Dear Rachael (or Rachel) of Stanley Steemer,
My father owes you an apology. He will never give you one, though, so it falls to me to clean up one of his messes. Again.
My father is not a bad guy. He's just a little insensitive (Some would claim a lot), and my siblings and I can't be there to watch him every day. I think my mother used to have a modicum of control over him; unfortunately, she has no control even over her own mind anymore, so my father is left to exercise self-control.
He hates exercise. Of any kind.
So, Rachael Rachel, by now I’m sure you’re wondering why I am addressing you specifically. Allow me to explain. On Saturday my father said the seven words I dread almost as much as You’re going to feel a slight pinch.
“Wait till you hear what I did.”
I’m always sure that whatever follows those words, it won’t have earned him a Nobel Peace Prize.
Here’s where you come in, Rachael Rachel.
Apparently my father, who watches television for hours each day – and believe me, I understand his need for entertainment – has glommed onto Stanley Steemer’s latest ad campaign as a source of unremitting irritation.
“Have you seen those commercials for Stanley Steemer, the ones with the llama or the alpaca or whatever it is?’
No, I answer.
“Well, they are the most annoying thing I’ve ever seen. Why any company would put such stupid stuff on TV is beyond me. They have this alpaca or llama in a house and the guys are talking about what kind of stain is on the carpet. Who in the world would have A LLAMA IN THE HOUSE? So, I decided to call them.”
Stanley Steemer, I ask (while the little girl in my head has stuck her fingers in her ears and is singing at a very shrill pitch already).
“Yeah. They have an 800 number, you know? So I said, ‘Amy, listen to this (Amy is one of my mother’s caregivers. She is not paid enough to act as my father’s filter, too) because I wanted her to be my witness.”
Your witness?
“Yeah, because it was going to be funny. I wanted her to hear it.”
Oooooohhhh. (Oh, no!)
“So I dial the number and this girl Rachael (Rachel) answers and she says, ‘Hello. Stanley Steemer. How may I help you?’
May I say here, Rachael Rachel, you’re very polite. I’m sure your company is proud to have you as the first voice its customers hear. I know; I’m shamelessly kissing up now. It’s what I do.
“’Yeah,’ I said to her. “Who are the idiots who are responsible for your ads?’ and she says, ‘Excuse me?’”
A perfectly understandable response under the circumstances. Yep, that’s me still kissing up.
“’I said, who does your ads?’” and she answers, ‘I don’t know.’ So I said, ‘Well, that ad with the alpacas or the llamas or whatever they are must be the stupidest ad I’ve ever seen. Nobody keeps a llama in the house. How dumb can a commercial be?’ She told me that lots of people like those commercials, and I said, ‘Well, they’re idiots, too,’ and then I hung up,” he finishes, laughing. “I can’t wait to tell your sister when she calls tomorrow night.”
Oh, I can’t wait for that either.
By now the story has made the rounds among at least the four eldest children in the family, including my brother Jeff (who really is the funny one in the family, and every time my sister Leslie and I mention that to Dad, he just snorts derisively because, of course, he is the funny one in the family). Here’s Jeff’s version of their conversation: “[Dad] basically said the same thing to me of course, and I basically told him I thought the commercials were funny also, and he basically said he wasn’t surprised, and I basically told him it would have made more sense to ask to speak to the advertising director rather than some poor girl who really couldn’t care less what he thought.”
Rachael Rachel, after my father finished telling me the story of your encounter, I told him he needs a hobby (preferably one that doesn’t require the use of a phone). Jeff has a different idea: He suggested that Dad call the White House daily. “That would be a waste of time,” Dad replied dismissively. Jeff countered with, “Like calling Stanley Steemer to talk to an operator isn’t?”
Please don’t judge my father too harshly. His golden years are a bit tarnished. He didn’t expect to have to bathe, dress, and feed my mother every day for the better part of the last three years. He didn’t even expect to be alive at 79. I’m sorry that he doesn’t understand the difference between a customer service representative and an advertising agency. I’m sorry that his particular brand of humor entails harassing young women who answer 800 numbers. Frankly, I’m sorry he has a phone.
Rachael Rachel, perhaps you have a story or two you’d like to share about one of your parents? Or perhaps your parents are normal people?
