Strange Coincidences

Like the character from NCIS Special Agent Gibbs, I don’t believe in coincidences. Some very strange things have been happening to me and I think it is all part of a master plan.

I am still jobless. The only thing that is still working out for me is writing. I recently got accepted to grad school in which I was going to go for a Master’s in Publication. I stayed away from trying for the Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing because I had applied to other schools and each on rejected me. I took it as a sign that creative writing wasn’t my path. When I saw this Master’s in Publication I thought that might be a good fit for me.

I was sold on the idea of a Master’s in Publication until the director asked me if I was sure I didn’t want the Master’s of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. I started rethinking my position. Then I met with the head of the Creative Writing department. After discussing my true career goals and my career background, it was clear to me the MFA in Creative Writing was the degree choice for me. I handed in a story and I am happy to report, in January of 2010 I will be taking my first semester of classes as a grad student in the MFA Creative Writing program.

The strange coincidences don’t stop there.

As an undergrad, I literally took three Victorian British Literature classes. The first one was a senior level class my admissions rep told me to take my first transferred semester at the school. I didn’t know any better, so I let the rep guide me. Then I find out I need to take another British Literature class because as an Education major, the one I took didn’t count. The only one open was Brit Lit II. So, I was forced to take it. While I was in the course, the school decided to combine Brit Lit I and II into one course. However, since I took Brit Lit II, I had to take Brit Lit I before they stopped offering it.

Now, as I am looking at my classes for my Master’s, I have only two class choices on Monday night. I could either take Victorian British Lit or I could take a novel workshop class. I would rather take my own eyes out of my head and eat them then take another Brit lit course. So, I have to take the novel workshop course. It’s true I do have three novels all in different stages of the writing process. One is a young adult novel and the other two novels deal with male/ female relationships. I hate all three of the novels. The way I see it, I have a month to write a new novel. I started two days ago and I already have 21 pages. The book I am working on now says more than those others that I wrote and I really like this new attempt.  

One more strange little oddity if you will.

Now, you will laugh at me. If you ever worked in a bookstore, you will hate the next thing I am going to admit. Here is the truth, say what you want about Oprah, but she picks a lot of great books for her book club and damn, if a book has her stamp on it; it’s like having money in the bank.

I wanted my novel to be an Oprah Book Club pick. I wanted to sit down with her and discuss my book. I wanted people from my past to come on the show and try to cash in on knowing me. I wanted the people I dedicated the book to in the audience with me.

However, she is retiring in one year.

But, what if all of these strange coincidences are leading up to my one big goal? How funny is it that I have to write a novel in a month? I will have that novel work shopped by other people (no need to bug my friends to read my book). I am also taking a class called getting published. What if this novel I am working on gets published?

Wouldn’t you just die if my book was the last Oprah Book Club pick?

Sure, I am almost positive I could never be that lucky and maybe all these things are leading me on the path of just writing a book.

But then that little girl in me who believes in Christmas magic and hope and miracles keeps saying, “But what if?”

 

The Duck Question Finally Answered

I didn’t want to know where the ducks went in the winter time. I wanted to know why Holden Caulfield was so obsessed with finding out where they went. I taught The Catcher in the Rye about seven or eight times, and each reading of the book gave me no answers. I even tired to Google it and apparently no one cared enough about Holden’s quest for an answer about the ducks enough to write about it.

Well, I am happy to report I finally have an answer. It was a combined effort really. I won’t take credit for the complete interpretation. The funny thing about this is it took a two second conversation I should have had years ago with this person to come up with the answer. I don’t blame this person; they were going through things and it kept them from being grounded. However, I would rather have the answer late than never.

So here is the combined effort interpretation of why Holden Caulfield is so obsessed with what happens to the ducks in the winter time.

Holden wants to save people from the world. More specifically, Holden wants to save children from the world. This is evident when he is walking to get Phoebe at school and he sees the curse words on the school steps. Holden get so angry the words are there because he doesn’t think kids should have to look at those words, let alone understand what those words mean. He doesn’t want kids growing up and having to deal with death and lost love. These are things Holden wrestles with and he wants to ensure kids don’t have to deal with stuff like that yet.

More evidence to support the claim that Holden wants to save the children comes from the poem by Robert Burns. Holden thinks the lines go, “’If a body catch a body comin’ through the rye’”(Salinger 224). Yet it is Phoebe who tells him the lines are actually, “’ If a body meet a body coming through the rye’” (224). Holden wants to be the person catching the bodies coming through the rye. Holden wants to be the one to save the kids from falling off the earth. But the truth is he can’t be because no one can save the kids. He can’t even save Phoebe from the adult content in the poem because she already knows it.

