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Adventures in the Phone Trees, Part 2, Super Stress

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Dateline: Seventh Rung of the Phone Tree. I can see Saturn from here.

To comprehend this portion of Customer Service Phone Torture, first catch up with Part One.

Hour Two

Now I’m bumped up to Level Two since my request is apparently too complicated for the first ring of hell. Level Two Customer Service Guy thanks me for choosing Dell and asks me to give him all my information again.  He assures me he will solve the problem.  Sigh of relief.

Someone’s going to help me.  But, oh. Nay, nay! Because what Bubble Voice Lady is really saying is:

“Hey, don’t you get it? You are the one causing us a problem. We do not hire people anymore…that’s a sham…not to mention expensive. You have landed in our Customer Service Slave Section, that is, employees who have chronic lateness issues and bad breath. What’s really going to happen here is, I am going to torture you until you quit this nonsense and hang up. We’d prefer that you spend your money with this company without us even having to hear about it.  Just check the boxes and put
in your credit card number.  Wouldn’t we all be happier if you’d just hang up and do the ordering for us?  If you continue to persist, you will be put on the special terminal hold we’ve set up for customers like you– which is a message suggesting you go online and not bother us. This will be rotated with my voice every two minutes reminding you how important your call is to this company!”

A new voice picks up the call. I’m excited. The customer service guy says, “Thank you for calling Dell. Unrli whu ssoommoo. Ursache waser.”

I have no idea what this guy means because now I’m in India.  I don’t blame the “customer service” guy. He’s working to make a little money in a poor country and he’s brave to take on the task of trying to be understood. I do blame Dell for not caring
enough about customer service to hire people for whom English is a first
language.  The call from India drops off.

Right. Start all over with Bubble Voice Lady. “Thank you for calling Dell!  Please choose…”

After five trips to India and five times giving my address, service code, order number and educational history…in my broken Indian-English I tell the guy that the batteries Dell sent me (to replace those that were stolen) arrived yesterday and they are the wrong batteries for my computer.  He asked if I purchased the batteries on line.

What he’s really saying is: “Hey, if you bought these on line, then you, dear valued customer, is the one at fault. Haha. Gotcha. No more time for you!”

I explain that, no, I purposely bought them on the phone because I wanted to be very sure the correct batteries were sent—since the last time I ordered these batteries it took Dell three shipments before I was sent the correct batteries.  That I had ordered
on the day my luggage was stolen because I needed them as soon as possible.
They are the wrong batteries. What follows is thirty minutes of repeating what
I told my Indian friends.

I am kicked up to Level Three. I think Foreign Legion Customer Service Guy hit the panic button on his keyboard.

I give my information again to Level Three Customer Service Guy (LTCSG). This is the seventh time I have given this information to citizens whose native language is not English. The Level Three customer service guy puts me on hold while he checks part numbers, computer service tag numbers, and blood type.  He returns to the call.

Here is where the conversation really slips off the page.

I am sitting at my computer. I am holding one of the wrong batteries in my hand. Foreign Legion Level Three Customer Service Guy says:  “Ma’am the batteries you received are the correct batteries for your computer.”

Did I mention I was holding one of the wrong batteries in my hand?  That it did not look like, nor was it configured like the battery that came with the computer or batteries I’ve bought since. I convey this to Level Two Customer Service Guy.  He repeats his assurance that I am holding the correct battery.

I say again that I have the battery in my hand and it doesn’t fit the computer. You can see that from just a look.  It’s not the battery for the computer.

LTCSG repeats his claim and asks me if I will open the package the battery came in and take a look at it.  Did I mention…

Part 3…Level Four…

Chameleon. Stress Management Through Changing Colors

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Chameleon, Blending with Environment to Calm Anxiety
Dateline: Chili’s International Branch Office

The Woman Who Didn’t Know If She Liked French Fries went on– from our midnight burgers during my second year of college—to a lifetime of confusion and efforts to find her ‘self’ through other people. And though I tried to mold her myself that fateful night, the WWDKILFF continued to choose only men to form her ‘self’ against. Remember lack of ‘self’ is demonstrated by the inability to define oneself (her), and the inability to leave other people alone and running their own lives (me).

Think of the WWDKILFF as hot wax and men as molds at the ready.

The man she was leaving that fateful night she met at a country club party. He was 17 years older than her, wealthy, worldly, and dashing. WWDKILFF, uncomfortable at the university and not knowing what she wanted to study, became a country club wife. She traded generic beer for martinis and Manhattans, jeans for cocktail dresses, the casual look of poor students for regular visits to the manicurist, the personal trainer, the dermatologist, hair stylist, and personal shopper.

