Raleigh iPhone Repair Fail

If the worst thing that happens to me this week is that my iPhone can't be fixed, then I probably really shouldn't complain, right?

But of course I'm going to anyway. Consider it my public service cautionary tale for those seeking iPhone repair in Raleigh.

A few months ago, my iPhone tumbled out of the pocket of my coat onto the sidewalk at a precise angle that caused the screen to shatter in a spider web pattern shooting out from one side of the phone. Thankfully I had one of those clear protective sticker things across it, so it held the broken screen together and I was able to continue using my injured phone without any trouble.

On Tuesday morning, I finally take it to a local iPhone repair shop* that recently opened on Glenwood Avenue. The store is a third location for the company, which already has locations in Apex in Fuquay-Varina -- the Apex shop had been recommended by a friend, but Glenwood was so much more convenient. I drop off my phone with Tattoo Guy, run a few errands and return an hour later to a brand new screen for $80 including tax.

Magic! I am delighted.

Tuesday afternoon, my phone rings and I answer it -- only to discover that my friend can't hear me unless I am on speakerphone. After calling two more people to test the phone, I discover that in fact my phone -- which previously had functioned COMPLETELY FINE despite the cracked screen -- no longer works properly AS A PHONE.

Ugh.

I promptly call the repair shop and am told that my phone probably lost a connection and to bring it in and they would fix it. So I do that on Wednesday, thinking it will be no big deal.

After watching Tattoo Guy take the back off the phone, poke at everything, put it back together, make a failed call and repeat the whole process with no success, I get nervous. He then informs me that my phone has water damage and it must have affected the microphone.

What?

Apparently Apple puts these little white stickers inside your phone -- when they get wet, they turn red. Sure enough, the tiny indicator sticker at the bottom of the inside of my phone at the charger port and beside the microphone was red. This is, of course, the same phone that had previously worked TOTALLY FINE and has never been dropped in water or spilled on. And I'm supposed to believe that my phone -- which worked TOTALLY FINE -- coincidentally stops working during the exact hour that I take it in to have the screen repaired. Um, sure.

He can replace the part, he tells me, but will have to get it from the Apex store because he doesn't have one in stock. He'll even "give" me $10 off the part, possibly because of the daggers that were shooting out of my eyes at him.

But what else am I supposed to do? Nothing is visibly wrong to suggest that they broke something. I don't have the knowledge, skills or tools to repair it myself. And I'm trying hard to remind myself that Tattoo Guy doesn't gain anything by purposefully screwing up my phone.

So this morning I take my phone BACK AGAIN at 9:30. Tattoo Guy tells me it will take about 30 minutes, so I go sit in my car and read through some reports for work. Of course, he has my phone, so I can't check email or catch up on phone calls, but I can't afford not to be working.

At 10:00, I go back inside the shop. He tells me the part didn't work and Apex Guy is bringing a different part, so it's going to take a little more time. Right.

When I tell him I need to use space at his counter and his wifi code so that I can work on my office laptop while I wait, he looks at me like I'm crazy -- then he must notice the actually crazy look in my eye and pulls a stool around to the counter for me before telling me the code.

Did I mention that they have the movie "Elf" playing on continuous reel on a television at the store counter? For all three days? And I realize that probably sounds like a treat to some of you, but to me it seemed like seasonally inappropriate taunting.

At 11:30 (TWO HOURS after I initially came in), I have to leave for an event at Junius' school. I tell Apex Guy that I have to go and will be back in an hour, then ask if there's any chance my phone will actually be fixed today. "He's working on it," Apex Guy assures me flatly. "Your phone is acting weird."

Right. Because you know, my iPhone has that quirky personality that can sometimes be hard to manage -- or maybe someone put a hex on it for Mardi Gras.

When I walk back into the store at 12:45, Tattoo Guy comes out of the back room holding my phone and says, "Yeah, it won't work. You're going to have to call Apple. I looked up some of the online info, and apparently this can happen after an impact."

