Erase The Taboo

I have experienced a great deal of death in my life from my favourite Aunt who committed suicide when I was ten because she was no longer physically able to care for my infirmed Uncle, through my parents who died when I was twelve and twenty-two, to two siblings in the past few years. Most of my experience with death has been with the drawn out process of terminal illness, with the exception of my Aunt and my boyfriend Don, who died of an accident when I was twenty. I’m not a medical doctor, a psychologist, a sociologist or a philosopher but believe I can speak with some authority on the subject of death from having stared into its eyes more times than many people my age.  I am not frightened of death, though I’m in no hurry to meet it. I am frightened by what it does to the living: the emotional pain, the senseless worry, the callous denial of its existence.

Medical breakthroughs have extended life far beyond what was possible in the past. Many people routinely survive horrific diagnoses and carry on to live long, rich, meaningful lives but we still haven’t reached immortality. We all know how our life will eventually end and that is with death. So why is it most people can not talk about death openly? Why is it still so uncomfortable, a taboo?  

For centuries people shunned the dying and mourners who came in contact with the dead for fear it was “catching.” Widows could only come out in the dead of night because it was said, anything living they touched would wither and die. Intellectually most people know this is nonsense but yet many still behave that way. I’ve lost friendships with people who have a loved one with a grave diagnosis. Logically, they know I don’t carry death to all I meet simply because of my experience with it but why take chances, eh? I can cope with this but at times I feel this is a sickness greater than a life threatening terminal illness.

Our cultural fear of speaking of death and dying ill prepares us for our own demise and makes it all the more difficult for our loved ones to enjoy any quality of life they may have remaining when a doctor pronounces there is nothing further they can do, treatment-wise, for a terminally ill patient. I am disgusted by it. There is no sense to it. It makes me inordinately sad.

The saddest part of all is the effect it has on the living. Those who have suffered loss know what it is to not be able to discuss it in polite company, to bury their mourning. “Are they over their loss?” people will ask. The simple answer is, no. One never recovers from the loss of a loved one but they survive and sometimes they become better people. That simple revelation may make some, who have never lost a loved one, squeamish. It shouldn’t. The experience of mourning is inevitable (with the exception of children, who seem much more honest & adept at handling death). The one gift a person can accept from someone going through the mourning process is to listen and absorb their grace.

I have read it and seen it, time and again; when people are about to die, they have a “crisis of meaning.” What has my life meant? Even with death by accident, this is the “life flashing before your eyes.” Death happens and my inordinate sadness evolves from people unable or unwilling to accept that fact in their own life. The crisis of meaning is going to be all that much more difficult for them and for their loved ones when the day comes for them to say goodbye.

Palliative care has grown by leaps and bounds in the past fifty years. This means that someone who is dying can live largely without the pain, anxiety, loss of sleep, shortness of breath, nausea, diarrhea, and vomiting until their very final days. That innate fear we all have of going through that process is all but gone with modern medicine. I can promise you, as a witness, terminal illness shuts down the body, one organ at a time, in tidy order. The human machine is efficient and with modern care, death is often quite peaceful.

The primary cause of suffering among the dying is psychological distress (caused by loved ones who fear letting go) which undermines the capacity for pleasure and amplifies pain and other symptoms. It also impairs their ability to say “goodbye” on their own terms.  Is that what you want for your loved one? Is that what you want for yourself?

I hope I won’t have a crisis of meaning. When people want to discuss their loss, I’m there because through them, I meet another person to love. That is another person who has touched my soul even though they may not be on this terrestrial plane to do it in person. That is their meaning.

Morrie Schwartz, who eventually died of the effects of Lou Gehrig’s disease, said it most succinctly, “Death ends a life. Not a relationship.” I wish more people understood and embraced that. Everyone from the tiny infant too young to overcome weakness to the century old grandmother is remembered and loved by someone. Don’t let old taboos interfere with celebrating that life or helping others mourn and thereby grow to celebrate it or you’ll learn to regret it when you reach your own crisis of meaning.

(Image from Mark Voorendt under creative commons license, Mourning Angel at the churchyard of  San Miniato al Monte in Firenze, Italy)

On Bullies

For months I have been haunted by Phoebe Prince, the 15 year old South Hadley (Massachusetts) High School student who took her life after being bullied incessantly by classmates. I've read articles and the comments under those articles. Her classmates may have taunted Phoebe after her death but most of what I have seen has been outrage that the bullies were not stopped before the situation resulted in suicide.

