Wanted: One Kijiji User Capable of Spelling Words Correctly

Dear Kijiji Users,

I am a frequent browser of your ads. In particular, I tend to keep my eye on the Livestock, Furniture and Vehicle pages, however I also like to scan the Wanted section, the Swaps and the Free Stuff.

It has come to my attention that in order to be a Kijiji user, one must be incapable of spelling. I find myself in a bit of a quandary (not laundry), because I cannot adhere to this rule. I have been referred to as the Spelling Nazi, and I am, I will admit, beyond intolerant of the fact that in Nova Scotia, Engrish seems to be the language of choice.

Yesterday I came across a want ad for a "mixbread dog". I can only assume, dear Kijiji user, that you are looking for a dog capable of kneading dough. Good luck with that.

It is unfortunate that several people seem obsessed with finding a "roaster" to keep their chickens company. Chickens don't like roasters, dear Kijiji users, they don't like them at all. I am certain that they'd much rather remain lonely.

And why are so many people trying to sell a "coach"? I don't care how old your coach is, how clean he happens to be, whether or not he comes with a cover or from a pet-free home, how little he sags, or that the kids were too rough on him. Your coach is not someone you should be selling (or even giving away for free) no matter HOW worn out he is.

I sincerely hope that Kijiji users are, by and large, a special breed, and NOT representative of the general population. If people really do spell, write and attempt to communicate as poorly as Kijiji would have me believe, it's no wonder we can't get a handle on the bigger problems in the world like global worming, hungary children and suicide balmers.

Yup, we're screwed. Carry on as if normal, Kijiji users, carry on.

Please Take a Short Survey to Rate eBay Customer Support

Dear eBay,

Thanks very much for offering me the opportunity to rate your customer support. At this particular moment there is nothing on earth I would like to do more.

How was my customer support experience today? Why, I'm so glad you asked! But please, eBay, let me start from the beginning.

You may remember, eBay, that at the end of May I sold an item to a person in Thailand. Per his request I shipped that item surface, and I made damn sure he knew that Canada Post Surface takes a VERY long time, "... at least 6-8 weeks". I provided said customer with a tracking number so he could follow his item's journey. That was the end of May.

Three weeks later, eBay, the customer apparently sent me an eBay message wondering why he hadn't received the item yet. I didn't even know he sent me a message - I have no reason to check my eBay account when I don't have active items. So only 3 weeks after his package was shipped, eBay, you apparently sent me a message saying he had filed a complaint about an unreceived item. You reimbursed the customer for the item and charged me. This, despite the fact that when I look at Canada Post's tracking record, the item was clearly in Thai Customs at that time.

Fast forward to last week. I try to list an item for sale, and eBay, what do I find? I can't do so because my account has been restricted! Apparently I need to reimburse YOU for my customer's purchase. This, despite the fact that when I look at Canada Post's tracking, it clearly shows that my customer has received the item in question. Frustrating, but easy enough to fix, I figure. So I go to your website and look for customer service. I can't find a phone number but there appear to be other options. Somewhere.

A round-a-bout search finally lands me at a window that looks promising. Apparently if I type in my question you will connect me with a customer support representative. I do so, and I get a button that says I can email if I need further help. Ok, I'll bite. I send an email.

Days go by. No response. So I send another email. And wait. And then I send another. I've lost count of how many emails you haven't responded to, eBay. But finally, 4 days ago, I did manage to connect with a customer support person on eBay chat.

Now, let me suggest, eBay, that when I connect to chat and the window pops up informing me that there are 19 customer ahead of me and I can expect to wait 56 minutes, that make me a little squirrelly. I'm sure you can appreciate that I have better things to do with my day than wait to clear my eBay account. When I leave the chat window open and it takes almost 6 hours before I'm finally connected to a person, however, that's just plain and simple wrong. I love the recurring message that says my question is important to you. If it's so important, then why not hire a few more minimum wage-or-less off-shore telephone representatives? It's not like you can't afford it!