Holden couldn’t save Allie from dying. Holden can’t save Phoebe from the curse words on the steps of her school. He can’t save her from their parents and growing up. When Holden watches Phoebe circle round and round on the carousel, he cries because he knows he can’t save her. He hasn’t even bothered to save himself.

His obsession with ducks comes because here is another thing he can’t save. The ducks are part of the background noise of life. If you are lucky enough to sit down and watch them, the ducks can entertain you and relax you. In a sense, children are the same way. For the most part, children are background noise. As you are running off to your next appointment in your busy adult life, you may pass a park and pick up some of the giggles from children. You hear them but you don’t process them. However, if you just sat down and watched them for a bit, the children could make you laugh along with them.

Holden keeps asking everyone about the ducks because he can’t understand why no one else is interested in what happens to them in the winter. Just like most adults don’t really care about what happens to children. Adults will care about their own child; but an adult normally isn’t as invested in a child that doesn’t in some way belong to them.

In a way, I think if Holden could just figure out where the ducks go, he could then figure out himself. If he could understand why Allie died, he could understand himself and forgive himself. If Holden could stop the hurtful world from getting to Phoebe, he could stop the world from hurting him.

Holden wants to save all the things no one cares about. He feels like he is one of those things that no one cares about. So, in a very predictable manic-depressive way, if he can save all these other things, then he is worth something to someone and he will be worth saving.

 

Oh No Carrie Bradshaw for Teens

I read an article yesterday on people.com that stated HarperCollins signed Candice Bushnell to pen two new books called, The Carrie Diaries. These books would take the character of Carrie Bradshaw from the popular HBO series Sex and the City and place her in high school. According to the article on people.com, the book would chart the beginnings of Carrie’s love of fashion, writing, and the relationship Carrie has with her mother.

 But of course, people are having a fit because this book is being targeted for teens and people are assuming this book will be about teens having sex.

If people would just look beyond the title of the show, people would understand the show wasn’t about a chick having sex in a city. The show looked at relationships and how four women reacted in these relationships. Sex in the City showcases Carrie as a smart, sexy, working woman who made her own choices and her own rules. Isn’t that a great message to send to kids?

I could see people freaking out if the book was the Samantha Diaries. Those would surely be filled with teen sex-apades. But also, Samantha doesn’t strike me as a diary keeper. Carrie also admitted on the show that she didn’t have sex in high school. So, the book would focus more on relationships and growing up as a teen.  

The book’s cover mentions the fact the book is about Carrie Bradshaw from Sex in the City. The book is betting most teens already know about the show. I would also make the same assumption. I bet tween girls already have watched the series numerous times. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the girls even asked for the box set of the show for the holidays.

It all comes down to information. Some people don’t want to take the time to raise their kid. They want the government, schools, and television to do the job they should be doing. So, when a book comes along that is looking to help tweens understand the mess that is middle and high school, why are people so afraid to accept the help? Oh yeah, it’s because the word sex is mentioned. If people just take the time to research just a little bit, they would see this book is really a great thing. Why not also make this a mother/daughter thing? Both of you could read the book and discuss it.  

I am sure Bushnell will write Carrie with honesty and integrity.

 I am really excited for this book to come out. I think it is going to be better than say, the vampire books. I’m not too sure how a vampire who drinks blood has minty breath…but I digress.

I think we just need to calm down and let Bushnell do what she does best…create a strong, independent character.

 

Burdens

Why is it that we carry such crazy burdens? We can be so mad at another person, yet we never tell that person why we are mad to begin with. Sometimes I think it happens because we just assume the person knows why we are mad at them, so telling them would be dumb. Besides, we are too angry to talk to them and would rather burn large hatred holes in their skin with our eyes. Then again, maybe we don’t tell the other person because we don’t think they are worth keeping in our lives. You don’t feel like working at an already dead relationship and that reason is just another reason to be mad at them. You just add it to the pile and feel yourself pulling further away. Or maybe you don’t want to hurt the person’s feelings, so you find just bottling up the anger is better than sharing it. Perhaps we second guess our anger. We feel we don’t have the right to be mad at that person, so we don’t say anything.

Regardless of the reasons, when we carry burdens…we are ultimately hurting ourselves. People are not mind readers, so assuming someone knows why you are mad at them is pointless. You stress out even more because not only are you mad at them but now you are adding the fact they don’t know you are mad at them. They walk around thinking everything is fine or maybe you just don’t want to talk that day. The person has no idea you are stabbing them with an imaginary butter knife and plotting their death.

