Bad Boobs

There is no such thing as good customer service on the east coast. How's that for a sweeping generalization. The following is but one example of why it is true.

• Beginning of July - our one year old condo (which we thankfully rent and not own) suffers lots of water damage due to a combination of heavy rain and shoddy construction.
• Mid-July - day workers enter our condo and remove a bunch of drywall that is black with mold.
• End of July - we are still living with holes in our walls.
• Beginning of August - finally, we receive word that some repairs will be made within the week.

Throughout all of July we sent emails to and talked on the phone with numerous individuals responsible for assessing and repairing the damage, explaining to them where we saw water damage and where the drywall had been removed. We sent emails and made phone calls of our own initiative; we sent emails and made phone calls as "required" by little flyers posted in the elevators; we sent emails and made phone calls as encouraged by the 4 page letter explaining the water damage situation to everyone in the building (too bad the 4 pages was filled with zero useful information and ended with a reminder to keep things in perspective because, as they put it, 'the water damage in our units is nothing compared to the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina' . . . . wtf?!!!! . . . obviously whoever wrote the letter barely graduated highschool and has no grasp of what a proper perspective might be).

• Today - the head man responsible for repairing our unit is shocked by the extent of the damage.

I can't remember exactly which incredibly stupid statement came out of his mouth, but it was similar to one of the following. "We had no idea the damage was this extensive." "We have no idea how to communicate effectively with you or amongst ourselves." "We collect a paycheck for wiping our asses with your emails." "We like sex with women." "Doh." Or maybe there were no words, just an empty expression accompanied by some slobbering.

I can't hang drywall. I'm sure I could learn how, and I'm sure it would be a great work out, and I could probably cancel my gym membership and have that hot blue-collar vibe working well for me at the club. But at this moment, I cannot hang drywall to save my life. Hang my drywall wrong and I will have no clue. Something at which I am very capable is organizing and managing people and information. Seeing these idiot white collar boobs fuck with my life due to their incompetence doing a job at which they are supposed to excel makes me so furious. Keeping track of which units are damaged is not hard boys . . . just make a fucking list and fucking check it twice.

I encourage anyone in customer service from the midwest to move to the east coast and take over the world. I just want 10%, as a finder's fee, for telling you about this goldmine of a cesspool of inept boobery.