The survey says—you are inadequate at your present occupation

Note: This column appears in the 5/19 issue of The Glendale Star and the 5/20 issue of the Peoria Times

I have fully immersed myself in the process of filling out and submitting virtually any survey that comes my way.

It used to be that I scoffed at surveys. If I had to call a customer service line, and the automated prompts asked me if I’d like to participate in a survey afterwards, I always chose “yes.” I did this because I feared if I chose “no” this would somehow redirect my call to the lowest rated team of customer service agents, which would be, in my mind, a team of high-functioning chimpanzees wearing headsets. Once my conversation was complete, however, I would immediately hang-up on the survey. Not because I was indifferent about my customer service experience—it was typically awful and not helpful and forced me to question humanity—but because I was lazy.

But now? I am less lazy. Every time I receive poor service, which is quite often, I want to voice my displeasure to someone, anyone, immediately. For example, the Dunkin’ Donuts near our house employs a revolving door of stoner teenagers who have the social and problem-solving skills of a telephone pole. Luckily, all Dunkin’ Donuts receipts include the chance to submit an online survey, which I do, each and every time. How would I rate my experience on a scale of 1-5, with 5 being the best? I chose negative-8. There is no negative-8 button? I will leave it in the comments.

Even better, you get a free donut with every D&D completed survey. The irony of unsuccessfully trying to redeem my free donut coupon to the very employees who helped me earn that donut by being terrible at their jobs is never lost on me. To the survey machine!

Unfortunately, I have yet to really see the benefits of filling out surveys. My experiences out there in the world have not differed much since my commitment to voice my constant displeasure. I have always had an inclination that surveys are a mere public relations tool, and that when I click “submit,” my survey is immediately routed to the recycle bin on some random server in Wisconsin. If that’s the case, so be it. I will crash that server.

It could simply be that my surveys are taken less seriously because I always choose that I would prefer not to be contacted directly about my experience. It’s typically human interaction that motivated the negative survey, so I don’t want more of it. I prefer my complaining to be as passive aggressive as possible. Besides, it’s all there in the survey. No need to call. Please just send me something awesome for my troubles, thank you.

Now, I have also made it a point to, on those very rare occasions when it’s warranted, provide positive feedback as well. The grading curve of service has been so skewed that I feel obligated to acknowledge those special individuals who can provide even minimal support without making me feel like burning something down. Way to go! You deserve a raise.

Also, we deserve a raise. Of standards.

The highs and lows of my affinity for a particular coffee

Note: This column appears in the 9/9 issue of The Glendale Star and the 9/10 issue of the Peoria Times



Almost everything in my wallet relates, in some way, to Dunkin' Donuts.

For starters, I have a Dunkin' Donuts card. It's like a debit card that I registered online, and which tracks my spending and earns me Dunkin' Donuts rewards. A few weeks ago I received one of my awards in the mail -- a coupon for a free medium coffee! -- and it was one of the happiest moments of my life. I also "recharge" this card online by adding money to it. According to my American Express online pie chart, more than 60-percent of my spending is applied to "coffee and coffee-related products."

I also have a Dunkin' Donuts punch card with me, always. Whenever I purchase a coffee there, Dunkin' Donuts will punch it, and when it's finished, I get...a free medium coffee! Whenever I cash in this free coffee I make sure to get a new punch card immediately, and sometimes I deftly attempt to have them punch this new card once because -- even though I didn't have to pay for it -- I did just get a coffee. It rarely works, but I try. Also, these two D&D cards supersede almost every other card in my wallet by virtue of the frequency with which I use them. If I were ever, God forbid, in an accident and the police were forced to use my wallet to identify me, they would say, as they sorted through its contents, "He loves Dunkin Donuts...a lot...he's a member at BevMo...his name is Mike."

I also have, if you can believe this, a Dunkin Donuts calendar at my desk here at work. It features provocative and sexy pictures of iced coffee, donuts, and that "time to make the donuts" guy. But the best feature is that every month page contains two coupons that are good only for that month. Many of these -- for example, 75-cents off your next purchase of a sausage & egg sandwich -- I cannot even use, as I really only purchase their coffee and I don't eat meat. But I keep them in my wallet anyway, in case I change my mind.

Throw in my Dunkin' Donuts rewards coupons and any other coupons I may comes across, and you can see that my wallet is a testament to my unwavering commitment to staying caffeinated.