After the cocktail circuit, WWDKILFF returned to college where she met a charismatic protestor who headed up an organization opposing government military expenditures. She quit college again and traded her cocktail ways for old jeans, saggy T-shirts, vegetarianism, and pot. Now vehemently anti-materialistic, she cut ties with her middle-class family. The next time I heard from her she was standing in line at the free clinic in Houston to receive no-cost pills to treat gonorrhea.

Next she met a cowboy. Since I showed horses, she called thinking I’d be delighted with the news that she was learning to ride and rope. She traded her protestor ways for boots, and saddles, expensive beer, T-bone steaks, and thrill rides.

At our tenth high school reunion I learned that the WWDKILFF was now married to a man who sold life insurance and owned his own company. She’d traded her cowboy ways to take care of a big house in the suburbs, two kids, a maid, and twice weekly visits to her psychiatrist.

Couple Stress, the “Woman Who Didn’t Know If She Liked French Fries”

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Fusion and the “Woman Who Didn’t Know If She Liked French Fries Incident”

Dateline:  Bergstrom Interantional Airport, which is deep in the forests of northeast part of Germany or in south Austin.

Fusion is the emotional process that occurs when the way one person feels is automatically absorbed by another person. Every close relationship includes a certain amount of adaptation to calm the other, the question is, to what degree?  It’s only with too much fusion that we get into trouble.

For example:  the family member who avoids going home for Christmas because he or she feels like a different person (less confident) when around family. The usual rationalization is to claim nothing in common or to have a list of past injustices.)

The horse I had once who wouldn’t eat at horseshows unless his buddy in the next stall at home came along with him on the road. (Fusion can get expensive.)

The cheerleader’s mother who tried to murder the mother of one of her daughter’s rivals so that the girl would be too upset to be competitive.

The wife who longed to tour Italy but stopped bringing it up after a few years to avoid the anxiety in her that was stirred up by her husband’s anxiety at the thought of shaking up the routine.

The student who can only perform well when ‘liked’ by the teacher.

A loved spouse who only feels safe when his or her partner is happy.

and…

The Woman Who Didn’t Know if She Liked French Fries:

A college roommate, we’ll call her K, met an wealthy older man who promised her a new life.  Not all that happy with the life she had, she married him. K gathered up her country-raised self and welcomed the makeover into an upscale wife.  Three years later the new look wasn’t worth putting up with the all the other women her husband provided with new lives.  The night of their last big fight, K and I met at midnight at a 24 hour café.  I ordered the burger and fries, but K told the waiter she needed more time.

K picked up the menu and stared.  “I don’t know what to order,” she said.

“Burgers and fries are good here,” I said.

“That’s the problem,” K said. “Dave thinks I should lose weight, so I always order what I know he thinks I should eat. I don’t remember if I like French fries or not.”

The emotional process of calming self by calming the anxious other has many names and faces. The term co-dependent, no longer in vogue since insurance won’t pay for it anymore, was defined as calming self when next to an anxious other by ‘helping’ that person. The co-dependent is the person who lies for the addict, supplies money, and sometimes takes on responsibility for locating the ‘drug of choice’ for them.  In this situation the addict is very clear about what will calm them down—for the moment. He or she is good at promising that if the other doesn’t do what he or she commands worse consequences are to come.

The addict turns responsibility for his or her life over to the other. The addict learns to be very good at convincing others to listen to his or her claims about life and to ignore their own beliefs.  Through this process, a person can end up “living” another person’s life.  Much like the woman who didn’t know if she liked french fries.

Next: Anxiety and Potatoes Part Two, the “Woman Who Used Two Potato Peelers at Once” Incident.

 

 

 

 

 

Last Mexico Tourist Standing Update, Blood Everywhere

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Stress in Mexico.
One sign that you have a stress prone personality is when you don’t listen to solid advice. I didn’t, and now there’s blood everywhere.  I’ve been forced to confine myself in my hotel room.  I’m in Mexico City, what did I expect was going to happen if I wasn’t careful?
I should have listened to the warnings.
It happened just as predicted. Yes, I pulled a computer battery out of my case and dropped in on my big toe. It split along the cuticle.  What a mess. I let out the shout, “Viva Mexico! Viva Revolucion!”
Oh, well, it’ll keep me out of trouble.  For now, but not for long.
Later, the Central Cathedral a couple of blood-stained blocks away.

 

 

Stress? Drive If You Dare! Mexico City Anxiety, Part One

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Stress: The Last Words of the Great Moctezuma, “Drive if You
Dare!”

What Will Happen to You if You Drive in Mexico City?

If you are focused on not hurting anyone’s feelings or avoiding shouting matches in Mexico City, let’s just say you might as well find a hotel room since you will not  be able to find your way out of the madness traffic circles. You might want to check out nearby hospitals while you’re at it.