Wow. So not only are you incapable of fixing my phone, but you also have no customer service skills either.

And this whole thing is just a crazy coincidence. Or as Tattoo Guy put it, "It's an electronic. Things happen." Um, sure.

At that point, I was done. I grabbed my phone from his hand, shot the stink eye one last time, turned on my heel and left. As I drove away, clutching the steering wheel in an angry death grip, I started up a variation of "Serenity NOW" as my new mantra:

"Lord, help me let this go."

Because really, if I've got a wonderful husband, beautiful children, a healthy body, great friends, loving family, a nice home, a good job and a new-ish car with heated seats, am I really going to let a broken iPhone mic destroy my whole day?

Okay, maybe for a little bit, I did. Because it just really sucks.

But now I'm better -- thanks for listening. And if you know any trustworthy iPhone repair shops in the Triangle area, let me know.

Update, 2/19/13: Since last week, I've discovered that basically anything that requires my phone to make a sound no longer works properly. That means my phone won't ring when someone calls or texts, I can't listen to music, I can't use the the alarm (except for the buzzing noise that the "vibrate" function makes), and I can't hear the little Spanish-speaking voice on the Duolingo app that Junius and I are using to practice Spanish words. Awesome.

*Update, 1/18/17: WRAL investigated this place back in 2013 and 2014 and the whole business got shut down. I've deleted the link to the store, as it no longer exists.

Color Me Crazy

Anyone who suggests that I'm a neat, tidy, organized kind of person doesn't really know me -- or has only been over to my house when I'm expecting company.

The counters and tables are regularly covered in piles and I shudder to think what our bathrooms would look like without help from a housekeeper. Even my desk at work is a mangled mish-mash of lists, notebooks, brochures and reports.

But I do like for everything to have a place -- and ideally for all those things to be in said places.

Particularly when it comes to Play-Doh. I mean, there's a reason that each color comes in its own container with the little color-coded lid, right?

So why does my daughter love to inflict so much pain by doing this?

Watching her gleefully smush all the colors together actually makes my palms itch. Or maybe that's just an ingredient in the Play-Doh. Either way, it's all I can do to let her enjoy it the way she wants to.

When she's busy building something, I catch myself at least trying to group the rainbow lumps into color-themed piles (note the pinkish, bluish and yellowish balls above). But it doesn't work. She sees what I'm doing and starts taking chunks of my piles and blending them into a new shape.

So how do I keep from destroying one of her creative outlets by enforcing my organizational rules into her game? I turn to my own creative outlet -- writing -- to get me out of her way.

Now excuse me while I go check out Pippi's newest creation: the pinkyellowgreenbluetanpurple double-winged, four-eyed wedding bird.
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Guest Room Gone Wrong

Update 12.29.11: It worked! Thanks to Molly's contest with Tempur-Pedic, we'll be getting a brand new bed!

Recently I've shared some of my favorite details from our big renovation project, along with pictures of my house. But in case you think that my home is all clean and sparkly and new without any mess or chaos, let me make a little confession.

My guest room? Total disaster.

So when Molly Gold announced a contest inviting her fans to share a video story of the worst guest room they've ever stayed in, well...

I'll let you see for yourself.

Nonna and Grandpa -- I promise we'll be ready for you by Saturday. And if it weren't for the prospect of winning a Tempur-Pedic bed (courtesy of Molly), I would never have given you that video tour.
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The Burden of Making Decisions

I think I liked it better when we didn’t have all these so-called choices.

The new student assignment plan for Wake County is supposed to create stability and give parents greater control over their children’s educational options. All it’s creating for me is headache and heartburn.

Junius is a first-grader at our original base assignment – a year-round elementary school just over a mile from our house. While it isn’t our “neighborhood school,” it is close by, the schedule works well for us and we’ve had good teachers there.

