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My Big Fat Acid Reflux and Stupid Market Surveys
Last week we got called about four times by the same unknown number. On the fifth call I finally answered just to make them stop. It turned out to be a marketing company wanting my opinion on a television sitcom, as well as asking about my history of reflux. I'm always happy to share my opinion on things, plus they promised the possibility of fabulous prizes, so I agreed to their study. They had to ship me a videotape so we went over my mailing address very carefully.
Me: ____ South Atchison Way #___, Colorado ____ (information unnecessary to this story omitted to discourage the many stalkers I believe I have)
Her: Atchison is A as in aardvark, T as in Tommy, C as in cat, H as in Hector, I as in ice cream, N as in Nancy, S as in Sammy, O as in owl, N as in Nancy?
Me: No, there's no N. Just AtCHIson.
Her: Okay, let me try again. I have S as in Sammy, O as in owl, U as in Utah, T as in Tommy, H as in Hector...
*sigh* You get the picture. She went on this way all the way up to C as in cat, O as in owl for the abbreviation of Colorado. You'd think I was getting FBI dossiers, they were taking it so seriously. An hour later, she was finally wrapping it up. She wanted to make sure I could watch the tape on Monday so they could call me for feedback on Tuesday. I hesitated because Monday was going to be a very long workday for me, but just wanted to be through with her.
I told Tery about the call and she reminded me she had been through one of these things before. She said I could expect to sit through a stupid sitcom pilot that didn't go anywhere and then they'd waste a half hour of my time asking me about the commercials, all for the tentative promise of an alleged drawing for fabulous prizes. Being thus forewarned, I hoped perhaps the tape might come on Saturday so I could cheat and watch it Sunday instead, but no such luck.
All this was forgotten come Monday morning. I felt fine when I woke up. I felt fine in the shower. As I was getting dressed, however, I started having a progressively worsening reflux attack (before people freak out that it was tied in somehow with the marketing survey, I have had mild reflux off and on for about 6 months now). This was the worst ever, culminating in violent and copious vomiting about 4 times in a row. Tery declared that there was no way I was going to work after that, and I didn't put up much of an argument. I crawled back into bed while she went in without me.
She returned 3 hours later with ginger ale and Pepcid AC. She woke me up and recoiled in horror. She fetched a mirror to show me what the problem was. The ferocity of my vomiting had burst most of the blood vessels in my eyes, as well as tiny little capillaries around them. I looked a lot like this:
Braaaaaiiiiins.....
Repulsive, yes. Even my cat Alsatia seemed to be regarding me with mild alarm. But since it didn't actually hurt or affect my vision, it amused me highly to use my new look to gross her out (Tery that is, not the cat). Every time she looked at me, her lip would curl involuntarily in disgust. She bragged that she was an old pro at throwing up, and if she looked like I did after every episode she might quit drinking. I speculated if there was a way to artificially create the effect so she would do so. We also had great fun pretending that Tery had kicked my ass. I emailed photos to her co-workers and warned them to stay on her good side, or she'd take a lead pipe to them.
She said she would never leave the house looking this way. I on the other hand can't wait to. A) when people see me at work, they'll know I wasn't faking a sick day on Monday (although with my track record and high work ethic this shouldn't be questioned anyway), and B) I kind of like it. I think it brings out the green in my eyes. This is what it calmed down to today:
If this picture looks unnaturally pale and washed-out by comparison, it's because the bathroom lighting really diminished the true shockingness of it. In reality it does look still worse than this.
My little sister the nurse was very disturbed by my symptoms, and lamented that I didn't have health insurance. She also warned me that eye injuries like this take about a month to heal (I have a baby shower to attend this Sunday. Tery said I would be the "belle of the ball"). She pointed out that Christmas was coming, and promised my present would be either a consultation with a gastroenterologist, or the Scrubs DVD. How screwed up am I that I'd rather have the DVD?
To bring this story full circle, the marketing tape arrived via UPS Monday morning (I wish other more important deliveries could be scheduled as precisely). The package included dire instructions to neither fast forward nor rewind the tape, ensuring I wouldn't miss any commercials. I was relieved that now I had the whole day to finish the survey. Except the tape didn't work in my player. It would come up for half a second and then stop. I tried many times with the same result. Worse, when I tried to eject the tape I discovered it had jammed up so badly that by the time I wrestled it out, my player was busted. Oh, sonofa..... I gleefully waited for their callback this afternoon.
Her: Yes, ma'am, I'm calling to see if you reviewed the material?
Me: No, I didn't. The tape wouldn't work, then it jammed up and broke my VCR.
Her: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. That means we can't go any further with the questionnaire.
Me: (quietly seething)
Her: Well, have a nice day, ma'am, and perhaps we can call you again sometime in the future.
Me: (explosively) Don't bother! I have to buy a new VCR now because of you people!!!!!!
Her: (very quietly) Oh, okay ma'am....*click*
I never expected them to replace my VCR. But I certainly didn't expect them to try to pretend that everything was still hunky-dory between us. What part of "You broke my fucking VCR and I'm not terribly happy about it" wasn't sinking in with her?
