Yesterday, I had an experience that is all too common as well as all too aggravating. It began with a notice on my e-mail that my monthly premium for my Cigna Dental Insurance had not been paid, but “if that is in error, ignore the e-mail.” My monthly premiums are automatically taken out of my checking account. So, I called the insurance company to see if there was a problem. Anyway, I tried to call the insurance company.  

After dialing the number, I was unceremoniously put on hold with a barrage of elevator music. I set my phone to “Speaker” and began to read the newspaper. Sports and the Comics didn’t take too long. I advanced to the Front Page. After finishing the Front Page section, the music on the speaker phone paused. My hopes arose. The music began again. So, I progressed to the National News. Twenty minutes had passed. As I picked up the Local News section, a loud voice on my phone said, “Dear Customer, this survey will only take a few minutes of your time. Please rate your answers from ONE to TEN. TEN being the highest.” That was all I needed to hear.

Then it began: “How satisfied are you with your experience?”  Answer:  “ONE!”
“Was your experience satisfactory?” “ONE!”
“Was the agent helpful?” “ONE!”  

As  the questions continued the answers were ‘ONE—ONE—ONE.”
Finally, “Would you recommend this company to your friends?”  Answer, “What do you think?”

“Tell us why:” “Because I had a simple question and no one picked up the frigging phone before hitting me with this lame brained survey.” I hung up!   Later, after cooling off, I called the number again, and heard a message. “If you received an e-mail that your bill has not been paid, it was sent in error. Please disregard.” (and stop grinding your teeth).  I made up that part.

It is very hard sometimes not to get angry.  I will spare you the four hours I spent with 5 different departments, 4 disconnections and 5 different “service people” on the phone with AOL—with  no real problem resolution.  I also answered their survey with improved profanity.
Even though I get frustrated and sometimes angry, I rarely lose my temper. That takes a lot of control.

When I was three-years-old my family escaped the Nazis and we made our home in Springfield, Missouri. Four years later, we moved to Sioux Falls, South Dakota.  I liked my new school and my new friends, and was a very happy little girl.  Every afternoon after school, I’d walk home by myself—even on snowy days. Now that I was 8-years-old, I was pretty independent.

One afternoon, I heard a sound behind me.I turned around and saw a big boy from my school. I didn’t know him, but I figured he was a new kid who lived at the Army/Air Force Base. He caught up with me and I looked up at him and said,, “Hi!” He stared down at me and said, “I know who you are. You are a dirty German!”

 I looked up at him, balled my fist and shouted, “I am an American Girl!” I closed my eyes, flung up my fist and ,since I was much shorter than he, I hit a Bulls Eye right on his nose.  I had never seen so much blood in my whole life!  I ran home crying and as I entered the house shouted, “I think I killed someone.” After my Father calmed me down, I told him the whole sad story. He was shocked and said, “Esther, you were in a fist fight?” “No,” I replied. It was no fight. He cried, bled and ran away.” Then my Father calmed me down and said, “Don’t worry the nose bleeds a lot when hit.” I doubt you killed him since he ran away, but perhaps you should apologize for making him bleed. Think about it.”
I kind of thought about apologizing but didn’t, because I never saw that boy again.  However, I never— ever— hit anyone again. But, I must admit, when I get mad as Hell, I occasionally  do hit my head against a virtual wall.

Esther Blumenfeld