Monday, February 6, 2006

This phone call I just had boggles my mind so much, and I can think of no better adjective than that it was so pre-Soviet Russia, bureaucratic to the level of absurdity. I didn't even totally understand the message left on my phone, Supervisor Someone calling from New York Police Traffic Blah Blah Blah about a complaint by A-C-V-D-something-something on April 14, 2004.

After talking to the guy, who had awful phone manners for someone whose job was talking on the phone and who was hard to understand, in addition, I learned that this was regarding a complaint Niki and I had made about a film crew that was shooting outside of her store, having the street closed down for a week, making her store not have any business. This was a Lindsey Lohan movie. Niki screamed profanities about Lohan all week. They were in violation of their permit, were there past the time they were supposed to be there, and I called to complain for Niki to the number that was posted on the permit.

The person I talked to was rude beyond belief for a city employee whose job was to handle complaints. So I asked to talk to her supervisor, who was even ruder and who hung up on me. So I called 311 to complain about all these mofos. This, in April of last year. I was so confused, and so annoyed, had forgotten about the whole thing, but was again annoyed by the way this city operates, that they were calling to investigate my complaint now. "So, let me get this straight," I said, "You are calling in February of 2006 about a complaint I made in April of 2005, nearly a year after the fact?"

I talked to this guy, so annoyed and vented some frustration and threw off snotty remark after snotty remark. Which, I know, not endearing at all, but it's a better coping mechanism than yelling.

No comments:

Post a Comment