We carry these reasons, these burdens, for no reason. The only person who pays the price in the long run is us.

However, what if you are mad at someone you socially aren’t supposed to be mad at? What if you are mad at a sibling or a parent?

Most people just swallow their anger instead of bringing it to the person. Others might just dissociate from the family member. In the end, neither of these are good solutions because it is you who will pay the price. You lose out on the one thing we all crave the most; love and acceptance. Also, you never learn how to have a family and when it comes time to create your own, you falter.

I am not saying you shouldn’t be mad at a sibling or a parent. They are all humans and are not impervious to mistakes. I am also not saying you have to forgive them for any mistakes that are made.

However, I do think if you are mad at someone, you need to tell them why. It is not fair to you to carry another person’s burden. If that person hurt you, then it is their burden to carry. They can either try to make the situation right or do nothing. Sure, maybe you don’t say anything because you are afraid they will take the second option and then you have to deal with being upset and rejected. But, it is a risk you have to take. You can’t shoulder another man’s burden. You have your own to carry and your shoulders are not that strong. If you tell the person why you are upset and they do nothing about it, then why bother keeping dead weight in your life? I think you will be surprised to find the person had no idea you were upset and will do what they can to make sure you understand they love you and don’t want you hurt. Also, it shows that person not only how much you value them in your life, but also how much you value your own life.

Burdens, when left to fester, become large, solid balls of pain. Life is painful enough without adding to it. Why carry something that doesn’t belong to you?

I would hope the people in my life would tell me when and how I have hurt them. If you know me, you would know I would hate hurting you. I would hope you would love me enough to tell me when I did so I could fix it.

In that same vein, if I come to you and tell you how you hurt me, you should consider yourself very lucky. I almost never tell people how I really feel and if I am telling you, then I really do love you.

 

The Christmas Theory

I have this theory about Christmas. It is, admittedly, not the best theory in the land, but it is one I am working on either proving or disproving. I hope you will all help me in my quest to find the truth behind this hypothesis:

People who have traumatic childhoods cling to the Christmas holiday and its season.

I can only go by my own childhood and the worlds other authors have created in books to either support or dis spell this theory, so forgive me for being so ill prepared. My sample group is small; however, I am hopeful it can grow.

I would like to say I am not saying if you love Christmas then you need to reexamine your childhood because you are repressing something. I am not talking about loving the Christmas season. I am talking about the wild hopefulness that seeps into ones heart. The constant look-out for that Christmas miracle. The hope and joy that maybe, just maybe, this year will be the one that saves you. People with traumatic and broken families tend to really gravitate to Christmas and I want to understand why.

At first I thought it might have something to do with the ideals of family togetherness. It seems Christmas is the time of year the family can pretend to be normal. The Christmas tree goes up, mom makes hot coco, and everyone gathers around the tree and just soaks in the lights and the love. Sure, dad is about a quarter way from knocking off the Jack Daniels bottle and mom is all coked up…but to an outsider looking in, for just that one moment, the child in that family has what everyone else (not counting the Jewish children) has…a family all together around a Christmas tree. There is no TV on. No one is fighting. Everyone is just sitting on the couch and the love that is always hidden by anger, drugs, and booze starts slowly dripping into the warm circle of the family. The child can breathe because for once the child is “normal”.

Also, distant relatives tend to start pouring into your living rooms. With them come strange, exotic gifts…like an MC Hammer tape (even though you have an IPOD) or a yellow jello-molded Christmas tree with gum drops for ornaments. These people come all together and gather around the tree and again, a sense of being normal flickers like the lights on the tree. Of course Aunt Norma is discussing her latest divorce. Aunt Susie has her bratty kids with her who have tricked you into allowing them to play with your new toys. When they leave your toys will either be missing because they stole them or broken beyond repair. You mom will just sigh and tell you they don’t have any manners and you have to forgive them because they are family.

Do people with traumatic childhoods cling to Christmas for the sheer normalcy of the holiday?

Or is it something else?

For me, the holidays are some of the only memories I have left of my parents. My dad died when I was nine and most of the memories I have of him fill my one cupped hand. About half of the memories of my dad are about Christmas and the times we were all together as a family.

My mother’s favorite holiday was Christmas. I never got to ask her, but I am pretty sure she had a traumatic childhood as well. For her, she needed Christmas to remind her of the happy times. For me, I need Christmas to remind me of her.

