That's not exactly what I said (to more than one customer service rep and one guy over the counter), but I think you get the idea. I am not saying I've been at my most gracious this week, but by God, give a girl a freakin' break!
You might remember the online betting FUBAR situation I had last week. (and I use that acronym as it is intended. Look it up here if you don't know the real meaning.) If not, you can get caught up to speed here.
Warning: This post contains adult language and is not intended for younger viewers.
You might remember the online betting FUBAR situation I had last week. (and I use that acronym as it is intended. Look it up here if you don't know the real meaning.) If not, you can get caught up to speed here.
Warning: This post contains adult language and is not intended for younger viewers.
Last you heard, I left off with the plan to give the online betting service a call on Friday so that I could begin collecting my winnings without paying a $45.00 collection fee.
I sat down at my computer, cracked my knuckles, and dug in. As instructed, I requested a payout and used the comment box to notify the site that I was utilizing my once a month on Friday only option for a non-fee payout.
I immediately received an email that stated that my request for payout had been received but would now be under review. They had 24 hours to do this. WTH? I am not making this crap up. They seriously told me I had to have my request for payout REVIEWED!!!!
So … I waited 24 hours. I didn't hear back. That's when I got really pissed and started sending MULTIPLE requests for an account review. I might also have made a few snotty phone calls as well as a few on-line chats that were less than polite.
Nearly 48 hours later, I received an email that stated that my money would now be available from MoneyGram within the next 12 to 36 hours. Again, I waited more than 36 hours before I drove to a designated MoneyGram store. That counter was closed. I drove to another location only to find that it, too was closed. It could have had something to do with the fact that it was a Sunday.
By the way, did I mention that my husband had long since received his check from Churchhill Downs by simply clicking a few links and waiting for the mail to arrive? I didn't? Well he did.
So, to continue … On Monday evening, I returned to the first MoneyGram location and inquired as to whether I had any money waiting. The cashier, who could clearly see that he was daling with a very angry bitch ready to explode, backed cautiously away from me and hesitantly explained that the MoneyGram counter was CLOSED! Without thinking about it, I muttered, "Mother Fucker" as I turned to leave.
Please don't think that is how I typically handle myself in public. I am a fifth grade teacher for Pete's sake. I have an image to uphold. I am a respectable citizen with a respectable job. I felt like Chevy Chase in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation when he goes batshit crazy over not getting his annual Christmas bonus. If you haven't seen that scene, please check it out. That is exactly how I've felt for the past week.
By this point, I was in so deep that I wasn't going to quit until I had that money in my hands. I drove down to Albertson's (grocery store chain). I should point out that I was wearing breeches and Mudruckers as I had just finished my Monday evening lesson. I smelled terrible, looked terrible, and was quite frankly, scaring people. It was also after 6:00 p.m.
I marched up to the service counter at Albertson's and was helped by a very kind clerk. No matter how many ways she checked, there was no money for me. I went back out to my car, got my cell phone out, and looked up the email that CONFIRMED that I had a MoneyGram waiting. I returned to the counter, the clerk read the email, typed in every number listed, and still shook her head. I know she was sure I was getting ready to go postal.
I thanked her, genuinely, and went back out to my car. I hunkered down and dialed the online betting number. I tried to be polite. I swear I did, but when he asked if I had requested my MoneyGram reference number, I admit that I YELLED, "what fucking reference number?"
I have sent these people copies of my credit card and driver's license. I have filled out every form they've requested and waited for every 24 hour time frame that they've stipulated. I read the rules. Nowhere, and I repeat, NOWHERE did they say I had to request the MoneyGram reference number before I could collect my money.
My outburst was met with immediate silence; he hung up. Oops. I guess even foreigners of disreputable gambling sites don't don't like to be cussed out. I drove home, took a deep breath, and redialed the site. By this time, my husband had begged me to just let it go. I clearly wasn't going to be able to collect our winnings. But that's not how I operate. I am worse than a dog with a bone. If you want something done, get me to do it; I don't quit. Ever.
When the next operator answered, I tried desperately to be civil and polite. I requested my MoneyGram reference number, and he gave it. But then a little voice whispered, I think there is more. And so I asked, is there anything else I need?
There was a slight pause before he answered that I needed the sender's name. For the next ten minutes, I asked is there more, only to be given the next "clue" in the chain. Ultimately, I had a lengthy reference number, three names (all hispanic), and the city and country of origin - Managua, Nicaragua.
I laughed out loud. No wonder I couldn't get my money. I was clearly dealing with some shady South American drug cartel. No offense meant to the legit drug cartels.
When I asked the guy why I hadn't been sent this information before, he shrugged his shoulders (I am guessing as I couldn't actually see that part) and gave me the ever evasive, I don't know. Bingo.
With reference number, the name of three guys, and a South American country in hand, I returned to Albertson's. It was now almost 7:00 p.m. When I appeared at the counter, a different clerk was waiting, but she had seen me earlier in the evening and quickly offered to get the first clerk. She had clearly drawn the short straw and was no doubt regretting coming to work that day. I asked her to just try the reference number to see what we got.