Another theme I have seen running through the comments is people recognizing bullying has always existed. Why, in this instance, did this student succumb to it and decide to end her life? Was it because it was relentless and followed her home via Facebook, Twitter, Craigslist and Formspring? Couldn't she just shut these off? Or was it something unique to her situation?

From radio reports I have heard Phoebe Prince was a model student. None of her teachers in Ireland would have imagined her classmates treating her the way they did. She was neat in appearance, well behaved and earned good grades. She was loved by family and friends. She must have been excited to come to the United States, imagining all the people she would meet and opportunities awaiting her. Nothing could possibly have prepared her for what she received when she arrived here.

As I have mulled this over in my brain I had an epiphany the other night. Being loved has an unexpected dark side; you don't know how to behave or react when you are not loved. Everyone has to learn this eventually but how much can a fifteen year old have learned about hate without the exposure?

That isn't really how my epiphany started. It started when I realized I can't remember when I was NOT bullied. I wasn't “supposed to be born.” I “ruined all our lives by being born.” If I wasn't born “everything would have been better.” I could go on with the phases etched in my brain by my older siblings but I don't think that is necessary.

Our mother was my saving grace but there wasn't much she could do once I was in school. Back then you did not question educators for fear they would kick your child out of school. They put me in the “stupid class” because “you Devlins are stupid and never amount to anything.” There I was treated like “white trash” even though my mother paid the deepest attention to make sure I was clothed well, had manners and good grooming.

In high school I was informed they were “expecting me.” They knew I'd “be trouble” because there had been a line of Devlins before me who proved “you are no good.” I don't think anyone likes to be type cast, especially when you are not the one casted but people before you. But I was used to it by now and knew there was little I could do. I was a freak my freshman year when my father, brother in law and grandfather all died within six months of each other. I never missed an hour of school. (There as a scholarship for perfect attendance.) Kids aren't used to death but adults are and children follow the lead of adults.

I discovered power my sophomore year of high school. I was not a suicide risk but I did not really care if I died. I saw a known bully unmercifully picking on a freshman and I stepped in. I said something like,
“You want to pick on someone, pick on me. You do it anyhow. She's fat and defenseless. An easy target. Go ahead, beat my face in.”

And it didn't happen. Neither to me nor the originally intended victim. (We became friends). I learned then it's no fun when your target is unafraid of what you may do to them. I wasn't unafraid. I did not care. Subtleties in those definitions are rarely picked up by bullies.

After that I was bullied by the school administration. They tried to keep me out of the honor society. In my school you had to not only academically excel but also excel in the community. I was a First Class Girl Scout (equivalent of Eagle Scout in Boy Scouts) and was Head Acolyte in my church as well as being in the choir. My art teacher spoke up for me: Ryder Martin, and his wife, my home room teacher, Mrs. Margaret Martin. I'll never forget that. Some people are just golden.

Senior year, our class project was to clean and make beautiful the quadrangle of our high school. I helped. While I was out there the Spanish Teacher, Ms. Hartung, interrupted her class to yell out the window, “Isn't that appropriate? Trash cleaning up trash.” I kept doing what I was doing. Funny to think of that now. Teachers could get away with more back then without repercussion. Behavior like that is not right but we were tougher back then. When there is little recourse, you have to be.

In college, freshman year, I was raped. I reported it to the Assistant Dean of Students and was informed, “That doesn't happen at our school. If you want to remain a student here, you would do well to remember that.”

When I was twenty two, Mum died. After being her primary care giver for months, I rushed back to work and my siblings divided my belongings, as well as hers, when settling the estate. They neglected the portion of her will that singled me out to divide everything she had not specifically willed to others.

It goes on and on to this day. I am adult now; old enough to have my own children, had not decided early on I would never subject a child to the possibility of the life I have had. Since I can not guarantee my child would never say, “I wish I were never born,” I can not in good conscious have a child.

