MACY'S ASKS ABOUT CRUEL SHOES

Macy's sent me an e-mail asking for comments on my casual shoes purchases yesterday.  (Wisely, the Glendale store didn't ask for my comments on their shoe department!)

Luckily, clerk Alex in Burbank was a great help, but by the time I got back to her, I was frazzled.  She brought out a brand new pair of the sandals style I had just tried on, and I was too tired to try the new pair on.  Big mistake. 

All in all, the quality of the sandals (Clarks) doesn't compare with my old Clarks (neither does the fit--less secure) and Macy's did not have the colors like pewter and bronze that go on to fall in SoCal.  

I answered the survey, and later I will give a few well-chosen words to the manager.
(Wouldn't it be lovely to buy something that was even BETTER than your last purchase from that particular brand?)  PS  I did get a compliment on them, which makes me wish they fit well enough to wear all the time.

Happy feet to you.

SIZE DISCRIMINATION, OR IT'S NO FUN BEING SHORT

When the woman in the upstairs flat was in her bedroom tv phase (we're talking Drum Line and Full Metal Jacket at 11pm on school nights) I took to the popular village coffee shop to get out of here.  So did everybody else in town. 

When it's filled to the rafters, the overflow crowd lands in the Famous One (you know the one) across the street.  I met some nice people there, like The Working Screenwriter.  And I got some gift certificates and met the manager.

Then my spine got out of control, and the grey plastic chairs there were exactl.y the perfect size for my short legs and unhappy back.  Perfect for reading in front of the window with coffee.  Okay, yes, I ate the scones; we're talking chairs here.

 Then suddenly they renovate.  My beloved chairs are making someone happy in an alley somewhere.  The renovator apparently went to the same sale as the local library for the rock-hard Pappa Bear wooden chairs.  (Have you ever seen Edith Ann in her giant rocker from Laugh-in days?  That's me in Starbucks with my short legs sticking out in front of me.) The  grim monastery chairs are even too heavy for me to move.  

I persuaded myself that I may be only one of three short people whose feet don't reach the floor. Instead, I'm noticing there are plenty of us.

Then last week I met a taller woman whose feet do touch the floor, and she also hates the chairs.  

So I hurled an e-mail to customer service, who didn't seem to read it, but gave me some coupons for coffee I can drink standing up.

The question here is, would I only embarrass myself if I brought my own chair?  Or would some stand up and cheer?  Think I'll write to the big boss coffee man and get his opinion.

Just put my money back where you found it!

For the first time in ages, I bought TIME at the checkstand.  I salute the woman named Phyllis for talking back to Michael Crowley, who supposedly wants Social Security payments cut.   So for the only time, I wrote to TIME:

To: letters@time.com

Let's hear it for Phyllis Hagmaier, Williamsburg, VA (January 10)!
Social Security is not a gift. Not only have we paid into Social Security all our lives, but people working long past retirement age still pay in.


Then Medicare is deducted from the monthly payout. And it pays only part of medical expenses.

The names of people who authorized "borrowing" should be published. But above all, the debt should be repaid.
                                       ***
Maybe we should stop worrying for a minute about identity theft, and get our Social Security savings paid back.

Thanks to TIME for publishing Phyllis' letter.

LAST MINUTE GIFTS

Even if Christmas is not your holiday, don't you sometimes feel a little spirit of giving creeping in at this time of year?  Would you like to give something to someone you care about--especially if it didn't involve crowds, traffic, and possible mayhem in stores?  Or maxing out your charge card. May I suggest:

Take a bowl of fresh raspberries to a neighbor you've met but never really got to know.

Send two (2) greetings to people whose birthday is at Christmas.

Buy a bunch of those tickets at check-out that contribute to meals for less fortunate families in the area.

Use your best letter paper or best season's greetings cards and send your favorite doctors a thank-you note for all those times they returned your call when they needed to go home to their families.

Give the mailman a break and mail things after the 25th. There are, after all, twelve days of Christmas.

Call somebody you haven't talked to in years.  Maybe they're waiting to hear from you, especially if there was a misunderstanding way too long ago.

Even if you're busy, call boring Aunt Sofronia and let her talk for a few minutes.  You can always set the oven timer for ten or fifteen and tell her something's burning.

Send some grown-up a toy or a cartoon he might like.

Apologize to somebody even if it's not your fault.  Even if they started it.  Doesn't count if you don't really mean it.

Give everyone you care about a gift by writing to tell them you want to spend more years with them, so you're giving up smoking, or you actually signed up for their gym and want to hitch a ride with them, or you walked a mile today.  Doesn't count if you don't really mean it.

Happy New Year!

BREAST CANCER PREVENTION every month. . .

  I'm still fighting the fight to insist we NEVER give money and we never run or walk for any group that:

1. Will not divulge how much money actually goes to research (prizes are not research.)

2. Won't promise to refuse money to any company that uses harmful ingredients in their products.

Please see Google Breast Cancer Action and their Think Before You Pink web page.  This group is not financed by manufacturers.

LOCAL CITY SERVICES VERSUS ME

As usual, the city looked into its crystal ball, noticed that I need to visit St. Joseph's for my annual test, and immediately scheduled street top dressing in front of my place.  And of course, on the whole street between here and the main road to the hospital.  A phone call about parking places for residents led to the run-around.

I found a place to park for today.   Waited for trucks.  Many trucks, no skim coat.  Finally found out they've cancelled all but the one small strip between me and my car.  Until when?  Nobody knows. 
Luckily, my local councilman now has a form for e-mail with such concerns (and brewing tantrums.)  I explained that I can't reschedule a ride 10 times while they decide when to do the street.  And I can't hitch-hike home from the hospital.   I'll let you know what (if) they reply.