As I get older, my memory of my parents becomes broken. The times I can recall are ones filled with high emotions (good and bad). So, it makes sense I would hold on to the Christmas memories because for me, they were happy moments.

So, do people who have a traumatic childhood hold onto Christmas to remind them of the people who have passed on?

Maybe I am over simplifying things. When dealing with human elements, things are never cut and dry. There are always many what ifs and just becauses. I don’t know what makes us cling to Christmas so much. I think for me, it is the idea of hope. No matter how bad things were, Christmas was always the time to set down differences and become a family. Christmas was the time for miracles. Christmas was the time to look back at the past and remember fondly what was lost. There were traditions and stories passed down from generations. It was the time I felt truly apart of something.

 

 

Thoughts on Augusten Burroughs’ New Book, You Better Not Cry

When I used to work in the bookstore, I used to walk by this book in the biography section. See, the biography section was strangely right next to the cash wrap, so every time I left the register to shelve a book, direct a customer to the Bestseller wall (which was right up front and the customer literally just walked by the wall to ask me where the wall was), or to hide in the back for a moment, I would pass this one book. It was an orange colored book with a little boy in a striped shirt with a box on his head. The title was Running with Scissors. I would walk past the book and chuckle at the title and remind myself each and every time I saw it I had to read that book.

It wasn’t until years later I actually picked up the book and read it. The book changed my life. With that book, I saw a natural born writer. Burroughs told his story and asked nothing of his readers but to listen to him. The book wasn’t out for revenge. It wasn’t an expose. The book was Burroughs’ life and it was inspiring because he had that raw writing talent all along. Maybe it wasn’t his first pursuit when he went to New York, but writing was the one thing he was destined to do.

Because of his book, I started writing again. So, blame him. It’s all Augusten Burroughs’ fault I subject everyone to my blog and my stories!

Every book he has written I have purchased and some of them multiple times. I think I have purchased Running with Scissors about five or six times because I want others to read his book, so I give them my copy and I never get it back. When I heard You Better Not Cry was released, I dug into the seats of my couch and car and found the twenty-two bucks to buy the book.

Burroughs’ did not disappoint me.

I laughed along with him as he recounted his childhood Christmases. Sure, I never ate a wax life size Santa Claus, but I do recall etching my name in the canned snow frosted window. I smiled thinking about the crappy stocking stuffers like apples and oranges I used to get while I read Burroughs’ stocking stuffers from his dad.

But the last two chapters, I didn’t want to read. For me, “The Best and Only Everything” was probably the most difficult one to get through because I knew who it was about. It’s not because Augusten and I are BFF and I know all his people like that, it’s just that I read all his books.

If you need an example of powerfully, raw, emotional writing, read “The Best and Only Everything”. The way Burroughs’ describes a person’s brown eyes is just so moving. I can’t even describe what it was like reading the description. I have rewritten the sentences in which I try to tell you what it was like twenty times and checked my email twice just trying to put into words the intense feeling I had as I read his words. Burroughs’ isn’t just a memoir writer; he is a literary talent. I humbly bow to him.

I hate seeing a Burroughs’ book end; therefore, when “Silent Night” was looking back at me, I just put the book away for a few days. I knew after I read that chapter, I had no more new things to read. Sure, I could go back in the book and reread…but it isn’t the same.

This holiday season, there will be many holiday themed books begging for you readership. Burroughs’ book, You Better Not Cry will take you on an adventure. You will cry a bit and you will laugh. You may even see some parts of your holiday mirrored back at you. Treat yourself and read this book.

 

Finding Joy

The other day I was at the mall. I decided since everyone else was rushing the holiday season, I would join them and go by my Christmas scented candles. Besides, I had a coupon for the candles, so that made making a trip to the mall that much more enticing.

But life is funny. You never know when a question you have been harping on will be answered. It is never in the way you think it will be answered, but you will always get an answer.

I want to go to grad school, but the question is what do I want to go for? Should I get my MFA in Creative Writing or should I get my MA in English and Publication?

I started walking into the mall and I have a habit of looking at people’s license plates to make words of the letters. So I was playing my internal word game when I came across this jeep. On its spare tire, it had a very unique covering. There was Snoopy holding a piece of plan white paper standing by his red dog house. Underneath the picture was the word, “joy”.

I paused. I smiled. I had my answer.

I have always loved Snoopy the best when he was sitting on top of his dog house writing a story. I always envied Snoopy because he had a cool type writer and he wasn’t afraid to write. He was a dog, yet that never stopped him from writing his stories.