When my oldest sister calls, she can still make me mental. For days. Mind you, she does not call often. She only calls when someone is dead or dying. She left me alone for a while, lulling me into a false sense of serenity. I raised her ire when she found out I had been communicating with our ill sister in law before she had the opportunity to tell me she was dead. She did not plan to tell me until after her funeral and there I was, AT her funeral. Her joy is telling me enough to upset me but not enough to have closure with anyone in our family. Heck, she made up a drug dependency with our mother's half of family. She told them I was hopelessly addicted to something requiring rehabilitation. Me, who just went through wisdom tooth removal without filling my prescription for narcotics. You can't combat that kind of rumour because then you just look like you are in denial. So I had to kiss half my family goodbye. When you are bullied you learn to be a realist. Even if doing so is painful.

Our oldest brother leaves me alone, for the most past. As a little girl I worshiped him. When he flung me face first on concrete that was a little passive aggressive wake up call. When he embezzled funds from our mother's estate, I uncovered it and held him accountable. That was our playground moment. “Go ahead, beat my face in.” I know even more he has done and I think he is aware of that so he leaves me alone. Best not to wake a sleeping tiger.

Even through social media I have met people who bully. Someone gains fame through something remarkable and lets that define them. Suddenly none of their other actions matter. They feel they are bigger than you or anything you contribute to them. You are an ass to think otherwise. Unless you have spent a lifetime being bullied and manipulated. Then you can walk away from that behavior even if it makes you a pariah. You still have your soul.

I now have no wonder Phoebe Prince took her own life but it does not make me less sad. She likely saw her future life being full of manipulation and bullying. She did not want to live in that world. I don't want to either. But there is light in that world. When one has moments of triumph despite the deck being stacked against them, the triumph is sweeter. I wasn't “supposed to be born” and was a “mistake.” I am “stupid” and will “never amount to anything” but I am still here. And I speak for the stupid, worthless detritus, like me, who sprinkle mankind. We survive. We even accomplish great things when we are allowed to. Look at the civil rights movement.

Phoebe, I will never forget your trial. One reason for your fifteen years on earth was for the eventual wake up call to everyone else. We could use more people like you. What saddens me most is, this was not your battle to fight. You were and still are loved. It should have been me. I was born and raised for this battle.

Go ahead, beat my face in.

(Image courtesy of: http://www.themedguru.com )

You Said What?

I was thinking of this anecdote today and decided to share it. I am often torn between speaking my mind or playing it safe. Anyone who knows me knows the former usually overpowers the later. I believe most people think this is to my detriment. I am very good at controlling my impulses when acting on behalf of another but when I am being me, I tell people what I think. I am poor at playing politics. I know fully what is most popular to do and say but it is not always what is honest or real. I hope this means people know where they stand with me. I have the same tools to bullshit as others do but primarily choose not to use them.

I took a temporary position with a much maligned company within my industry. It turned out, they were great. They treated me with courtesy and respect plus they were really good at what they did so it was a joy to go there. What was supposed to be a short term position lasted months because they liked the work I did. There are certain freedoms about working as a temporary employee for a company - you are expendable. You can be replaced. Some might have fear from this but I find it freeing because my expectations are so low. Now onto the story...

I went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and two executive looking types where bitching about the quality of the coffee. The building we were in had a cafe so they had another choice if they were compelled. As I waited for them, I could not help but hear them malign what the company had to offer. When they finally got out of my way but did not leave the kitchen I said they should be thankful the company provided anything at all. Not all companies offer a full kitchen and free coffee. The company was under no obligation to provide them coffee. I pointed out they didn't know how good they had it and had no right to complain about a service that was free. They acted ashamed and both agreed they were out of line to be complaining about something minor, they were not entitled to.

A few weeks later I was invited to a company party. I did not officially work there, so it felt slightly awkward but my manager & coworkers seemed to really want me to attend. There I learned the two executive looking types were the President and Vice President of the company. They remembered me and laughed at my discomfort at realising who they were. Both said they wished more of their "real" employees were as grateful as I am. I was soon after hired as a direct, full time employee at a salary exceeding that of most employees in my position.

Image courtesy: http://thetweetermama-becausemamasaidso.blogspot.com/

Suitcases and Other Such Baggage

“The thing is, it's really hard to be roommates with people if your suitcases are much better than theirs - if yours are really good ones and theirs aren't. You think if they're intelligent and all, the other person, and have a good sense of humor, that they don't give a damn whose suitcases are better, but they do. They really do. It's one of the reasons why I roomed with a stupid bastard like Stradlater. At least his suitcases were as good as mine.”
Holden Caulfield, Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger

Today I heard someone speak this quote from the character Holden Caulfield in Catcher In The Rye and it really struck me. I'm not sure I could have expressed this as an adolescent but I know just what the character means.

