I have been the Fed Ex poster girl for 15 years. I signed up for a Fed Ex account before I ever bought my first laptop or even my first car. Fed Ex is more valuable than my refrigerator and maybe even my dog. Fed Ex has always there for me; I even love their slogan: "The World On Time." Sexy, simple and oh-so-worldly. I suppose Fed Ex has been my security blanket, because whenever I've forgotten something and desperately needed it, Fed Ex was sure I received it.
Fed Ex has been like my trusted BFF (best friend forever). And as a small business owner, I will admit, I've been known to manipulate my clients into canceling their UPS, and DHL accounts as a way to keep us one big Fed Ex family.
So it is with deep regret that I announce, this week Fed Ex officially pissed me off. Not the kind of "oops, there's a hole in this box..." kind of pissed off, or Fed Ex online is molasses slow today and I now have to go old school and handwrite my label -- not that kind of pissed off. They super-size pissed me off.
Fed Ex F'd up. And I want to kick their purple and orange ass.
My perfect assistant requested a 3 p.m. pick up for a verrrry important package headed to New York. The three o'clock hour came and went and I decided at 3:45 to call and see why our package had yet to be picked up. I honestly never call Fed Ex; the girls in my office handle shipping, but I'm no diva; I can still get my Fed ex on, right? It's like riding a bike, you make the call, request a pick up, push a button and voila! Done, shipped, and handled, right? Wrong.
Ring, ring.
Recording: "Welcome to Fed Ex.... would you like Fed Ex Ground, Fed Ex Express or..."
You know the drill, where you just want to yell "agent" and speak with a human being and cut to the chase and move on, yet it only starts back at the top.
Recording: "Welcome to Fed Ex, do you want to ship Express? ... What is your account number? "
An agent finally arrives on line forty years and two vodka martinis later.
The Fed Ex agent and I do the whole name, account number, what's the issue? dance... tick tock, and she is confused how we made an online request and it isn't showing up.
12 minutes later...
Agent #1: "M'am please hold, I need to transfer you to a dispatcher." Note: this is a bad sign everyone, get comfortable, pull up a cocktail; you're going to need it.
Agent #2: Start all over. "Fed Ex account please... " Now the clock is at about 4pm. For any fed ex virgins, Fed Ex does not pick up after 4pm. it's 4:10 now and I am about to lose my Zen Friday-ness. "Well m'am there's nothing we can do, as we do not pick up after 4pm"
Me: "Are you kidding me? I have been on hold for over 36 minutes and 12 seconds. I am still being transferred and so far three people have not been able to figure this out. I have been on the line since far before 4pm."
Agent #2: "Well m'am I can help you schedule a pick up for tomorrow..." and my response in my head: Are you on crack? I am not feeling "Relax, it's Fed Ex" at all
Me: "Why would I need your help tomorrow sir? This is why we called for a pick up today, because we need the package at its location by tomorrow not by Monday. So I guess 'When it absolutely has to get there on time' is off the table now that you've moved on to 'Relax, it's Fed Ex'? Well, on time is by tomorrow at 10 am. Now you're absolutely pissing me off!"
Agent #2: "Ma'am I need to transfer you to a supervisor."
This is also known as Super Bad News. Bring out the whole bottle now, people; the cocktail is about to get stronger. They only bring in the 'old supervisor back up action' when callers use profanity. Did I really use an "F" word? I can totally hear the guy "Hey Joe, I have psycho businesswoman on the line she just called me a (insert expletive)." Awesome. Truthfully, I'm so out of my body with whirlwind frustration, I cannot actually recall any specific word I may have used to get me to supervisor status, which is also slightly concerning.
Yep, I pulled the Ari Gold overheat move, scream yell, veins popping out. If you recall that Entourage episode where Ari yelled at the school principal? That was me "If someone doesn't pick up this_____ package today you will officially lose my account...and never work in this town again.... I have been a Fed Ex user for 11 years, this is complete _______ ."
Supervisor: "Well ma'am we certainly don't want to lose you as a customer..."
I say, "Oh really? Well, what are you going to do to show me you want to keep me, mister?
I don't know if he hung up or if I did. Silence. Deep breath. And for the record, I am not relaxed at all.
Somehow I let go of any ideas of immediate violence for one sane moment, grabbed the package and drove my stressed self the two miles to Fed Ex.
Upon my return to the office, I pick up the phone to call my best friend Karen and say "Seriously Kare, I just realized that there is no way in my right mind that I can vote a woman into office. I just lost it so big time with Fed Ex. And not the kind of lost it where you just get a little mad and feel frustrated, but a full on, out of body, PMS ranting, panting and out of my mind crazy, kind of lost it type situation. Who am I right now?"
I went on to describe in detail the exchange and my less-than-stellar behavior. I said, "There is just no way anyone in this state of mind should have access to any button or secret code to launch bombing or nuclear weapon of any sort. Truthfully, I can't even agree to a woman in my state having general access or dinner with any foreign head of state in this condition." I couldn't in the deep part of my heart hand over any ounce of power to someone who has these unpredictable hormones gushing through her body, could I?
Nope. And I realize instantly that I just proved every single person who has ever used PMS as a poor, lame, weak and sexist excuse not to vote a woman into office, that they may actually be onto something.
Suddenly this very unpleasant state permitted my twenty something years of being a good feminist soldier to become clouded, altered and I suppose altogether kidnapped. Any ounce of previous inspiration I had soaked up from great feminist writers like Simone De Beauvoir, and Betty Friedan were suddenly tossed out the door...and somehow Fed ex officially high jacked my vote and delivered it to Camp Obama.
Well, at least for the next four days or so.