So finally it looks like Mary C.M. might be able to sort out my problems. She seems very helpful, although it does take her 5 minutes to pull up my account and at least 3 minutes to answer me each time I type something. So after 40-odd minutes of investigating the problem Mary C.M. starts to walk me through fixing my account.

And then, eBay, my internet connection drops. After almost 7 hours of being connected to you trying to get my account back in order, I lose the connection. All is lost.

So tell me, eBay, how do YOU think your customer support is?

Dear Root of All Evil (a memo to Bill Gates et al)

Dear Root of All Evil,

This is 2010 and it's time to get with the program. For years I accepted your buggy software, warts and all, because the computer world was evolving and improving and it seemed ridiculous to expect the worlds of Mac and PC to co-exist. But, Root of All Evil, in this day and age we can turn men into women, put people on other planets and take hearts from pigs to keep people running. Why is it that we can't make a piece of software that allows you to write a letter without inspiring violence in the process? My patience has evaporated and I just want you to know that I think your software sucks.

I have a PC, but you can be damned sure, Root of All Evil, that I don't use it much. When I hit the power button (the sexiest part of the computer, by the way) I have to weed through dialogue boxes that pop up like dandelions after a spring rain. Do I want to scan for viruses? Do I want to update the driver that runs the pop-up box for my virus protection software? Do I want to update the software that detects when an update is available for my virus detection software? I feel like I need to get vaccinated just to turn that frigging machine on! Once the updates are completed, 15 minutes later, I get another pop-up box letting me know that the virus protection software has detected 357 viruses, that I should reinstall the system and all my software, buy a new hard drive to replace the corrupt one, stand on my head and count to 20, and try again. I have a life to live, Root of All Evil, which is why I don't use your crappy PC ever.

My Mac starts ups almost instantly and with no hassle. In fact my Mac NEVER causes me a hassle, Root of All Evil. Never, that is, until I try to run your stupid software on it. You can't imagine the rage that Microsoft Word induces in my being on a daily basis.

Root of All Evil, can you explain why it is that when I choose to create a letter sized document Word decides it's going to create a 13x19 document anyway? I really detest its insolence. How do you explain the fact that my letter shows up in the lower quarter of the page on the screen, truncated on 2 sides because the 13 x 19 page won't fit my 8.5 x 11 document. Contrary to popular belief in the good old US of A, I don't agree that bigger is better, so let me print my stupid letter on a small piece of paper and be done with it. Do you know, Root of All Evil, that I had to uninstall and install my latest copy of Microsoft Word 8 times before it would function properly? Your software is like a sullen 16 year old - old enough to cause trouble and it thinks it knows more than I do. Well, I KNOW what page size I want and I expect your stupid software to believe me. If you're going to sell software to me, how about testing it first. And if you DON'T really want to make functional software for Mac users then for the love of dog, stop wasting my time and surely someone else will fill the gap!

Are you familiar with the term "backwards compatibility", Root of All Evil? Ahhh. I didn't think so. Do you really think that at the moment you release a new version of your crappy software everyone on the planet rushes out to buy it? It would be oh so nice to be able to send someone a document created in a newer version of Word and have it open looking even roughly the same in an older version. Of course formatting doesn't even seem to be consistent from computer to computer with your lousy program, so why should I expect it to go from version to version without self-destructing?

I'm sick of companies that use their customers as beta testers - release first and maybe fix later is not a business model I can tolerate. I'm sick of compatibility that isn't and standards that aren't. I'm sick of not even being able to write a memo without tearing out most of my hair.

I have two words for you, Root of All Evil: Neo Office. From now on I'm using it instead of Word. And if all else fails, I have a pen. Thank bejeebus you haven't launched Microsoft Ballpoint Version 2.0 yet. I'm quite happy with the original and I'll thank you to keep your greedy hands away . Now that is a business tool I can trust.