But under this new plan – for better or for worse – I find myself wondering about other options. Wouldn’t it be great for him to have Spanish instruction every day? Or maybe he’d excel in a program with smaller classes? Or would he get more benefit from the consistency of six years in the same school? And will any of the schools on our list even have seats available for second graders?

One of the toughest things about parenting is the millions of decisions, both small and large, that have to be made every single day. Do you vaccinate? Buy only organic foods? Do you let your daughter wear a tutu to church? When is bedtime? Who do you trust to serve as guardians in your absence? What’s an appropriate punishment for a 3-year-old who tells lies? Is your son sick enough to stay in bed or is he just trying to skip school? Is he too young to watch Star Wars? What school is the best fit?

Where’s my Magic 8-Ball when I need it?

The truth is that I’m tired of being the decider. I just want to know that everything is working out for the best. I want to believe that any school he attends will be the right one, that every teacher will challenge him with high expectations, that his classmates will encourage him to excel, that every experience will help him grow into a successful adult.

So how will I know if we made the right choice?

“Reply hazy, try again.”

Image found here.

Dread

On Friday, I go back to my dermatologist.

Thanks to my (ahem) delicate skin, she keeps me on a pretty short leash – every six months, I’m in her office for a skin scan.

If you haven’t had a full body scan with the dermatologist, then you might not know that they check everywhere. Even places where the sun literally doesn’t shine.

My dermatologist is blessedly fast, with a light touch and a chatty demeanor, which makes it all go by more quickly. But I’m really dreading this trip. Dreading the idea that she might find another basal cell lurking beneath another ordinary looking pimple on my face.

I’m not ready to do this again:

But I’ll be there anyway. With my fingers and toes crossed. Until she looks between them for skin anomalies, that is.

Because you know what’s even worse than that surgery pictured above?

Letting a basal cell run its course like one of these.

* * *

If you actually clicked that last link, you'll understand when I tell you that I had intended to put a real shocker of a photo in this post -- but I couldn't do it. I wanted to show you what happens when you let a basal cell eat away at your skin for years and years untreated. But the pictures that I found -- just like the ones my skin surgeon showed me from her own cases -- made me gag so much that I couldn't look at them long enough to copy and paste into this post.

If you didn't click that last link, then let me just remind you to wear sunscreen, keep your hat on and schedule regular visits with your dermatologist. It's not sexy, but it's a helluva lot better than the alternative.

Photo notes: Bottom left is the spot circled before surgery; center and top left are during surgery; top right is last month after a much-needed makeover, showing where my hair is finally growing back; the rest are the in between stages of stitches and infection. Also, that long white scar in the middle of my forehead is the remains of my first basal cell, which was removed three years ago.
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The Weather Is Here, Wish It Were Beautiful

You see that little star, just at the top left of that ugly looking hurricane?

That's my vacation.

I'm trying hard not to complain. With any luck, we'll just miss a day or maybe two and still have a lovely (albeit shortened) week ahead. I should just be grateful that my home and my livelihood aren't bracing in the path of Irene's mess. And after a decade of last August and early September beach trips, I guess we were due for a big storm

But damn it! I still want to have a little temper tantrum and shake my useless fists at the weather map. Grrrrr.

Think I liked it better when the only hurricane I had to worry about was this one.
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Head Shot, Part 2

For my friends who have vasovagal syncope -- or those of you who are just squeamish -- you should probably stop reading this post. Check back on J-Fest 2011 or some cute photo of Pippi until we're done here.

For the rest of you -- those who need a reminder to wear a hat or want to scare the hell out of motivate your kids to put on the sunscreen -- here's the latest on my head wound.

As you may recall, I had a basal cell removed from my forehead nine week ago. Nine.

After the surgery, it looked like this with the stitches in it:

Now, after some repair surgery for some granular something or other that was preventing it from healing properly followed by major face swelling and then a staph infection plus two weeks of antibiotics (plus the, ahem, usual infection that goes along with two weeks of antibiotics) and Duoderm, it looks like this:

And in case you're wondering, my skin surgeon put a bandage back on it right after she took that picture for me. The sad news is that this photo looks a lot better than the crater I was peering at last week.