Dateline Mexico City, Blond Chick Behind the Wheel…Talk about Anxiety

The fabulous former Dateline: Mexico City, driving where once the feet of Moctezuma approached Hernán Cortés in 1517. The leader of the Aztec people presented Cortés the gift of an Aztec calendar, one disc of crafted gold and another of
silver. Cortés—with the spirit of the invaders who define the New World to this day–had the magnificent gift melted down into blocks to be used in trade almost immediately.

Moctezuma launched several lines of revenge against future invaders including the infamous gastro-intestinal uproar. The traffic in the modern city now covering Moctezuma’s beautiful Tenochtitlan is another tactic of the great king’s revenge.  Isn’t a vacation supposed to be about escaping stress? “The IBM Commuter Pain Index, which surveyed 8,192 motorists in 20 cities on six continents, gave Mexico City and Beijing the worst score.”

So, what does Bowen theory have to do with driving in Mexico City?

How about this?  If you are not familiar with exactly where the drivers around you stand on the issue of “group think vs. thinking as an individual” you just might die.  And you just might take others down with you.

Dr. Bowen describes two forces continually influencing behavior.  The first is togetherness and the second is individuality.  Both are natural forces which do not cause difficulties until either force is being driven by anxiety so that behavior becomes destructive.  Too much togetherness creates fusion and prevents individuality, or developing one’s own sense of self.  Too much individuality creates social and relationship problems. For example, some individuals “opt out” of paying their income tax in the name of standing up for themselves.  Paying taxes for the services used then falls more heavily on the others in the group.

There are television commercials advertising law services to settle with the IRS.  At the end of the ad, cheery couples declare, “We owed the IRS over $100,000, and we only paid $15,000!   We owed $45,000, and we didn’t have to pay a cent!”  Are we supposed to feel good about these results?  Who do they think has to make up the difference?

Okay, now an example of when the force for togetherness can cause a problem.  A flight was very late leaving Las Vegas for DFW.  The agents made the following announcement: “As this flight is late and because most of you have connections at DFW, we are going to board the plane in the most efficient way possible. Therefore, if you have a window seat, and only if you have a window seat, line up at the door to board first.  All other passengers please wait as this process will cut down on delay waiting in the aisle as people store their carry-ons and take their seats.”

Simple, right? Everyone wants to board quickly as possible, right?

Maybe if we humans didn’t make pretty much all of our decisions with our emotions.  Anytime a change is suggested that either increases or decreases the togetherness in the relationship anxiety is triggered.  Remember the powerful role the force for togetherness in the deaths of three people who sacrificed their individuality by turning their thinking over to someone else.  In the boarding the plane scenario, fusion didn’t kill anyone, but most of us did miss our connections because the couples on the flight just couldn’t handle it. Boarding as suggested required that passengers go on board “individually.”

Instead of smoothly moving with the plan, couples clumped at the exit door saying, “But we’re travelling together.”  “We’re married.” All sorts of resistance popped up taking agent time to “counsel” the couples who didn’t want their togetherness shifted in the slightest.

Oh, I know what you’re thinking.  How did we “elite level” passengers react when informed we would not be able to board first?  Much indignation was thrown around.  There was hair-pulling.  There were demands for exceptions. Doesn’t American Airlines realize that we have a very fragile self?  I, personally had no problem with the plan, but then I’m a cool traveler, everyone knows that.  (My seat? Window on row nine.)  Coming: Part Two.

 

Anxiety, Stress, and All the Fascinating Little Drinkies, Part 2

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Anxiety, Stress, and All the Pretty Little Drinkies, Part 2

Anxiety and Thinking for Yourself

Do you think for yourself?   Are do you just think you think for yourself—and what you’re really doing is “what feels good at the moment” and expecting someone else to “lump” the consequences?  Remember our goal: To have more of our decisions, actions, and internal dialogue, more determined by our best thinking and less determined by emotional pressure from others or emotional pressures (fears and anxieties) coming from within our own minds.   A little thing called Differentiation of Self.

The “I Want It Now” feeling is one way we can know that our emotion system and not our “best thinking” is guiding our decision.  Another give-a-way is when we refuse to acknowledge the long-term downside of our actions. (Think full- body tattoos.)  The refusal to measure potential gain against potential loss keeps prisons over-occupied.  The same sort of refusal to accept the cost, also accounts for the series of broken bones I suffered on the series of show horses sucking up my time and money for years.

Teaching Your Teens to Avoid Stress

Here’s a bonus idea for teaching the “thinking for self” and “weighing the potential long-term downside” lessons to your teenagers. National Geographic has a new show, “Lockup Abroad,” (or is it “Lock Up A Broad”?) documenting otherwise straight-arrow people who “get talked into” carrying drugs on their body going through customs in foreign countries. Yeah, I know. The show demonstrates well what can happen with just one tiny bad decision.  And, yes, the misguided drug carriers are surrounded by persuasive people authoritatively pushing them to carry drugs, assuring them that “There’s nothing to it. It’s perfectly safe.”  Think James Arthur Ray giving his promise of “harmonic wealth in every area of your life.”