Redefining YOUR Technology,
Sue

The Trouble With Doing Something for Nothing (or why it sucks to be a volunteer)

There are two types of people in the world, those who volunteer and those who don't. I am one of the former, and I've been a former-volunteer many times over.

People volunteer for a number of reasons - it could be that they have a kid on a team, they might have a soft spot for a certain organization or charity, they may choose to volunteer as a matter of principle or to effect change in a certain arena, and some volunteer because they're roped into it.

Whatever the reason is for a person's volunteer status, you can be damn sure that at some point the time will come when that person steps back, dramatically delivers palm to forehead, and asks himself, "What the hell was I thinking?" Sometimes this reaction comes as a realization that the battle can't be won, sometimes it comes out of sheer exhaustion from endless giving, but frequently it comes as a result of criticism - criticism from the people who don't volunteer.

I know this well because time and time again I've been the one shooting palm to forehead, enough times, in fact, that I now bear a concave dent the shape of my miniscule mitt right above my eyebrows. The funny thing about it, though, the thing that really gets me, is that I don't seem to learn! I swear off volunteering, promise myself that enough is enough, decree that it's high time I start trying to make myself happy instead of pleasing everyone else. And for a month, or maybe 6, I skirt around "opportunities" of a voluntold nature.

6 months, I think, is a record, because I'm a Scorpio and that means I hold strong to principle. When I get an idea that something needs to change I act on it. After all, if you don't try to offer a solution you have no right to complain. Right?

Tell that to the non-volunteers, the people who complain about what you're doing, how you're doing it, insist that they could do it better, and then stomp all over your character because you ever had the nerve to even try. These people have become the bane of my existence. It's no wonder that fewer and fewer people offer up their sevices and time for free - not only is it a pain in the ass; you might as well paint a target on your ass, and your forehead while you're at it.

I'd like to say that I'm done. Fini. I'll volunteer no more. And this time I'd like to think I mean it. But there are trails to be built, there are employee rights to protect, there are folks who'd like to learn to ride bikes but don't have resources to pay. There are kids at risk who need decent role models. There are causes that need skills I can provide. And there are lots of people who can't be bothered to offer up anything but their criticism and opinion. We all know that as long as there are plenty of that type, there'll be less and less volunteers exponentially. Eventually even the suckers like me will say "Enough" and unlike the non-volunteers, I can't say I'd blame them.

There are two types of people in the world, those who can't say no and those who won't ever stop. I guess I'm glad to be one of the former, no matter how aggravating and frustrating it can be. I may not be accomplishing much but I'm damn well trying. That's more than I can say for a lot of people, so how about shutting up and letting me do my thing. Maybe we'll both be happier in the long run.

Who are the Real Chickens?

For a city that has a bug up it's ass about being progressive, environmentally conscious and with the times Halifax has made some awfully strange decisions lately. It's one thing to bring your cloth bags to the stupidmarket and turn off your lights on Earth Night, but the real test of environmental respect comes in the hard decisions, things like installing bike lanes to get more people out of cars and letting people grow their own food.

I don't get you Halifax.

First, the chickens. It is against the law for people who live in HRM to keep chickens in their backyard. The reasons? Chickens are smelly and chickens are noisy, apparently.

I have chickens. Fortunately I don't live in HRM anymore so I can own them without fearing the wrath of the bird police. At this very moment I actually own 12 chickens, that's 9 more than most people in Halifax would like the right to keep. Are they smelly? Well, let me tell you, If I happen to track a lump of bird poop into the house it can get a little gross, but I can say the same for my dogs (who, as of yet, are not illegal in Halifax.) I work in downtown Halifax and on a daily basis I encounter far more offensive odors - people walking down the street smoking, women wearing so much perfume I can barely breathe in their presence, car and truck exhaust mixed with rotting garbage, barside puke and Eau de Harbour. The general rankness of any city outranks the smell of a few birds any day.

