Why phone numbers are important
I was supposed to call Cindy, my Armstrong International moving coordinator this morning to get my moving estimate and talk about moving dates. Simple enough. Xavier ("Jerry"), who did the walkthrough with me yesterday even gave me a convenient little card with her number on it.
Well, that would have been great if the number weren't actually for a sleepy Toronto resident who most definitely wasn't Cindy. I guess there's nothing to stop a man from being named Cindy, but it would be a first in my experience.
Not to be easily dissuaded, I figured I'd just give Jerry a ring at the number on his card.
"Hi this is Christy. Leave me a message!"
My resulting message was a little incoherent I'm sure. "Um, yes, this is Matt Musselman. I, uh, actually, I was calling to reach Jerry at Armstrong International but I may have reached the wrong number. If this is the right place, can you have someone call me back at _-___-____? Thanks so much. Bye."
Now I was starting to get frustrated. So, just in case this was yet another person totally unrelated to Armstrong, I called the 1-800 number on the card.
"Armstrong International. This is Cathy. How may I direct your call?" Finally. So I told her why I was calling, expressing much joy at reaching someone who could actually help me, and was promptly transferred to the person who could help me out.
"Hi this is Christy. Leave me a message!"
I couldn't believe it. At least the number on the card was correct, sort of, but the unprofessionalism of the voicemail greeting drove me crazy. It sounds like a college student's dorm phone, I swear.
So I called Cathy back at the 1-800 number (so many C names) and explained my situation in greater detail.
"Oh, it's an international move? You need to speak with Meredith, then."
"No, I think I'm supposed to speak to someone named Cindy in the Toronto office."
"Okay, well let me look that number up for you. Here we go."
No great surprise, the number given was one critical digit off from the initial number on the card. I called. I got Cindy.
"Armstrong International. This is Cindy Pataukis."
"Hi, my name is Matt Musselman, and I. . . ."
". . . It's Thursday October 21, and I'm currently away from my desk. Please leave me a message."
No, it's Friday, October 22, and I'm supposed to talk to her this morning. I left a message in desperate hope that she didn't decide to go on last minute vacation or something, but this is ridiculous.
* * *
In other news it seems strange to be moving at a time when so many other people are out of pocket. My parents are on a free trip to San Francisco. Bergmann is in England. Matt and Sam are in New Jersey and NYC (I got a message from them last night while I was at the movie, saying "Oh crap, we just realized we're going to be out of town and won't get a chance to say goodbye!").
I don't know why it matters, but it feels like it does.
Also, one of my neighbors has some kind of thing going on where this noise is produced at least once every half hour and occasionally far more frequently. At best it's just a loud "SNAP" sound, and at worst it's somewhere between the sound of about a half dozen bundled firecrackers being set off and the sound of a box of high-pressure light bulbs being dumped off a third floor balcony. Once last night it even sounded a little like a gunshot. Regardless, I have no idea what it is, but after a week of hearing it constantly, I'm about to pull my hair out.
The curiosity is just as bad as the distraction. I'd like to take a walk around to see if I can figure out what it is (and possibly kick the people responsible in the kneecaps), but since it's so loud, I can't even tell what direction it's coming from, and since it's so infrequent, I'd have to wait for at least several minutes between noises to reorient* and determine whether I was getting closer or farther away.
* Speaking of reorienting, nearly every time I see the word or any of its relatives (orient, oriental, and so on), my mind often goes back to a blog entry I encountered a couple of years back which attempted to explain why many East Asians get so upset by the term "oriental."
According to this writer, the word oriental means "far away," and so it makes sense that people to whom it refers don't consider themselves far away, rather it's the other people who are far away, and thus it's inappropriate.
I'm not sure why this bugged me so badly, but I think it has to do with so much wasted anger. In my opinion, if you're going to be offended by something, at least take the time to verify that the source is truly offensive to you; otherwise, how much of your time and energy have you been wasting getting mad about something that doesn't actually make you mad? (cf. anyone who finds offensive a book he or she has never read)
To set the record straight, the word oriental is based originally in the word Oriens, which was the Greek name for the East Wind, which in turn came from a phrase for "rising sun," because that's what happens in the East. It's an image common even in Asia, among other things being the literal meaning of the name for Japan ("Nippon" = sunrise, more or less). So intrinsically, there's nothing particularly offensive about the meaning of the word, any more than there would be referring the Americas or Europe as "Westerners" or Australia as "Down Under" or Canada and Siberia as "Up North" or something.
There seems to be a popular distinction that "oriental" is for objects and "Asian" is for people, but as far as I can tell, that distinction is purely connotational or traditional.
As it is, I'm sensitive to any person who prefers not to be labelled, especially if that label is a way of unnecessarily distorting information or making unneeded generalizations. Additionally, I can also understand if a word has acquired enough unwanted connotations over the years that general politeness suggests choosing a less controversial one, but if that's the case, I think people should at least acknowledge that's what's going on.
It's sad when we lose perfectly useful words to hate and ignorance, but at this point I've decided that it's a fact of life, and just as we acquire new words all the time, there are others that get retired.