When I saw the depiction of Snoopy by his house with his new story, the writer in me started interpreting the picture. Snoopy’s written a story. The paper is white facing the audience because he is not ready to show us his work. The story is definitely done because he is standing by his house and not on it. He holds his story in his hands (paws) because he isn’t ready to let go of his…joy. Writing that story and finishing it, looking at the finish product…a writer can’t find a finer joy than knowing his or her story is ready to meet the masses.

For me, writing is a blessing and a curse. However, it is one of my greatest joys in my life. Being able to see stories in my head and then tell them for others to read and enjoy is both fascinating and wonderful.

When I saw that picture, it was then that I knew no matter which program I decide on, I cannot give up my joy. Never again will I let my life be sidetracked from the joy of writing a story and sharing it with others.

 

My Homework

I am currently taking a great writing workshop sponsored by Philadelphia Stories. We had an assignment and this is what came out of it. Because it is small and pretty cool, I thought I would share it with you. I never share my creative pieces on this blog, so enjoy this treat.

Trees, Please

How wonderful to be a tree? Every winter to slowly die only to be renewed once again in the spring time seems like such an appealing concept. For a whole season, a tree gets to be completely unaware of the world surrounding it. The cold doesn’t affect the tree. Howling winds and blistering snows breeze between the skeleton branches as the tree silently sleeps. Children throw misguided snowballs at its branches. Parents dig holes near the tree roots to bury dead pets. Bored children enjoy plucking the brittle bark off its trunk and the tree stands still feeling no pain. The world slowly continues to turn and the tree stands as a solid reminder of the cycle of life and death. The tree emulates hope to the lost souls looking for a symbol or a sign that the loved one who passed on will not pass from this earth completely.

It’s a cold February day. The sun is shining but the bitter winds still find their way into the holes of the little girl’s crocheted mittens. She doesn’t mind the cold too much. Her house is a small distance from the tree, so if she gets too cold, she can always run in to warm up again. Her mother would offer her hot coco, but because she wouldn’t be quite ready to come in yet, she would forego the hot cup this time.

But right now she isn’t bothered by the cold. She has a mission. She is searching for God. Ever since her father died last February, everyone has been giving her advice. Her father is in Heaven. Her father has joined God.  God is in everything and is everywhere.

 She has meshed everyone’s advice into one stream of thought. If God is in Heaven and her father has joined God in Heaven, and if God is everything and is everywhere, then all she has to do is find God and ask Him if she can talk to her father. She has some questions she would like to ask her dad.

She wants to know if dying hurt and who else he met in Heaven. Did her dad see his cousin again? Did he get to talk to his father again? Does her dad get to watch her like she’s on TV now that he is in Heaven? Did he get to read the book of her life now that he is there?

She walks over to the old tree. It has been here her whole life. Her dad used to push her on a make-shaft swing on this tree. Her hamster, Teddy, is buried under the tree. In the springtime, this tree served as second base when her sister, father, and she played softball in the backyard.

With her bare hand, she feels the rough bark. Some of it crumbles in her hand. She sees her opportunity. If she can just get all the bark off the tree, she will be finally standing next to God.

 

Black Lipstick

Today is Halloween and it is probably the only official day in which it is mildly acceptable to wear black lipstick. However, black lipstick is seriously not a good look…for anyone…at any time. Trust me, black lipstick doesn’t sit well on the lips. No matter how much gloss for put on top of your “wet n wild” brand of black lipstick, you will not be able to bring the black lipstick to a nice vinyl shine. I know, you are saying, “but it says, wet n wild”. It’s black lipstick; it is neither wet nor wild. It’s just black tar across your lips.

I know you are thinking I am being too harsh on black lipstick. It is after all only lipstick. But let’s be honest, it really isn’t a good look. Sure, you can use black eyeliner to outline your lips acting as a lip liner, but in the end, the black lipstick is still going to get on your chin and teeth. Nothing can hold black lipstick in place. Also, it is difficult to make sure you cover your whole lip. When you open your mouth to talk, people will see your natural lip color hence defeating your original purpose for the lipstick. The “wet n wild” brand used to have these glitter flecks in it that would be gritty.

How do I know so much about the wearing of black lipstick?

Well, as we speak I am rocking this blog out while wearing black lipstick. It smells like rose petal death and tastes like clay. I wear it not for Halloween, but as a mere homage to my yester years. It’s true! When I was a little eighth grader, I totally wore black nail polish and black lipstick. My bangs were a good three inches off my scalp. My black eyeliner was compared to raccoon eyes. But, I thought I was so…I don’t even know what. I literally thought the black lipstick made my blue eyes pop. I swore I looked hotter than anything and I was so…something.