So yes, that's another week of a bandage on my head that can't get wet. Another week of my sweet husband washing my hair in the sink for me. Another week of walking around with a big white circle on the corner of my forehead that makes everyone look at me like I just might be a lost amnesia victim.

Sigh. At least I have cute hats.
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Head Shot

Not even a right-side hair part and the magic of Instagram can camouflage the latest addition to my head wound. This frickin basal cell is not going away without a fight.

And in case you're wondering, it's been seven weeks since my surgery. Seven. Also, have to keep this bandage dry for a week. While it's 100 degrees outside. While I'm taking my kids to the pool. While I'm supposed to be wearing a hat that will no longer fit over my head.

Yea.

Is That a Leak in My Ceiling or Just My Own Tears?

So after this...

and then this...

you'd think I'd be done with water leaking through my ceiling.

But, sadly, you'd be wrong.

Because today there's this...

Yes, that's a gash in my upstairs ceiling with water dripping through it. And yes, that strange curve is the bulge of the wet drywall sagging with the weight of it all. And yes, it's nearly three feet long.

This time, it wasn't the shower (photo 1) or toilet (photo 2) leaking into the kitchen. Today it was the A/C in the attic -- someone dumbass DIY previous homeowner repaired a broken PVC pipe with duct tape and even though we had a maintenance check on the whole system last year, apparently no one bothered to properly install the run-off pipes for the water overflow from the A/C unit. So it's been leaking into the attic floor for who knows how long and finally burst through the ceiling this morning.

Yea.

Thank goodness for awesome neighbors/contractors who responded to my panicked phone call, converged on the house within minutes and repaired the leak within an hour. At least now the A/C is working, although the hole is the ceiling is another matter.

If I call my husband one more time at the office to tell him that it's raining inside our house, I'm pretty sure he won't come home anymore.
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Cry, Cry, Cry

When I was a kid, sometimes I'd get weepy for no apparent reason.

I'd pad quietly through the house, looking for my mom. Often she'd be sitting at the piano, so I'd climb up on the bench beside her.

"I feel like crying and I don't know why," I'd tell her.

And she'd always tell me that was fine. That it was okay to cry, to let it out, even if there wasn't an explanation or an answer to go with the tears. Then she'd listen to me let go, holding me just a little so that I knew I wasn't alone.

That's how I feel today. Like crying, but I don't know why.

Maybe it's because my children were apparently conspiring to kill me between 4 and 9 a.m. today while my husband was away overnight. Because every time I turn around, Pippi is naked -- even after I've dressed her and am waiting at the door to leave for the morning. Because neither one of them will ever. stop. talking.

Maybe it's because I seem to be physically incapable of going to bed before 11 p.m., no matter how exhausted I am. Because my sinuses are clogged with pollen-induced snot. Because my right wrist and hand ache so much I can't hold a pen properly.

Maybe it's because there's yet another hole in my kitchen ceiling. Because I had to grocery shop with Pippi today. Because it's gray and cloudy.

Or d) all of the above.

Thanks for listening.
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Friday's 5: Movies Not to Watch This Weekend

Now that the Oscars are over and you've made your list of movies you still need to see this spring, I thought I'd help you out. I've only seen two of the movies that were nominated -- The Fighter (love a good boxing movie, plus you can't go wrong when Mark Wahlberg is topless for most of the film) and Toy Story 3 (I laughed, I cried, I wanted to hug my children) -- so I can't give you much feedback on the winners.

Instead, I'll warn you about movies you should NOT watch this weekend. I'm generally open to most movie genres (except for horror, although I do like a good Hitchcock-style suspense film) -- but once in a while I suffer through a movie that just really sucks.