Notice this statement is from the viewpoint of the more affluent Caulfield. “You think...that they don't give a damn whose suitcases are better, but they do. They really do.” So who is the one who is really bothered by the difference? Caulfield is uncomfortable enough that he would rather room with a “stupid bastard.” He is not immune to the differences between them and acts accordingly. The last time I became homeless, people who spoke with me the week before suddenly stopped speaking with me. This may have happened when I was previously homeless but I had not noticed. All I know is, I had not asked anyone for anything but they still steered clear. Once I struggled to my feet again a few of those people reflected to me how admirable it was that I was able to work my way back to normalcy again.

I think it would be asking a lot of me to forget who those people are. I have not. I never bring it up but it is there. It taught me what is in the heart of many. If people see a weakness, in this case poverty, people will shun you as Caulfield shunned his roommate. I've learned that about people. I knew it before but could not express it effectively and besides, who would I express it to?

I often feel strong knowing the things I've survived but then I feel weak because I am forever the pariah. I don't have a safety net. I can't “network.” Networking involves schmoozing , connecting and being connected with others in the hope that something will come back to you. Don't get me wrong – I'm not a wallflower. I enjoy meeting people so I can connect them with other people. The only one that is missing from the equation is me.

Sometimes I am angry I am not like other people but that same thing that is not like other people is appealing for some and liberating for me. I don't have to kiss ass because I am not going to get anything in return regardless of my behavior. Knowing that, it is freeing to be who I am. I know how to play the game but I won't because people are the same in the end, whether you ask anything of them or not. They worry about themselves, their image, what spoils they will collect.

Like Caulfield's roommate, people can see my suitcase. It may be sturdier and show fewer nicks but it's the same suitcase. I can't leave behind the suitcase because that luggage remembers who I am. Funny how it never works in reverse. No one gripes of good baggage gone bad except the tabloids. Even the tabloids admire a good suitcase that has gone around the world, been beaten up but returns well, to the right destination.

People expect bad baggage to return where it came from or not at all. And if it was bad to begin with, who will miss it?

Concentrating On Cancer And The Cure

Today is the first day of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. If you know me at all you know I am an advocate for cancer patients, survivors and  a cure for cancer so obviously I am in favour of a whole month focused on ANY cancer awareness. Early detection of breast cancer is important because it is the most prevalent form of cancer among women with 26.57% of female cancer diagnoses being breast cancer. The statistic for men is .25% of all cancer diagnoses. Although the statistic for men is far lower, it should not be overlooked. It is interesting to note that although the diagnosis of breast cancer is most prevalent among women, the number one cancer killer for women is lung/bronchus cancer with a death rate of 5.04 compared to just 2.84 for breast cancer.  These statistics* show early detection often leads to survival.
* Statistics from the National Cancer Institute www.cancer.gov.

I am all for the promotion of mammograms and other forms of early detection. What I am not all for are the images used to promote this. I think it is hazardous, misleading and insulting to suggest to women they need to be on guard for breast cancer so they don't lose their breasts. Everyone, female and male, should be on guard against breast cancer so they don't lose their LIVES. It is dangerous to suggest a woman is not a woman without her breasts. It is equally dangerous to suggest breast cancer is a female risk because females are culturally identified by their breasts whereas men typically are not.

One byproduct of this image of women leads some women to put off early detection for fear of losing one or both breasts. Another byproduct is leading some breast cancer survivors into undergoing additional painful, ELECTIVE breast reconstruction surgery. I am not saying I am against breast reconstruction surgery. That is an individual choice but it should be seen as a CHOICE, not as another step in the treatment process. We should shift the focus on early detection for survival and raising funds for actual treatment and a cure rather than bowing down to an outdated superficial image which is damaging to both the women and the men who develop this disease.

A Demonstrative Anecdote

An interesting conversation with a small business owner got me thinking of a topic about which I have very strong opinions. The business owner asked me if I found his recently installed security cameras offensive. I replied, “On the contrary, I think you should have done this long ago.”

I sometimes joke, “I've had every job it is legal to do.” While this is not accurate I have had a wide range of professions that seem disjointed when I list them but actually flowed organically from one to another. The story I recounted to the small business owner is one of them.