As for the noise, well, I have 12 chickens and there simply isn't any noise. I live outside the city and I'm frequently awakened by the sound of rain, spring peepers, a neighbour's dog or the buzzing of a mosquito who makes its way into my bedroom. I have yet to be awakened by my chickens (and I have roosters, too...if anyone's going to make noise it would be the roosters.) I guarantee that anyone who lives in the city would never notice the occasional peep of a chicken over the sounds of screaming children, arrogant crotch rockets, drunken partyers straggling home from Pizza Corner and the brain-rattling thud of far too much bass from pimped out Neons. The city is a noisy place already; if you can sleep there as it is, a few chickens are not about to stop you.

Allowing people to raise chickens means they can grow their own food, teach their children about natural processes (eggs really DON'T come from a styrofoam carton), have some control over the quality of what they're eating and reduce the amount that they rely on gas spewing transportation to deliver their food. In short, it's an environmentally friendly educational practice. Hmmm, it MUST be bad. Chickenshit would be the least of Halifax's problems - if it wasn't elected to Council to beak off with ridiculous ideas and by-laws.

So Halifax, you ban chickens and then you let a few business owners convince you not to build bike lanes. WTF? First you seriously consider the idea of charging people to park on residential streets that are near the downtown core (because Halifax has SOOO much awesome and affordable parking as it is). Then you refuse to do something that would encourage less people to bring their cars into the city - you vote against bike lanes on a very busy route that tons of cyclists rely on. I don't know what you're smoking, Halifax, but that just doesn't add up. I guess you figure that if you recycle, you don't need to cycle in the first place.

Halifax needs a serious wake up call. Sometimes life requires getting a little bit of dirt under your nails. If business owners on Herring Cove Road can't accept a bike lane let them move to a shopping mall where all they'll have to worry about are motorized scooters careening down the halls. If Halifax Council doesn't like chickens, that's okay. Next election Haligonians should vote the chickens in and send the turkeys packing.

I believe in karma and I'm pretty sure that with behaviours like these a whole lot of councillors are bound to end up with egg on their face. Hopefully they're green eggs - I hear those go great with ham.

Where did all the Backpackers go?

Last year I went to Iceland. It's a smallish country really, with roughly the same number of people as Halifax. The highlight of our trip was a 4-day backpack with friends on a route known as Laugavegur, a 53 km trek from Landmannalaugar to Thorsmork and by no means an easy hike. The route traverses volcanoes, glaciers, extremely steep climbs and even steeper descents. The scenery is unbelievable but you work for every frigging look, that's for sure.

Carrying backpacks weighing somewhere close to 60 pounds apiece, my husband Troy and I set out at the end of July to complete Laugavegur with our Icelandic friends Sigrun and Bjarki. Getting to the trail involved a 2-hour drive from just outside Reykjavik, and then another 2 hours down a dirt road on a tour bus that traversed glacial rivers and navigated switchbacks I'd be hesitant to ride on my mountain bike. When the bus finally dumped us at our destination, I was shocked to find myself in a mini-city of high-tech fabric, extreme four-wheelers and camping gear that you'll never be able to afford. No really, I'm serious... you won't. Think I'm joking? Imagine paying $120 for a Camelbak bladder (JUST the bladder), $25 for a single dehydrated backpacking meal, $40 for a Nalgene bottle. Yes, it's expensive to be "outdoorsy" in Iceland.

And yet, despite the prohibitive costs, the insanely inconvenient travel to get to the trail head, and temperatures that (we found out the hard way) get down to -5° at night at the end of July, Laugavegur sees an average of 8000 hikers per year. Yes, 8000, you heard me right. Astonishing, isn't it?

Our backpacking trip began with a meeting with a park warden. He warned us about jeans, the "pants of death", informed us that a snowstorm was headed for the area where we planned to camp that night, and wished us luck as I dug my toque and mittens out of my pack and watched bikini-clad women splash in a nearby hot spring. I sensed that this was about to be a very challenging hike, and I was right!