I was just an idiot.

Speaking of idiots…let’s talk about Halloween glitter.

If you grew up listening to Debbie Gibson, The Thompson Twins, or if you didn’t know George Michael was gay when he was with Wham! …I am going to ask you to put down that tube of eye glitter. Yes, I know that for Halloween you want to be a fairy and a fairy has pretty butterfly wings and glitter about the eyes…but girlfriend, there comes a time when glitter is no longer acceptable. For you, that time is now.

Guess what? You are too old to wear glitter. I am sorry. You don’t look cute with glitter outlining your eyes because the glitter is now getting caught in your slowly forming wrinkles. Glitter is slowly making its way into your acne scars and is letting the world know you popped your pimples (even when everyone told you not too). The glitter is just too young for you and YOU HAVE TO PUT IT DOWN.

I once saw a woman of about sixty rocking some glitter eyeliner. I first thought, “Wow, what a spunky lady” and then I thought, “I need to get her some eye make-up remover.” If you are out of your twenties, then you are out of eye glitter period. No amount of Halloween will make it acceptable to put it on. End of story.

While Halloween is the day we get to dress up and be someone else, we still need to make sure we don’t try to hold on to our pasts. I would never in a million years go back to eighth grade. I am glad my twenties are over. It’s fun to play pretend and don the black lipstick one more time, but it also becomes a very morose time. As I put the black lipstick on, I notice my lips aren’t as perky. Applying the eyeliner to my eyes, I see the wrinkles starting to worm their way to the surface.

I look in the mirror and reflected back at me is the washed up version of that little girl. She wore the outrageous hair and make-up not to draw attention to her, but to keep people away. She figured people would see her as crazy and people would stay far away from her. Most of the time it worked and people just looked at her weirdly.

That little girl still works hard to make people stay away from her. It doesn’t work so well anymore.

 

True Colors

In these times of economic hardship; it seems that customer service and customer loyalty are falling by the waist side. Many families are forced to cut back on the luxury services such as cable and cell phones. However, these companies are more than aware of the strains families are in, yet they are not willing to help out their loyal customers.

Today I was talking with a very irate loyal customer of Comcast Cable. Due to a recent lay off at work, this two family income has been forced to “make do” with just one income. Some juggling of bills happened and when forced to choose between food on the table or paying the cable bill a few days late…well food won.

So, the cable bill started piling up and a notice of termination was sent. The customer called up the customer service center and the cable company assured this customer all that was needed was a payment received by November 3 and there would be no disruption in the service.

The customer hung up the phone and breathed a sigh of small relief. At least now this customer knows   one small problem will be solved soon because the paycheck will be in the bank tomorrow and all she needs to do is go to the building and pay the bill.

About a half an hour later, her husband says something is wrong with the internet. The TV she was watching suddenly goes off.

Apparently, Comcast wanted the money today.

The customer calls the cable company and the first service representative she gets on the phone gives her no explanation other than the bill needs to be paid. The customer says she just got off the phone with another customer service representative who said she had until November 3^rd to pay. A supervisor was placed on the line and all the supervisor could say was the billing department changed the date and the service could not be turned on until a payment was received.

The customer and her husband go down to the Comcast building with a postdated check. They look around the parking lot and see an unusual amount of cars. Once they enter the building, a long line of customers greeted them. In the long line, they pick up pieces of the conversation.

They weren’t the only customers who the billing department decided to change the billing date to today.

 The lobby was filled with customers who had the same problem. They were told they needed to pay by November 3^rd; yet their services were cut today. Now they have to pay the balance of the bill and a reconnection fee.

Because Fios isn’t available in most areas, Comcast is the monopoly. These customers have been with Comcast for years and now they know people are stuck. They are having trouble paying because of the economy. If they want to change their services to lower the bill, they get hit with all types of fees.  

Why keep hitting people when they are down? When these people get back on their feet, what will happen then? Most likely they will cancel their services and pay the fees associated with it because they will remember the day they had to go ask a family member or a friend, or pull more money from their credit cards in order to pay a bill they thought they had a few more days to pay. It isn’t because they want to watch the latest VH1 show; it is because their internet and phone are tied to their cable bill. If a call came in about a job; they would miss it. If an email came through about a new job lead; it would go unanswered.

All of this for what? So Comcast could get their money six days earlier.