Here, in no particular order, are five of the worst movies I've seen:

1. Con Air: I like a good summer blockbuster action movie. But not this one. At all. 
2. Eyes Wide Shut: All hype, no delivery. And not even all that sexy.
3. Little Children: Far too disturbing to be interesting. Images from this one still haunt me.
4. Punch-Drunk Love: Great title. Wanted to like this one, but just couldn't find a way to care.
5. Harry and the Hendersons: The only movie I ever walked out on. I was in high school, so it must have been pretty bad.

Have I offended you by listing your all-time favorite flick here? What disasters would you add to this list?

Travel Tips: Addendum for Avoiding Failure

So when I wrote about how successful we'd been with get Pippi to sleep in hotel cribs, evidently I missed one critical step. Pay close attention now, because it seems there was a fatal flaw in my plan.

When you reserve your hotel room and request the crib, you have to specify that by "crib" you mean an actual crib. Not a pack-n-play. 

Because apparently, if you don't clarify that seemingly obvious but critically important detail, you might get a pack-n-play.

And when you get to your hotel room with two tired kids and your exhausted selves and the hotel desk clerk brings you a pack-n-play, your husband will have to politely but very firmly explain to the bewildered clerk why that pack-n-play is completely unacceptable.

Then said clerk will desperately call other hotels in the area asking to borrow an actual crib and your husband will have to drive to a nearby hotel to pick up the crib because the clerk is the only person working at the hotel and can't leave.

And you'll be disappointed all over again when your husband calls from the car to say that the other hotel thought they had a crib, but turns out they only have pack-n-plays, too.

So you'll cram your almost-three-year-old into the pack-n-play, where she can't stretch out all the way because she's longer than the available space. You'll explain to her that it's not a good idea to keep climbing out and then jumping back in from the bed. And you'll cross your fingers that maybe you'll all get two or three hours of sleep before she climbs out and refuses to sleep any more.

If you know anyone at Marriott, please teach them the difference between a crib and a pack-n-play.

And say a prayer, y'all. It's going to be a long night.

Image borrowed from Traveling Baby Company, which seems like a great idea if they're where you are.
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And Now... A Message from Our Complaints Department

Despite my earlier whining complaints (and because of the store's responsiveness to changing the floor plan), I've grown to like my new Harris Teeter -- it's super close to my house, the customer service is great and the covered parking is a life-saver on a rainy day. Oh, and they keep sending me $10 coupons each month, so who am I to say no?

On Tuesday, Pippi and I were on our way through the parking garage toward the store, when I noticed a young-ish man who had just closed the trunk on his BMW after unloading his grocery bags. He then carefully pushed his empty cart between his car and the car next to him, parking it against the wall between the parking spaces. The man was alone and did not appear to be in a hurry as he climbed into his car.

The cart corral (photo above) was two spaces away.

I mean, really, was it THAT far to walk? With no screaming baby or wild toddler pulling on your arm? Were you just so worn out from being cool that you couldn't make the trip? Or were you staging some sort of quiet protest against people telling you where to put your cart?

Because I'm pretty sure it took you longer to slide that cart in beside your car without scratching it than it would have to just put it where it belonged. And now everyone else is going to be jittery about parking in that nice space you just vacated.

Grrrr.

Okay, I'm done. And I realize that I've got a pretty easy life if this is the worst thing I have to complain about.

But a pet peeve is a pet peeve, and this one's on my list. So tell me -- what's annoying you these days?

P.S. In the interest of full disclosure, I must confess that after I finished giving the man my worst stink eye, I proceeded to violate my own rule about not using a double-seater cart when you only have one child. But they have a lot more of those rocket ship carts now than they did at the old store, so I've rationalized that it's okay. Mea culpa.
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Friday's 5: Busy Weekend

I really want to have a week off from my life so that I could write all the blog posts that are in my head and on various lists around my desk. I'm afraid that by the time I get to all the topics I want to post about, they'll be old news -- and my list will just keep getting long in the meantime.

