sitting creepily in their front yard doesn‘t mean you need to go ballistic. Chill, Scrappy Doo. We have an invisible fence and everyone knows you’re not going anywhere so put down your dukes and shut up so we can all go back to sleep.

2. Ford Motor Company. Seriously, the only reason I deviated from my “all Japanese engineering all the time” standards is because my dad sold me this Ford Explorer on the cheap. We needed a bigger vehicle and he happened to be selling one but so help me God if I have to replace my power antennae for the THIRD time I will fly to Detroit, march into your manufacturing plant, and start randomly beating production workers with the antennae. I should have just left it broken after I parked under a big tree at Barnes and Noble and bent it all to hell when I backed out of my parking space. Looking ghetto would have been a small price to pay compared to the “nails on a chalkboard” noise I have to listen to every time my (BRAND FUCKING NEW) antennae goes down when I turn off the ignition.

3. Sears. First of all, no one goes to your shitty store unless they need a lawnmower, a major appliance, or in my case, they have to pick up their husband’s new grill.

Firstly, when I pull up into the parking spot reserved for merchandise pickup and your sign instructs me to call a number and wait in my car so that I will be assisted in five minutes guaranteed, PLEASE ANSWER THE PHONE.

Secondly, when I walk into your store it will not make me very happy when you laugh and tell me the sign is old and the number “doesn’t even work anymore.” It’s not wise to keep telling me how wrong I’m doing the merchandise pickup thing unless you have some sort of death wish.

When I finally got back outside and through another set of doors to the kiosk they’ve told me about, I managed to do that all wrong as well. I touched the screen, it asked me to type in my last name, and then it informed me my merchandise would be REPAIRED soon (average wait time 28 minutes).

Luckily for Sears, some dude came out and I explained that I was just there to pick up an already-paid-for-should-be-assembled grill. He disappeared and I stood around, messing with the kiosk thingy trying to figure out why it thought I was there for repair.

I finally realized that I tapped the screen too fast and it skipped the main menu that allows you to choose the merchandise pickup option. I experimented with how slow you need to tap the screen and I think I initiated four or five fictitious merchandise pickup orders, which hopefully crippled their whole stupid system.

Lastly, two nineteen year old boys managed to shove the grill into my shit-list Ford Explorer and its obvious they spent their lunch hour smoking. I’ll be lucky to get Beavis and Butthead’s Marlboro fumes out of my vehicle by next Tuesday.

Wow, I feel a lot better now.

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s post: The Real Housewives do Fashion Week.