Before I get into the meat of the story you must understand there are few things I tolerate less than theft. My parents taught me everything worth having is worth working for. Life has taught me people who steal not only victimize those they steal from but they victimize those around them when they get a jump ahead of honest folks. I know it is old fashioned to believe in honest gains. People will say “everyone steals” or “everyone is dishonest. I'm not doing anything that everyone else isn't.” If you can think this way and sleep at night, more power to you but I can't. Thieves really piss me off.

After college I worked as a Manager Trainee for Radio Shack. There is a lot of theft in retail. There was at least one occasion where I hurled my high heels at the head of a retreating shoplifter. What is harder to take is the inside job. This means one of your co-workers can't be trusted. It is difficult to work in an atmosphere of distrust especially when one knows that until the culprit is caught, you are not without suspicion.

A ten thousand dollar business computer system turned up missing during inventory. At the time, ten thousand dollars was no small sum. I couldn't even imagine how someone could get so much machinery outside the store with no one seeing. Computers were still large in the late 1980's, early 1990's. Since there was no sign of breaking and entering and business systems were not sold in the retail store, I figured it had to be an internal theft.

I kept my eyes and ears opened and settled on one suspect. He was a computer prodigy and the youngest of the employees in the Business Division. He also took a shine to me, although that is not unusual since there were very few women working in retail electronics during the turn of that decade. He invited me to dinner at his home. With some reservation, I agreed. While there, I took down the serial number of his very impressive computer system. It was not difficult because he was proud of it and showed it off. It was state of the art and worth almost half my income at the time. His story of how he came to own it was flawed in many ways but what did I know? Back then, women in retail electronics were not considered very intelligent. All the guys knew they only made sales based on their gender.

You know where this is going. The serial number matched the stolen system. Men flew in from Fort Worth and I was a temporary but quiet celebrity after the Fort Worth Executives and the Boston Police Department knocked on his door and found the computer exactly where I said it would be. Mr. Prodigy was arrested and lost his job but as I told him when he called me, hoping I would stand by his side through the ordeal, “None of this would have happened if you had not stolen the computer in the first place.”

Other than eliminating myself from suspicion, I received nothing from my detective work. I received no promotion to my own store (the natural progression for a Manager Trainee) and no bonus but it did give me a convenient segue into a career in Loss Prevention. Did I mention there are few things I tolerate less than theft?

(Image from: http://www.watchingthenet.com/)

Good. And You?

I can not think of a social convention that irritates me more than being asked the question, "How are you?" Though many people won't admit it, I know I am not the only one. Years ago there was a group of us who greeted each other with the phrase, "Good. And you?" It was our way of thumbing our noses at convention and cutting to the chase.

Many people feel it is necessary to greet each other this way but they seldom listen to the answer so there is no value in asking the question. It is disingenuous and, at least for me, has the opposite effect originally intended. I know I have an obligation to respond, "I am well, thank you. How are you?" I don't like people making me feel obligated to do anything, especially when it is the clerk in my grocery store, my librarian, the fellow at the dry cleaners or my neighbor's daughter wanting to sell me girl scout cookies. How is it social to obligate someone to participate in a phony conversation? In the event I am not well, I dislike responding "good" or "well" because this is a lie but this is an instance where it is socially polite to lie. Now the questioner has obligated me to not only participate in a conversation I'd rather not but they've also obligated me to lie. Further, I am obligated to ask the same question in return. I personally do not believe in asking questions to which I do not expect an honest answer but I also do not want to know that the cashier at my grocery store has plantar fasciitis and their feet are killing them. I am not an uncaring person but I can't fix their problem and frankly, I just need to get home to cook dinner.

In business, when answering my telephone often the first question I am asked is, "How are you?" My stock response is, "How may I be of assistance to you?" More often than not, because the caller didn't care in the first place, they tell me why they are calling but once this did not happen. The caller asked me again, "How are you?" I repeated my offer of assistance. The caller stated he would tell me as soon as I answered his question. This forced me to explain, while I appreciated his inquiry, my welfare was none of his concern but I was eager to find out what service I could be to him. The caller became belligerent (which was likely his intent to begin with) and it took me several minutes to find out what he needed. Again I ask, how is this social?