And wouldn't you know it, the number worked. She asked if I was Karen and if the MoneyGram was for $250. OH MY GOD, yes! I squealed. Within moments she printed out the check (I asked if she could cash it). I walked out of Alberston's with my very hard earned $250.
I sat down at my computer, cracked my knuckles, and dug in. As instructed, I requested a payout and used the comment box to notify the site that I was utilizing my once a month on Friday only option for a non-fee payout.
I immediately received an email that stated that my request for payout had been received but would now be under review. They had 24 hours to do this. WTH? I am not making this crap up. They seriously told me I had to have my request for payout REVIEWED!!!!
So … I waited 24 hours. I didn't hear back. That's when I got really pissed and started sending MULTIPLE requests for an account review. I might also have made a few snotty phone calls as well as a few on-line chats that were less than polite.
Nearly 48 hours later, I received an email that stated that my money would now be available from MoneyGram within the next 12 to 36 hours. Again, I waited more than 36 hours before I drove to a designated MoneyGram store. That counter was closed. I drove to another location only to find that it, too was closed. It could have had something to do with the fact that it was a Sunday.
By the way, did I mention that my husband had long since received his check from Churchhill Downs by simply clicking a few links and waiting for the mail to arrive? I didn't? Well he did.
So, to continue … On Monday evening, I returned to the first MoneyGram location and inquired as to whether I had any money waiting. The cashier, who could clearly see that he was daling with a very angry bitch ready to explode, backed cautiously away from me and hesitantly explained that the MoneyGram counter was CLOSED! Without thinking about it, I muttered, "Mother Fucker" as I turned to leave.
Please don't think that is how I typically handle myself in public. I am a fifth grade teacher for Pete's sake. I have an image to uphold. I am a respectable citizen with a respectable job. I felt like Chevy Chase in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation when he goes batshit crazy over not getting his annual Christmas bonus. If you haven't seen that scene, please check it out. That is exactly how I've felt for the past week.
By this point, I was in so deep that I wasn't going to quit until I had that money in my hands. I drove down to Albertson's (grocery store chain). I should point out that I was wearing breeches and Mudruckers as I had just finished my Monday evening lesson. I smelled terrible, looked terrible, and was quite frankly, scaring people. It was also after 6:00 p.m.
I marched up to the service counter at Albertson's and was helped by a very kind clerk. No matter how many ways she checked, there was no money for me. I went back out to my car, got my cell phone out, and looked up the email that CONFIRMED that I had a MoneyGram waiting. I returned to the counter, the clerk read the email, typed in every number listed, and still shook her head. I know she was sure I was getting ready to go postal.
I thanked her, genuinely, and went back out to my car. I hunkered down and dialed the online betting number. I tried to be polite. I swear I did, but when he asked if I had requested my MoneyGram reference number, I admit that I YELLED, "what fucking reference number?"
I have sent these people copies of my credit card and driver's license. I have filled out every form they've requested and waited for every 24 hour time frame that they've stipulated. I read the rules. Nowhere, and I repeat, NOWHERE did they say I had to request the MoneyGram reference number before I could collect my money.
My outburst was met with immediate silence; he hung up. Oops. I guess even foreigners of disreputable gambling sites don't don't like to be cussed out. I drove home, took a deep breath, and redialed the site. By this time, my husband had begged me to just let it go. I clearly wasn't going to be able to collect our winnings. But that's not how I operate. I am worse than a dog with a bone. If you want something done, get me to do it; I don't quit. Ever.
When the next operator answered, I tried desperately to be civil and polite. I requested my MoneyGram reference number, and he gave it. But then a little voice whispered, I think there is more. And so I asked, is there anything else I need?
There was a slight pause before he answered that I needed the sender's name. For the next ten minutes, I asked is there more, only to be given the next "clue" in the chain. Ultimately, I had a lengthy reference number, three names (all hispanic), and the city and country of origin - Managua, Nicaragua.
I laughed out loud. No wonder I couldn't get my money. I was clearly dealing with some shady South American drug cartel. No offense meant to the legit drug cartels.
When I asked the guy why I hadn't been sent this information before, he shrugged his shoulders (I am guessing as I couldn't actually see that part) and gave me the ever evasive, I don't know. Bingo.
With reference number, the name of three guys, and a South American country in hand, I returned to Albertson's. It was now almost 7:00 p.m. When I appeared at the counter, a different clerk was waiting, but she had seen me earlier in the evening and quickly offered to get the first clerk. She had clearly drawn the short straw and was no doubt regretting coming to work that day. I asked her to just try the reference number to see what we got.
And wouldn't you know it, the number worked. She asked if I was Karen and if the MoneyGram was for $250. OH MY GOD, yes! I squealed. Within moments she printed out the check (I asked if she could cash it). I walked out of Alberston's with my very hard earned $250.
I had to kick some ass to do it, but I finally got my money!
Now I am waiting patiently for my identity to be stolen by some South American named Gustavo Manuel Enriquez.