Anyway, that's all for my rant. Just thought I'd throw that in there. On the positive side, I nearly forgot about my phone frustrations, in the mean time.
Well, that would have been great if the number weren't actually for a sleepy Toronto resident who most definitely wasn't Cindy. I guess there's nothing to stop a man from being named Cindy, but it would be a first in my experience.
Not to be easily dissuaded, I figured I'd just give Jerry a ring at the number on his card.
"Hi this is Christy. Leave me a message!"
My resulting message was a little incoherent I'm sure. "Um, yes, this is Matt Musselman. I, uh, actually, I was calling to reach Jerry at Armstrong International but I may have reached the wrong number. If this is the right place, can you have someone call me back at _-___-____? Thanks so much. Bye."
Now I was starting to get frustrated. So, just in case this was yet another person totally unrelated to Armstrong, I called the 1-800 number on the card.
"Armstrong International. This is Cathy. How may I direct your call?" Finally. So I told her why I was calling, expressing much joy at reaching someone who could actually help me, and was promptly transferred to the person who could help me out.
"Hi this is Christy. Leave me a message!"
I couldn't believe it. At least the number on the card was correct, sort of, but the unprofessionalism of the voicemail greeting drove me crazy. It sounds like a college student's dorm phone, I swear.
So I called Cathy back at the 1-800 number (so many C names) and explained my situation in greater detail.
"Oh, it's an international move? You need to speak with Meredith, then."
"No, I think I'm supposed to speak to someone named Cindy in the Toronto office."
"Okay, well let me look that number up for you. Here we go."
No great surprise, the number given was one critical digit off from the initial number on the card. I called. I got Cindy.
"Armstrong International. This is Cindy Pataukis."
"Hi, my name is Matt Musselman, and I. . . ."
". . . It's Thursday October 21, and I'm currently away from my desk. Please leave me a message."
No, it's Friday, October 22, and I'm supposed to talk to her this morning. I left a message in desperate hope that she didn't decide to go on last minute vacation or something, but this is ridiculous.
* * *
In other news it seems strange to be moving at a time when so many other people are out of pocket. My parents are on a free trip to San Francisco. Bergmann is in England. Matt and Sam are in New Jersey and NYC (I got a message from them last night while I was at the movie, saying "Oh crap, we just realized we're going to be out of town and won't get a chance to say goodbye!").
I don't know why it matters, but it feels like it does.
Also, one of my neighbors has some kind of thing going on where this noise is produced at least once every half hour and occasionally far more frequently. At best it's just a loud "SNAP" sound, and at worst it's somewhere between the sound of about a half dozen bundled firecrackers being set off and the sound of a box of high-pressure light bulbs being dumped off a third floor balcony. Once last night it even sounded a little like a gunshot. Regardless, I have no idea what it is, but after a week of hearing it constantly, I'm about to pull my hair out.
The curiosity is just as bad as the distraction. I'd like to take a walk around to see if I can figure out what it is (and possibly kick the people responsible in the kneecaps), but since it's so loud, I can't even tell what direction it's coming from, and since it's so infrequent, I'd have to wait for at least several minutes between noises to reorient* and determine whether I was getting closer or farther away.
* Speaking of reorienting, nearly every time I see the word or any of its relatives (orient, oriental, and so on), my mind often goes back to a blog entry I encountered a couple of years back which attempted to explain why many East Asians get so upset by the term "oriental."
According to this writer, the word oriental means "far away," and so it makes sense that people to whom it refers don't consider themselves far away, rather it's the other people who are far away, and thus it's inappropriate.
I'm not sure why this bugged me so badly, but I think it has to do with so much wasted anger. In my opinion, if you're going to be offended by something, at least take the time to verify that the source is truly offensive to you; otherwise, how much of your time and energy have you been wasting getting mad about something that doesn't actually make you mad? (cf. anyone who finds offensive a book he or she has never read)
To set the record straight, the word oriental is based originally in the word Oriens, which was the Greek name for the East Wind, which in turn came from a phrase for "rising sun," because that's what happens in the East. It's an image common even in Asia, among other things being the literal meaning of the name for Japan ("Nippon" = sunrise, more or less). So intrinsically, there's nothing particularly offensive about the meaning of the word, any more than there would be referring the Americas or Europe as "Westerners" or Australia as "Down Under" or Canada and Siberia as "Up North" or something.
There seems to be a popular distinction that "oriental" is for objects and "Asian" is for people, but as far as I can tell, that distinction is purely connotational or traditional.
As it is, I'm sensitive to any person who prefers not to be labelled, especially if that label is a way of unnecessarily distorting information or making unneeded generalizations. Additionally, I can also understand if a word has acquired enough unwanted connotations over the years that general politeness suggests choosing a less controversial one, but if that's the case, I think people should at least acknowledge that's what's going on.
It's sad when we lose perfectly useful words to hate and ignorance, but at this point I've decided that it's a fact of life, and just as we acquire new words all the time, there are others that get retired.
Anyway, that's all for my rant. Just thought I'd throw that in there. On the positive side, I nearly forgot about my phone frustrations, in the mean time.