But, for better or for worse, my calendar is packed right now -- regular job, freelance job, parenting, homemaking, socializing, exercising, and probably lots more -ings that I'm forgetting. Here's a quick look at just the social events for this weekend:

1. Office party: Took the kids to my husband's office Friday afternoon for trick-or-treating (see photo). You know, because you need to start two days before Halloween to ensure that your kids are appropriately hopped up on sugar ALL weekend.
2. Climb for Life: Husband is running up 56 flights of stairs on Saturday morning to raise money for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. We'll be cheering from the ground floor. You can make a donation here if you like.
3. NC Symphony: I won tickets from The B Keeps Us Honest for the kids series (yea!), so all four of us get to go to the concert mid-day on Saturday. They're also having an instrument petting zoo before the concert and a costume parade at the end -- Junius can't wait to check out the trombone in his Batman outfit.
4. Spooky Trail: Our neighborhood pool puts on a "haunted walk" around the pool grounds, with a little kid-friendly version in the late afternoon on Saturday. I love that Pippi calls it the "Pooky Trail" because she can't say the s-consonant combination sounds. She loves that they're selling hot dogs.
5. Halloween Parade: The second-annual neighborhood friends parade takes place Sunday afternoon. Will probably involve 50 children under the age of 10, which likely sounds more terrifying than the Spooky Trail to some of you.

Oh, and it's 11:15 and I'm writing this instead of going to bed like any sane person would do. So how about you -- what's keeping you busy this weekend?

Wordless Wednesday: Pet Peeve, Part 2

Photo of Christmas decorations appeared around
the entrance to Crabtree Valley Mall this week. 

This, the third week of frickin OCTOBER..

Insult to Injury

It was a rough morning over at Chez Convertible today. Not worth explaining the details (except to accept my share of responsibility for the mess), but let's just say I was feeling a little beaten down by the time I got in the car to drive to work.

I switched on NPR as I turned out of the driveway, hoping to distract myself with the morning's news. After a story on the Chilean miners rescue and another about people losing their jobs and homes in the Gulf, I was starting to get my life back into perspective. I mean really, what's one bumpy morning compared to people who are really struggling to stay alive or buy food for their families?

And then, just as I was pulling myself together, BAM!

Frickin pledge drive.

C'mon, NPR. It's not nice to kick a girl when she's down -- and then ask her for money, too.

For the record, I love NPR. I just really hate the pledge drive.
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Wordless Wednesday: Pet Peeve

Photo taken at Holden Beach.
I mean, really -- smoking at the beach is gross enough, but do you have to litter, too?

A Mudcats Comedy of Errors

This past Sunday, we planned a family outing to see a minor league baseball game -- sounds like the perfect summer evening, right? I mean, what could possibly go wrong at a Mudcats game?

Well, where do I start?

Maybe with the rain, that ruined the first game we tried to see three weeks ago. After driving through a few light showers on our way out to Five County Stadium (Groupon in hand, of course), we discovered that the afternoon game was cancelled.

But as annoying as that trip was, it was only the beginning of our Mudcats mishaps. Here's a snapshot of all the things that went wrong when we tried again this past Sunday night:

• There was the parking attendant who tried to keep our change for the parking pass.
• Then we got the second parking attendant who told us we'd parked badly (even though we'd done just fine).
• And in case that wasn't enough, we met the third parking attendant (sent to track us down by the second parking attendant) who took my husband back to the car and made him move it back 18 inches.
• Once inside, the people sitting in our reserved seats furnished tickets with the exact same seat numbers on them, although he cleverly held his finger over the date on the tickets. Then my sweet husband went down to the box office, asked for four new tickets and declined to have the other people thrown out -- sadly the seats weren't as good and it took us a walk around the entire park to find them.
• They only sell hot dogs at certain concession areas, not all. Which seems ridiculous, since I go to baseball games specifically for hot dogs (not pizza or chicken sandwiches). After waiting in a very long line (made even longer because they didn't seem prepared to actually serve any hot dogs at the end of the 2nd inning) and handing over every single dollar in our pockets (because they only took cash and over-charged for every item), the hot dogs tasted more microwave than grill. Average at best and very disappointing.
• Did I mention that the rather active smoking area was parked beside the food line we were standing in? 
• After walking around the entire park, arms filled with food, drinks and children, we finally arrived at our new seats. Which were filled. Again. Thankfully there was an usher there this time to shoo the offenders back into their own seats. Which they were quite annoyed about.
• As we filed into our row near 3rd base, exhausted by the effort, we looked down to see the floor littered with peanuts and peanut shells crunching under the feet of our peanut-allergic son.