8000 hikers per year. On one trail. Statistically it sounds like a lot. Realistically, it's unimaginable. Every turn on the trail we encountered another group. For four days we could always see people in the distance and people following our steps. Every night we camped alongside at least 30 or 40 tents, not to mention all the people who chose to stay in the huts at each campground. It was like car camping in Nova Scotia, but there were no coolers full of Coors Light, no ghetto blasters fronting Kid Rock, no screaming children, no washer toss. This was serious business. Every night as the sun dimmed (it never really got dark) the campground went silent as exhausted backpackers slid into tents for the night and every morning a routine of eating, packing, lining up for the toilets and departing occurred as hikers set off once again. Although this trail was remote, it was never lonely and always occupied by others with a similar goal. You can't imagine what it's like to be surrounded by so many people who appreciate the outdoors as much as you do. Men and women, young and old, traditionalists in wool and techies in Gore-tex - they were all out there, enjoying the scenery, enjoying the challenge, and enjoying the comeraderie of their fellow explorers in the great outdoors.

That was last year's backpacking trip.

This year, Troy and I decided to tackle something more local. Cape Chignecto is a 51 km coastal route around one of Nova Scotia's most scenic shorelines.

This time we set out in mid-July, a week earlier than our Icelandic journey. We arranged the trip to last four days again, and found the trail to be a little more challenging than Laugevegur - no volcanos or glaciers, but definitely steeper in places, and with a temperature pushing 30° each day and insane humidity, a whole lot more uncomfortable.

Chignecto is touted as one of Nova Scotia's great backpacking destinations, and I always thought that as Canadians, backpacking, camping and wilderness exploration is in our blood. Yet over a course of 4 days we encountered 3 other people on the trail. 3! That's less than one per day! What the hell?

Could it be that video games, movies, Lazy Boys and SUVs are destroying our great Canadian desire to explore the wilderness, rough it in nature, and breathe in real fresh air? Is Canada afraid of the wild, the coyotes, the attack squirrels and the oh-so-fearsome horseflies? Have we been pampered to death? Have we fallen into the seduction of air conditioning and paved parking lots and Rotten Ronnie's and microwave meals? Have we given up on what it means to be Canadian? Alas, I fear that might be the case.

I have words for you, Canada. Words like "beavers", "canoes", "maple", "loons", "wilderness", "stars", "birch bark", "wild", "rugged shore lines", "eagles", "wildlife", "free". Have you experienced any of these words lately? Do you really know what it's like out there? Could you tell the difference between a street light and the Big Dipper if your life depended on it?

If the answer is no, then do yourself a favour. Grab a backpack. Get out of cell phone range. Find out what shit is all about, both figuratively and literally. We were never supposed to be a nation of tv-watching, fast-food-eating couch surfers. If a chilly and treeless nation like Iceland can see the beauty and value in spending time outdoors, then what the hell is our excuse? North Face wasn't made for grocery shopping, you know?

Canada, I'm embarrassed. We have one of the most beautiful countries on the planet and if it wan't for the Discovery channel, you wouldn't even know it. The sights in your back yard are National Geographic material, but you're busy checking out the shootings downtown and the deals on pizza pockets in your stupidmarket flyer. There's a whole world out there that you'll never experience until someone plows it with a bulldozer and puts up a strip mall or subdivision.

Oh well, more tranquility for me, I guess. Enjoy your gridlock, screaming neighbours and Blockbuster fees. If stress is stepping in a pile of bear poop or going a day without texting, I'll take it. You don't know what you're missing, Canada, and I say, "Skål!"

Don't know what that means? I'm sure you can Google it from the comfort of your home office.