I honestly hope the call was "monitored for quality assurance." These people have no idea who they're dealing with.
Me: ____ South Atchison Way #___, Colorado ____ (information unnecessary to this story omitted to discourage the many stalkers I believe I have)
Her: Atchison is A as in aardvark, T as in Tommy, C as in cat, H as in Hector, I as in ice cream, N as in Nancy, S as in Sammy, O as in owl, N as in Nancy?
Me: No, there's no N. Just AtCHIson.
Her: Okay, let me try again. I have S as in Sammy, O as in owl, U as in Utah, T as in Tommy, H as in Hector...
*sigh* You get the picture. She went on this way all the way up to C as in cat, O as in owl for the abbreviation of Colorado. You'd think I was getting FBI dossiers, they were taking it so seriously. An hour later, she was finally wrapping it up. She wanted to make sure I could watch the tape on Monday so they could call me for feedback on Tuesday. I hesitated because Monday was going to be a very long workday for me, but just wanted to be through with her.
I told Tery about the call and she reminded me she had been through one of these things before. She said I could expect to sit through a stupid sitcom pilot that didn't go anywhere and then they'd waste a half hour of my time asking me about the commercials, all for the tentative promise of an alleged drawing for fabulous prizes. Being thus forewarned, I hoped perhaps the tape might come on Saturday so I could cheat and watch it Sunday instead, but no such luck.
All this was forgotten come Monday morning. I felt fine when I woke up. I felt fine in the shower. As I was getting dressed, however, I started having a progressively worsening reflux attack (before people freak out that it was tied in somehow with the marketing survey, I have had mild reflux off and on for about 6 months now). This was the worst ever, culminating in violent and copious vomiting about 4 times in a row. Tery declared that there was no way I was going to work after that, and I didn't put up much of an argument. I crawled back into bed while she went in without me.
She returned 3 hours later with ginger ale and Pepcid AC. She woke me up and recoiled in horror. She fetched a mirror to show me what the problem was. The ferocity of my vomiting had burst most of the blood vessels in my eyes, as well as tiny little capillaries around them. I looked a lot like this:
Braaaaaiiiiins.....
Repulsive, yes. Even my cat Alsatia seemed to be regarding me with mild alarm. But since it didn't actually hurt or affect my vision, it amused me highly to use my new look to gross her out (Tery that is, not the cat). Every time she looked at me, her lip would curl involuntarily in disgust. She bragged that she was an old pro at throwing up, and if she looked like I did after every episode she might quit drinking. I speculated if there was a way to artificially create the effect so she would do so. We also had great fun pretending that Tery had kicked my ass. I emailed photos to her co-workers and warned them to stay on her good side, or she'd take a lead pipe to them.
She said she would never leave the house looking this way. I on the other hand can't wait to. A) when people see me at work, they'll know I wasn't faking a sick day on Monday (although with my track record and high work ethic this shouldn't be questioned anyway), and B) I kind of like it. I think it brings out the green in my eyes. This is what it calmed down to today:
If this picture looks unnaturally pale and washed-out by comparison, it's because the bathroom lighting really diminished the true shockingness of it. In reality it does look still worse than this.
My little sister the nurse was very disturbed by my symptoms, and lamented that I didn't have health insurance. She also warned me that eye injuries like this take about a month to heal (I have a baby shower to attend this Sunday. Tery said I would be the "belle of the ball"). She pointed out that Christmas was coming, and promised my present would be either a consultation with a gastroenterologist, or the Scrubs DVD. How screwed up am I that I'd rather have the DVD?
To bring this story full circle, the marketing tape arrived via UPS Monday morning (I wish other more important deliveries could be scheduled as precisely). The package included dire instructions to neither fast forward nor rewind the tape, ensuring I wouldn't miss any commercials. I was relieved that now I had the whole day to finish the survey. Except the tape didn't work in my player. It would come up for half a second and then stop. I tried many times with the same result. Worse, when I tried to eject the tape I discovered it had jammed up so badly that by the time I wrestled it out, my player was busted. Oh, sonofa..... I gleefully waited for their callback this afternoon.
Her: Yes, ma'am, I'm calling to see if you reviewed the material?
Me: No, I didn't. The tape wouldn't work, then it jammed up and broke my VCR.
Her: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. That means we can't go any further with the questionnaire.
Me: (quietly seething)
Her: Well, have a nice day, ma'am, and perhaps we can call you again sometime in the future.
Me: (explosively) Don't bother! I have to buy a new VCR now because of you people!!!!!!
Her: (very quietly) Oh, okay ma'am....*click*
I never expected them to replace my VCR. But I certainly didn't expect them to try to pretend that everything was still hunky-dory between us. What part of "You broke my fucking VCR and I'm not terribly happy about it" wasn't sinking in with her?
I honestly hope the call was "monitored for quality assurance." These people have no idea who they're dealing with.