At this point, I looked at my husband with a desperate attempt at a smile and said, "I'm telling you now. If I get hit with a foul ball, it's over. We will be on national television, and I better get paid well for my 15 minutes of fame."

Thankfully, we left without further incident at the 7th inning stretch and made it safely home in time to tuck the kids in bed and fall out on the couch.

In defense of the Mudcats operation, everyone on staff inside the park was very courteous and helpful. But sadly it wasn't enough to make me want to go back any time soon. Guess it's just as well that the season is over -- gives me time to recover before spring training.

Thursday Sopabox: Character Education

A few years ago, I stopped watching the evening news because it was just too disturbing -- becoming a mom made me nervous enough, but seeing story after story about fires, crashes, abductions and killings put me over the edge.

Now it looks like I'm going to have to stop reading the paper, too. For the past two mornings, I've started my day as a serious grouch because of the headlines about the new Wake County Board of Education.

Today's soapbox post will ignore the actual substance of the decisions made at Tuesday night's board meeting -- you already know how I feel about the diversity policy and the magnet program, and I'm saving the staff development issue for another day. Today I just want to rant talk about the behavior and attitudes at the meeting following the swearing in of the four new members.

These new members campaigned on the notion that the old school board was arrogant and deaf to the concerns of parents and the community. Then, after being sworn in, these same members promptly got drunk from the kool-aid of power, pushed through eight new agenda items on major issues without any notice (or even printed materials) to the other four board members, and elected one of their own as the new board chair and another as vice chair (a leadership change that usually takes place in June of each year).

When questioned about whether they were behaving with the same arrogance that they'd accused the old board of, new board chair Ron Margiotta (the only incumbent who supported the new board members during the campaign) had this to say during the meeting: "Let's show the public we're going to respond to what they've been asking for all this time. That's the opposite of arrogance."

This is the same Ron Margiotta who threatened to cut off public comment during the same meeting when critics lined up to voice their concerns. Um, hello, irony?

To the "ruling majority": I've got news for you people. "The public" is not a homogeneous group. "The public" is not made up only of voters who elected you. "The public" is not all lined up to dismantle the Wake County public schools. "The public" is more than the squeaky wheel. In fact, only about 3 percent of the 570,000 registered voters in Wake County even supported you in this campaign. That's hardly a sweeping mandate for change.

If you're really serious about listening to "the public," that means you have to listen to ALL of it. Even me -- who didn't get to vote for or against you since you don't represent my district and who disagrees with most everything you did on Tuesday night. I know things aren't perfect in our schools -- and I'm happy to share my list of things I'd change if anyone wants to listen -- but I'm not interested in throwing out a healthy baby with the bathwater.

As a parent, I'm trying to teach my children how to behave politely and appropriately as the best way to get what they want. I'm attempting to model for them the way I hope they'll act when things aren't going their way (some days that goes better than others). And in our public schools, a district-wide focus on character education emphasizes such traits as integrity, respect and self-discipline.

If our own school board members can't display these traits, can't behave in a civil and thoughtful manner during a public meeting, how the hell can we expect our students to act appropriately in school? Maybe it's time these new board members had a tutorial on the difference between being a character and acting with character. And while you're at it, throw in a lesson on sunshine laws for good measure.

