Monday morning blues

Yesterday I made the mistake of reading Becky's blog. It was a mistake because she was writing about these log cabins in Clarence, these ancient log cabins, that are apparently hidden inside other buildings. Who knew such a thing existed? Only in Buffalo!! Well, only in Clarence.

Now I will not rest until I go and see these log cabins.

And I feel overwhelmed, every Monday, with things I have to do. I always feel behind the eight ball on Monday mornings and today is no exception. Just now I caught myself thinking: Maybe I don't have to take a shower this morning. I mean, I took one yesterday. Couldn't I do what they do in France and wash my hair every other day? Oh, wait, in France they wash their hair once a week. Well, even better!

That would be a better time saver than trying to pay my bills online. Jennifer, I so appreciate your sympathetic comment about National Grid. They are the worst!

I tried to pay my electric bill online last week. It made me want to kill myself.

There was the usual quagmire of passwords and user names. And keep in mind, I am normally good at this stuff. I have no fear of it. I like the computer. The computer is my friend. But some passwords need numbers as well as letters and some do not allow numbers. Some of them want upper and lower case letters and some do not. Sometimes your user name is your email, sometimes it cannot be your email. It is as if all these entities want to be special. Each wants a different password, one that makes it feel as if it enjoys a special place in your heart.

So much for my strategy to use the same password, "Pennario," for everything. It will not work.

Last week, trying to get on line at National Grid, I ended up calling the company four times. Each time, I got a robot.

"OK," the female voice says. Why is it always a woman? "I'll need your account number."

"Operator," I say. That is what my brother George tells me to do.

OK," the robot says again in its snotty tone. "You want to speak to a representative."

"Operator," I intone, again. You cannot say "yes." You cannot fall into that trap. You must just keep repeating "Operator" until they connect you.

"OK. You want to speak to a representative."

"Operator."

When I finally got a human being, the person tried to deny that my screen was telling me what it was telling me -- that I needed a User Code. "I've never heard of that," she said.

It wound up, three phone calls and one supervisor later, that this particular code was required only in the cities of New York and Yonkers. But still, but still, the site would not admit me. The last agent I talked with played her ace and said that the Web site was experiencing problems. Just like a Buffalo bartender, I said, "You got that right!"

Then I scraped up my first-class postage and put my massive bill in the mail. A whole half hour, totally wasted!

Speaking of which, I have now wasted another whole half hour telling the ridiculous story. Well, I've had fun.

But now I might have to do like a Frenchwoman, and skip that shower.

I hate Monday mornings.