Service Please

S

Service Please

 

Or perhaps title of this piece should be “stress” because that’s what I am experiencing right now.

I recently received a letter in the mail from the

E-Z Pass Service center. 

E-Z Pass-you know, the toll thing on highways, bridges and tunnels.

Actually, the letter was addressed to my husband Ross.  Ross passed away two years ago.

The purpose of the letter was to let Ross know that he would be receiving new E-Z Pass Tags in the mail. 

The letter states:

“Included with your replacement tag(s) will be instructions and a postage paid envelope to return the old tag(s) to the E-Z Pass Customer Service Center. You must return your old tags within 15 days of receiving your new tag(s) or risk violation notices.”

The letter goes on to request that Ross verify his mailing address.  It states that if the mailing address is incorrect, he should log on to his account or call the 1-800 number. 

There are several issues with this letter.

1.         The letter was sent to my address.  Ross never lived here.

2.         I don’t have his old tags. 

3.        I don’t have his login or password.

4.        4. And I’m quite sure his phone number would also be needed…which is no longer in service.

Since I did not want to deal with having the tags come here and then have to send them back, I called the 1-800 number.

I explained the situation to the agent.  My husband passed away two years ago, blah, blah, blah. 

The agent replied that there was no way she could prevent those tags from being sent out. 

She assured me that the tags would be sent to my old address… not here.

HUH?

What?

So, the person who bought my house may have to deal with sending the tags back or have them forwarded to me?

She also said that if the tags were not returned Ross would be charged for them.

Ohh-kayy? And?

Can you feel my frustration with Service? Can you tell I’m stressed?

I was going to ask to speak to a supervisor, but I just thanked the agent and told her to have a nice day. Because in the grand scheme of things, dealing with a couple of tags pales in comparison to the losses I've experienced recently.

Rachella

R

Rachella

 

Family lore tells the story of Michelangelo, my great grandfather, who left his wife, two daughters and a son to travel to America from his remote mountain village in Italy.  His promise to his family was that he would send for them once he settled. 

Research shows that he would have had to travel by donkey or on foot to get down the mountain to reach a larger town. The journey would be an arduous one, taking several days.

From there he most likely would have boarded a steam engine train that carried him to the large bustling chaotic city of Naples. 

In Naples he might have had to wait days before boarding a steamship. His accommodations on the ship would have been steerage. 

The journey across the Atlantic Ocean to Ellis Island in America would have taken a long hard 10-12 days. 

But Michelangelo is not the main character in this story. 

No, this tale is about his eldest daughter Rachella. 

At this point, I’m going to assume the time frame because the facts are a little hazy. Communication would have been handwritten letters, which, could have taken up to three weeks travelling between a small Italian town and America.  

I would imagine that after several months had passed since his departure from Castelnuovo di Conza, with no word from him, his wife Asunda, would have begun to worry. 

That must have been when she made the scariest decision of her life-to send her daughter on the same journey as her husband had taken several months before. 

Rachella, age 16, was to go to America to find her father. 

I do believe there was a strong family bond and deep love among them. How must Rachella have felt leaving her mother, sister and brother behind? 

I knew my grandmother, Rachella, to be strong and loving. She raised ten living children and grieved the loss of three babies. She was grandma to 33 of us. She made each of her children and the grandchildren who were fortunate enough to have known her, feel special and loved. 

Sunday dinners were exactly what you would imagine an Italian Mama would cook and serve. 

As long as they lived, each of her children would tear up when speaking of their mother-my dear grandmother Rachella. 

Although Rachella’s mother, sister and brother never made to America, she remained close to them through letters, packages and financial support. 

My mother, aunts and uncles would tell me that Rachella never spoke of her father. They only knew that she came to America to find him. 

Since she was so reticent to speak of her father, we assume she never did find him.   

But that remains a mystery to this day. 

Although we may never know what became of Michelangelo, the story of Rachella is one I intend to pass on. 

 

Quiet Talkers

Quiet Talkers

My children have been bugging me for years to get my hearing checked. They say I am constantly asking them to repeat themselves.

I admit I may have some issues.  It’s true, I do use close captions when watching TV.  

But here’s the thing. These kids whisper.  They are all quiet talkers. They remind me of a Seinfeld episode called “Low Talkers”. "Low Talkers" Seinfeld

Funny, though…when I ask them to “say again?”, they somehow manage to raise the volume a smidge and suddenly, I can hear them perfectly.

I finally gave in couple of weeks ago and went to a hearing center.  

Turns out, I do have mild to moderate hearing loss.

So now I have hearing aids.  And I still can’t hear these kids when they talk. 

To be fair, though, the doctor has the hearing aids set to sixty percent of where they should be.

He wants me to get used to them before turning them to the full range. 

Still I’m not entirely convinced the problem is all me.

How’s your hearing?  Do you use close captions?