Disclaimer: I did not attend the meeting Tuesday night. I went to plenty when it was part of my job, so I chose to spend that time with my family instead. I'm writing this post based on what was reported in The News & Observer, so I realize that I'm responding to someone else's view of the event. No need to lecture me on not believing everything in print, unless you were actually there and want to adjust the record.

Photo by Ted Richardson at newsobserver.com, showing three of the four new board members (Debra Goldman, Chris Malone and John Tedesco) during Tuesday's meeting, along with newly elected board chair Ron Margiotta (seated).

Guest Post: There's a Reason They're Smiling

Today we feature a special guest blogger: my husband. May God bless this wonderful man, who fearlessly tackled a most painful chore two nights ago and thus earned the right to rant.

Okay, I confess. I’m a customer service critic. From attitudes and aptitudes to cleanliness and consistency, I want companies to get it right.

Good customer service isn’t that hard….really…unless, you’re Time Warner Cable. They don’t seem to get it. After we discovered that we don’t need or want to pay for 400+ channels (including the home-wrecking channel, the laundry detergent channel or the we-don't-have-a-theme-yet-but-here's-some-bad-programming-anyway channel), I decided to make the call and downgrade our service.

But before I begin, in fairness, I must offer kudos to TWC’s “John” in sales and “Sara” in customer service who were nice, but powerless to do the one thing I wanted. No, that job was reserved for the folks in “retention.”

I’m not exactly sure what they were retaining, but “Jeremy” and “Bridget” had it bad. Jeremy bumbled for 10 minutes looking up my account, couldn’t take a payment and didn’t even try to solve my problem. He passed me to Sara (see kudos above) who could only take a payment and send me back to Bridget for more retaining.

Poor Bridget. Bless her heart, she couldn’t find my account for 20 minutes. She asked for our phone number (which came from TWC and was only ten digits) and couldn’t find it. I gave her my account number (which came from TWC) and she couldn’t find it. I spelled our last name several times and she couldn’t find it. I even tried spelling it louder for her. I gave her my wife’s Verizon cell phone number and then miracle of miracles! It appeared!

I stated what I wanted to do, how much I wanted to pay and why. She said “okay” and over the next 40 minutes dodged any rational discussion about whether or not she could do what I asked. Apparently the "okay" was her way of saying "yeah, right." She proposed meaningless offer after meaningless offer. I debated her logic, berated her company and mandated my request. I was even tempted by a free month of any movie channel. But alas, no.

Then I pulled out the nuclear option. I told her I was ready to cancel all of my services. Right then. Seriously. We could do it. We have more than 30 Sesame Street episodes on our TiVo, plus countless others from Franklin, Bob the Builder and the Biscuit Brothers. And of course, there's always our knight in shining armor -- Netflix!

I restated what I wanted one last time. Finally she said, “Okay, I can do that. I’m sorry, I didn’t know that I could.” There it was -- the magic "okay" and just like that I got what I proposed at the beginning of the call. Total elapsed time: 1 hour 20 minutes. We’ll save $516 over the next year on cable. Not bad for a Pyrrhic victory. I was exhausted when the call ended.

Of course, for every bad experience, there are those good ones. Such as the folks at the N.C. License Plate Agency on Wake Forest Road and the fine folks at the Guilford County Tax Office. That’s right – two government agencies.

The folks I encountered the morning after my TWC-near-death-experience were very nice, smiling and helpful people. They helped me sort out the hanging details of a license plate renewal that fell through the crack of last year’s move. They were patient, polite and personable. I suspect they knew I needed them more than they needed me. But they played along and made me happy about “going legit.” After I paid the back car tax and the renewal fee, I was done. It cost me $257, but I was happy and my faith in humanity was renewed.

Maybe they knew what the TWC folks didn’t. You don’t have to be so brazen about TAKING someone’s money if they’ll gladly GIVE it to you.

Thanks for letting me rant…