Does all this mean I don't care about people? Of course not. I care a great deal about people. I am not going to ask a stranger how they are because it is none of my business. If they want to tell me, they will and I will
listen as sympathetically and with as much support or praise as time permits. I care even more deeply for my friends; both real life friends and friends I have a virtual relationships with. I show I care by listening. If something is wrong they need support with, they will tell me, either straight out or in the other things they say to me or to other friends we share. If everything is going well for them I will hear this the same way and rejoice in their happiness.

I'd like to see the new social convention be to listen. Anyone who really cares will close their mouth and open their ears and heart. What do you think?

Brush With Dyslexia

This is a story about a failed educational system and one person’s triumph over adversity inflicted by that failed system. Above is a picture of my brother, the hero of my childhood. He was the baby of the family until I showed up twelve years later.  I adore him.

At some point in his education the Chatham, Massachusetts school system decided he had dyslexia. As a small child I didn’t know exactly what this meant but as soon as I could read I was helping him decipher things. I even had to dial the phone for him because he was convinced he would dial a wrong number as he couldn’t read the keys correctly. I loved helping my brother. It made me feel useful and special.

I never doubted what the school said because my brother and my parents didn’t. In retrospect, I should have. In middle school, classes were divided into high, medium and low. The high class were the brightest children and the low class consisted of the slowest learners.  I was placed in the low class where I consistently received good grades. In high school I tested within the genius range and made the National Honor Society. This didn’t make me angry until I was in college where I realized I could have done so much more had my middle school years not been wasted being taught down to. I suspect it is because my family was poor and Chatham, being a very classist town, assumed poor children must have lower than average intelligence. I still feel stupid and believe I am not performing up to my potential. Try as I might, the building blocks weren’t there and I doubt I will outgrow the insecurity.

My brother went onto technical school where he earned his high school diploma and became the most talented carpenter and jack-of-all-trades I’ve ever met. There was nothing that man couldn’t do with his hands.

Years later, my brother called me to tell me he had just tested at a Grade 15 level. I don’t remember what he was testing for, and doubt I asked, because I was floored.  He tested as a junior in college. Further, he told me, they determined he was not dyslexic. After that, he started reading and writing. Similar to me, the ground work he should have had was not there but he did as best he could, miles beyond anything he had done the first thirty-five years of his life. In conversations after he lost the dyslexic label, he would casually mention something he read and I could hear the pride in his voice.  I can not think pride is always a sin when someone overcomes what he did.  I was proud of him, too. Once that label was removed, he never looked back. He didn’t say, “I can’t.” He could and he did and it only made me love him more.

A Visitor's Guide To Boston

(Boston skyline from the Fenway Park press box)

Several times a year I am asked by friends I have met through social media, "Where should I go and what should I see when I visit Boston?" I am asked this question often enough that I’ve decided to kill many birds with one post, providing them a resource they can reference during their visit.

Some restaurants you may like to try during your visit are: L’Espalier with New England-French cuisine; Mistral, also with French cuisine (turn down the volume on your computer speakers because they have music on their website) or Davio’s, a Northern Italian steakhouse.

Some Twitter followers suggested several restaurants in the North End, among them: La Famiglia Giorgio’s; Antico Forno; Florentine Café (they also have music on their website); Limoncello and Assaggio (more involuntary music – when will web designers/businesses learn how annoying that is?).

Finally, for the history of it, you should visit The Union Oyster House, the oldest restaurant in the United States. This restaurant is dark and crowded so people either love it or hate it. Stop in for a cup of chowder and stay for some lobster if you like.

Boston is filled with museums and other educational facilities. Some obvious stops are the Museum of Fine Arts; the Museum of Science; the New England Aquarium; and the USS Constitution Museum. If art is your thing you must go to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum located conveniently down the street from the MFA. Baseball fans shouldn't miss a tour of Fenway Park which opened the same week the Titanic sank. Visitors who enjoy a nice stroll will be rewarded by the history of The Freedom Trail, with ancient (for the U.S.) buildings and grave yards.

There are also several half day and day trips a short jaunt from Boston. You can take an hour and an half cruise (one way) through Boston Harbor to Provincetown, where the Pilgrims first landed. While there, climb the Pilgrim Monument. Right outside of Boston, in Brookline (formerly Muddy River, a part of Boston), is Lars Anderson Auto Museum. To bear witness to our, thankfully left behind, past visit the Royall House and Slave Quarters. Tour the home of our second U.S. President and the birthplace of the sixth at Adams National Historic Park.