Anxiety Over the Border

All the Pretty Little Drinkies is the tale of a lazy Mexico afternoon when two teens who hadn’t learned the lessons of “Lockup Abroad.” Many bad decisions were made that lovely afternoon at the fabulous Mocambo Hotel (built in 1932, once the hide-a-way of Hollywood types) on the beach in Vera Cruz, Mexico. My brother and I, both young teens, had been at the hotel for several days with my father. During the afternoons, while Dad honored the siesta tradition, my brother and I lounged around the pool cooling off periodically in the water topped with fresh hibiscus blossoms tossed in every morning. There were iguanas. There were accommodating waiters. There were Galiceno horses, said to be the first breeds of horses arriving in the Americas with Cortes when he invaded Mexico from Cuba in 1519.

There was a drink menu with pictures of exotic mixtures of fruits and alcohols, each in differently shaped sophisticated glasses. Of course, we were going to order just one each, just to test the flavor and see the colors. Then, as is often the case when emotions are rolling, we decided to check out every refreshment that looked exciting. Key to our decision was the waiter’s lack of concern about our ages coupled with our unfounded belief that, since we’d been at the Mocambo awhile, when Dad was handed the bill for the hotel stay, our little afternoon research project would go unnoticed.

Ah, the stories we tell ourselves when we want what we want. As is so often true when we behave without fully considering the possibilities, the end result was less than perfect. My brother and I were waiting in the lobby as we readied to head for Mexico City when we heard a ruckus going on up at the front desk. Oh, yes. My father was stressed out and face-to-face with first the clerk and then the manager insisting the bar bill was not his. Oops. Bro and I slunk up behind him carefully and suggested that just maybe the charges were correct.

Next.  Thinking for yourself driving in Mexico City.

Stress, Anxiety, and All the Pretty Little Drinks, Part 1

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Stress, Anxiety, and All the Pretty Little Drinks

“Thinking for Yourself” Therapy on Someone Else’s Dime

Dateline: Mi Terra Restaurante, San Antonio.  Davy Crockett died down the street not that many blocks in Fall of the Alamo.  (Played in the latest remake by Billy Bob Thornton who delivered the one good line in the movie.  As the Mexicans held him up to be shot, he shouted, “I gotta warn you, I’m a screamer!” ) The remains of the Alamo dead are in a vault a few blocks at Flores and Commerce in the San Fernando Cathedral.

Group Think versus Thinking for Yourself is a tricky proposition because it is much easier to run with our emotions when we are anxious.

A.E. Houseman:  “Most problems can be solved by three minutes of thought. The difficulty is that thinking is hard, and three minutes is a long time.”

When is thinking for yourself, breaking the mold, merely not taking responsibility for paying your way? What about the free thinker who rants about everyone else selling out to
“the man” but who is perfectly willing for you to pick up every check?

The Stress Multiplying Anxiety-Driven Mind of the Adolescent

What about when we were teens, excusing our over-the-top emotionally driven choices on our valiant effort to grow up and become independent. Of course, what we meant by “independent” was to decide our own curfew.  To our parents, our use of the word “independent” meant we were planning to someday pay our own way in the world. Excited by the thought of a time when they could return to lives of their own, our parents fell for our speeches.

Which is good, because each of us benefits learning the hard way during those years .  (Billy the Kid was only 18 years old when he killed his first man.)  Speaking as a proponent of Bowen theory therapy, the teenager who questions and goofs, is less scary than one who goes all the way through without ever putting his or her opinion to the test. (Did you know that, at one time, the credit card company sent the actual carbon of every use to the cardholder with the statement?  I learned this at the breakfast table when my father pulled one such carbon out of his pocket and asked, “Barbara, you want to tell me what you were doing in Eagle Pass just across the border from Piedras Negras?)

Stress Management…Manana

As I roll yet another fluffy tortilla with queso and mochahete salsa, and contemplate the “thinking for self” dilemma….—Stop what you’re doing just for a moment. Ask yourself, “Why am I hurrying to get to the next thing?  What makes me believe that I will be more able to be happy at some future time than I am able to be happy now?”—

See?  There’s all sorts of therapy, all sorts of ways to calm anxiety.  Okay, back to the mochahete, queso and freeloaders spending someone else’s money and calling their efforts “self defining.”  Oops, too late for the Pretty Little Drinks tale of how the decisions made by a couple of young teens….unsupervised lounging around a pool at the fabulous old Mocambo Hotel in Vera Cruz, Mexico….. with no vision of the future… came back to haunt them.

For now, as I stagger dripping and over-heated down Commerce Street, I’ll call up the breezes of the Pretty Little Drinks afternoon….Leaving the unfortunate tale of consequences till manana.