Dear Restaurant Owners and So-called "Chefs"

Dear Restaurant Owners and So-called "Chefs",

When I walk into a food establishment bearing a name that begins with something other than "Mc" or ending with something other than "King", I have expectations. Whether a restaurant takes pride in its reputation as a greasy spoon or flaunts itself as a 5-star extravaganza of taste bud bacchanalia, I expect it to have some sort of standards. I expect to feel like someone in the kitchen cares. I expect to feel like I, the customer, am important. Time and time again, I am sad to say that I am proven wrong.

There are two "foods" that make me cringe when they arrive on my plate, restaurant owners and so-called "chefs". Now let's get something straight right up front. I am not one of those people who complains over the slightest bit of burnt, the smallest hint of undercooked, the neglectful lumps of a curdling Hollandaise or even a hair as long as it's decidedly un-pubic. I put up with a lot when I go out to eat and I've tipped well for meals that many would send back in a heartbeat (or a heartburn, as the case may be). That said, when a plate lands under my nose bearing the culinary equivalent of an insult, I feel like paying a visit to the chef with a big fork in one hand and a bottle of vinegar in the other.

Restaurant owners and so-called "chefs", There are many things you can put on my plate that might look gross, taste gross, or just plain suck altogether. Not everyone likes everything, and as long as I think you tried to make me a happy eater I'll accept it. That said, there are two things you can put on my plate that make me crazier than a weasel in a bucket of KFC. Both of these items are considered "food" but why I'll never know. Both items tell me you really don't give a shit about your customer and both items tell me that you probably don't know good taste from bad. Both items make me pretty damn sure that I made a big mistake spending money in your fine eating establishment.

The first "food" that pisses me off is iceberg lettuce. The name says it all. What comes to mind when you think of lettuce? How about "healthy"? How about "green"? Iceberg lettuce is neither. Its nutritional value matches its colour - I think Martha Stewart sells that tint as "Whitewashed". A salad made with iceberg lettuce has all the taste appeal of a bag of puffed wheat soaked in tepid water and rolled in all-purpose flour. When I eat a salad made with IL (such an appropriate acronym) I pray that I'll find bugs. At least earwigs and beetles would add flavour and protein. Lettuce on a burger is supposed to be colourful and make it seem healthier. If you're planning on topping my burger with iceberg lettuce, try topping it with a piece of paper towel instead. At least it would suck away some grease, which is more than I can say for the lettuce. If your profit margins are falling so close to the edge that serving romaine would put you out of business, raise your freakin' prices by a dime or buy cheaper toilet paper. I'd rather wipe with newsprint than eat the butt of all greens.

The second "food" that drives me insane is frozen french fries. When my plate comes out heaped with those perfect little oblongs of soggy starch I am seriously offended. Why, why, why would ANYONE choose to serve frozen french fries in their restaurant over homemade? Yes homemade fries are more work, but people will go out of their way to eat where good french fries are served. As a publican or restaurant owner your success or failure could depend on your fries. Buy a machine to chop the potatoes or hire some kid at minimum wage, but don't serve me frozen fries unless your mascots are a clown named Ronald and a caped burger in a mask. Frozen french fries are the biggest disappointment since the day your big brother promised to take you to the circus and then made you stay in the car while he boinked the ticket lady. It doesn't matter how great the rest of the meal is, frozen fries make it all taste like crap. Handcut fries make a grizzly steak tender, a hotdog glamorous, a piece of deep fried fish worth every oily calorie in its puffy battered flesh. Frozen fries make every meal look like something your babysitter threw together while she texted her BFF with one hand and rubbed Oxy into her zits with the other. Frozen fries spell incompetence laced with the need for a good solid boot to the ass and that is NOT something I look forward to seeing on my plate.

Some foods are cheap and some foods are convenient -these are not the kind of foods that a restaurant should serve. Make me some damn fries and make them tasty or don't bother making anything at all. Restaurant owners and so-called "chefs", there are lots of place to eat out there so if iceberg lettuce is your idea of a good time I'd suggest you turn over a new leaf, and fast.