I could go on with all of Boston’s cultural offerings such as the Boston Ballet and the Boston Symphony Orchestra but you already have enough to keep you busy for a week or two so I will leave you discover those things for yourself. Enjoy your stay!

Local readers, what other “must see” sights have I missed? Please leave them in the comments below. Thank you.

(The author has not been, in any way, compensated by any restaurant, museum or business in this post. This post is merely a list of activities and does not necessarily serve as recommendation of any of the places cited herein.)

How To NOT Retain A Loyal Customer

I've put off writing this post for weeks because it makes me look stupid. I can be and will readily admit it but don't like to advertise the point. One thing I have noticed in new media is, admitting a

failure seldom encourages commiseration but often invites people to throw rocks. So be it. I'll take the rocks because I am certain I am not alone in how I have been treated by AT&T.

AT&T inherited me from Cingular. Combined, they have had my business for a decade. I've driven distances to go to company stores because their franchises are poorly managed. A drawback in dealing with company stores is, there must be something disparaging in early records because I have had employees laugh at me after reading my account data. Not sure what it could be since I pay my bills and have stayed with them even when I was out of contract. I'm good with the snark myself and can appreciate an inside joke but I'd never betray that to a customer. I guess self control is not part of their training.

I purchased a smart phone and unlimited text and internet access from AT&T nearly two years ago. About a month later I went on a three day business trip to do insurance audits and was thrilled to discover, after the first day, I did not need to bring my laptop with me because my phone had enough computing power to replicate the laptop.

A few months later the big iPhone release happened, suddenly the network is overtaxed, service is slow, calls drop & text messages might arrive when you send them or a day later. I have email pushed to my phone. Service interruptions are not only unhelpful but can be and have been a disaster.

Still, I stayed with AT&T and a year ago added my fiance as another line. I have ads galore that tell me I can get a new phone for free or another phone at great discount by adding another line. We shopped around for suitable phones but were not happy with the options. Both our phones were still working so we put off buying another phone for later. We were told we were entitled to a new free phone or upgrade at any time and this would be noted to my account. This was a lie.

A month ago I started shopping for a new phone because my smartphone now barely functions. I was told again and again I could only get the discounted price on a new phone by signing a new contract. Finally I went back to the retail store where I signed my last contract and one patient sales associate explained to me there was no impetus to give me discount without the contract. When I explained to him what I was told earlier he explained my contract was almost up and they wanted assurance I would be locked into a new contract. Earlier promises were not valid. In fact, the promise that I could get a new phone or upgrade is ALWAYS in effect with the caveat that I sign a new contract. I said to him, “So, I should have bought a phone the last time I signed a contract and put it in a cabinet for later. It never carries over like they said?” He winced and gave me an affirmative nod. In the interim, other sales people were laughing at his patience with me, including the sales associate who sold me my last several hundred dollar smartphone. A call to AT&T customer service confirmed everything he said.

What have I learned? AT&T does not value long term customers. AT&T must allow their customer service representatives to insert biased, personal comments into customer accounts so that their bad day becomes our bad customer experience on and on, until we leave AT&T. AT&T will promise anything to get you to sign a contract even if they have to resort to dishonesty. The laughter I heard is from trained company representatives knowing I am stupid enough to keep my business with their company despite bad telephone service, bad customer service and misleading business practices. I deserve that laughter.

My contract is not the be-all-end-all for AT&T but my monthly bill for a personal account is over $125 per month, which is higher than most mobile customers I know. Meanwhile, I know there is little I can do about their crummy service but seek service elsewhere. When I worked at the Better Business Bureau one of our highest categories of complaint were for the mobile telecommunications industry. What I don't understand is why people put up with it.

Their search engine optimization is great. It took me until page 15 of a Google search for “AT&T” to hear what people are saying about them. (A later search for "AT&T Wireless" showed results on page three.) Too bad they can't control Twitter. If you really want to know what people are saying about AT&T go to http://search.twitter.com/ and enter AT&T into the search query.

I found a few choice articles that demonstrate I am not alone in my dissatisfaction. Read what the websites Digital Daily, Newser and FierceWireless have to say about AT&T.

What should I do? For one, I am shopping for alternatives to AT&T since my contract is about to expire. I am also going to file complaints with the FCC and the BBB. If all dissatisfied customers filed complaints, AT&T will not be able to continue denying they have service and customer service issues. Do you have other ideas? I welcome them.