The temperature was more like 100 degrees plus when the tall imposing woman customer in my local FedEx asked to speak to the manager. There was no refusing such an innocent request on the part of Jennifer, the clerk who had been helping her. An equally determined looking manager - short, medium build, male - came out of the back office and asked, in turn, 'how can I help you?'' It was more a dare than a request. "I just want to compliment the woman who was helping me," came the reply. "I wanted to make that clear to management."
The smiles began. "Well we can help you make it all the way to headquarters," said the manager, upping the ante. So he passes on a phone number to call so that 'team member' Jennifer would be properly cited wherever such matters matter. Indeed, a call to the 800 number brought forth eventually a live body in public relations who was stumbling over the request. "We don't get many of these," said PR lady, name unknown. She scurried around to take down the info, offering - per bureaucratic custom - a "case number". Make note: 0718736603. Maybe first and last time for 'usa1810@fedex.com.
City summers produce some curious behaviors. In Franklin Park near Macpherson Metro, hippie renegades sat beside the burbling fountain, backs to the meagre spouts where pigeons flocked to keep cool. Their long-haired dog lay sprawled beside them, properly harnessed, with a tiny leashed cat clinging to its back. A cool scene. Really.
Metro had its own cast of characters on show. Besides talented Doo Wap performers, travelers made their own appearances known. A black woman dressed in white - hat, trousers and top - hailed me as I descended, in a friendly gesture meant to acknowledge my own all-white garb of the day. As though we two were among the smart folk like MiniCooper owners giving a mutual wave on the roadway. But we were nothing up against the woman guiding her wheelchair among rushing Metro hordes who had on stylish clothes and perfect makeup and one matching artificial leg complete with shoe hanging off the back.
The smiles began. "Well we can help you make it all the way to headquarters," said the manager, upping the ante. So he passes on a phone number to call so that 'team member' Jennifer would be properly cited wherever such matters matter. Indeed, a call to the 800 number brought forth eventually a live body in public relations who was stumbling over the request. "We don't get many of these," said PR lady, name unknown. She scurried around to take down the info, offering - per bureaucratic custom - a "case number". Make note: 0718736603. Maybe first and last time for 'usa1810@fedex.com.
City summers produce some curious behaviors. In Franklin Park near Macpherson Metro, hippie renegades sat beside the burbling fountain, backs to the meagre spouts where pigeons flocked to keep cool. Their long-haired dog lay sprawled beside them, properly harnessed, with a tiny leashed cat clinging to its back. A cool scene. Really.
Metro had its own cast of characters on show. Besides talented Doo Wap performers, travelers made their own appearances known. A black woman dressed in white - hat, trousers and top - hailed me as I descended, in a friendly gesture meant to acknowledge my own all-white garb of the day. As though we two were among the smart folk like MiniCooper owners giving a mutual wave on the roadway. But we were nothing up against the woman guiding her wheelchair among rushing Metro hordes who had on stylish clothes and perfect makeup and one matching artificial leg complete with shoe hanging off the back.
Ha HA!!! to the shoooed leg! And good for you being so patient about good words for Jen, who really is wonderful -- she's been burying managers at Kinko's for many years.
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