Anyway, last week I was at the D&D on 67th and the 101, going through my usual routine of ordering coffees for my wife and I and handing the cashier twenty different cards and coupons to sort through. I was due for a free coffee, thanks to my punch card, so I was already happy. Then, I find out that Dunkin' Donuts is celebrating its anniversary -- how I did not know this is a mystery; I would have bought them flowers -- and as a result, medium coffees were only 50-cents! They might as well have rained down confetti on me. But then, like an idiot, and not thinking as a result of my overwhelming joy, I used my free coffee punch card for a 50-cent coffee. Oh no! I just forfeited $1.64! I didn't realize it until afterwards, and I was very upset, at both myself and the cashier for not realizing it either.

Bummed out, but drowning my sorrows in my medium iced coffee, I made my way home. As I turned from Lake Pleasant onto Happy Valley Road, I noticed that a brand new Dunkin' Donuts was "coming soon" to that very corner, less than ten minutes from our house. I was so excited. They are probably going to have so many grand opening coupons and specials!

I shall mark this date on my calendar. It will supersede any other listed events, such as birthdays and holidays. I may also need a new wallet. I think I have a coffee problem.

A trip to Trader Joe’s changes everything

Note: This column appears in the 4/2 issue of The Glendale Star and the 4/3 issue of the Peoria Times

Last week, for the first time ever, my wife and I went to Trader Joe’s.

For those unaware, Trader Joe’s is a grocery store that prides itself on selling independently grown and manufactured foods with natural ingredients, as well as other environmentally friendly products. It is essentially a grocery store for hippies.

Are we hippies? It’s difficult to say. I often feel that my wife and I are this strange hybrid –- pun intended –- of old-world conservatism and postmodern realism. (Side note: I have no idea what “postmodern realism” means. So please don’t email me.) Our lives are either one big contradiction of ideals or the perfect balance of extremes. For example, we’re vegetarians, but we live in Arizona. We’re Yankees fans, but we love the underdog. We’re indignant at Republican corruption, but not that confident about Democrats. We’re Catholic, but we watch “The Hills.”

I think it’s a generational thing, as both of us were molded mostly by our parents and partly by our education and an advancing and “progressive” popular culture. We take each issue as it comes and our opinions aren’t predetermined by any affiliation. But the one realm where we are free to express our hippy side is food.

As mentioned, we are vegetarians. This is a difficult concept for many people to grasp, especially people around here. Who hunt. Which is apparently everyone. (True story: Outside of Dunkin Donuts a few weeks ago, a guy sitting next to me introduced himself and then immediately told me a story about how he had just killed a mountain lion. Apparently I don’t put out a vegetarian vibe.) In becoming vegetarians we forced ourselves to appreciate the non-meat food groups. Like cheese. And pasta. And pasta with cheese on it. You see, giving up meat doesn’t automatically make you healthier.

Which is why, since discovering there was a Trader Joe’s on Bell Road in Glendale, we had been meaning to go there. We wanted to break the habit of our usual grocery shopping tendencies. We liked the idea of eating healthier, and now we wanted to actually try it.

From the moment we walked in, they had me at “organic cashew butter.” I didn’t even feel like I was grocery shopping –- it’s not a cavernous, aisle-filled arena, but more like a friendly neighborhood produce store. Yet I could have spent all day in there.

Hand-rolled wheat pita bread? I’ll take it. Organic veggies? Yes, please. Fake Cheerios with dried fruit mixed in? I think I’ll mix that with some soymilk. Tofu? Why of course. Pre-packaged sushi? Under any other circumstances, absolutely not. But I trust Trader Joe. (And he didn’t betray me –- delicious!) They also have organic meats, if you’re into that sort of thing.

Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t any more expensive than a regular grocery-shopping trip. We even got entered in a raffle for bringing our own bags. Also, we stopped global warming. But then it came back. Maybe. Who knows.

You can also probably tell how much healthier I feel by the manner and speed in which I wrote this column. Trader Joe’s was made for hippies like me. In fact, I’m not sure if I can ever go back to the big chain supermarkets ever again. I’ll stick with the little guy, thank you very much.

Go Yankees!

The pews aren’t always softer on the other side

Note: This column appears in the 3/26 issue of The Glendale Star and the 3/27 issue of the Peoria Times

My wife and I are Catholic. We’ve been attending St. Thomas More in Glendale since we moved here, but never officially signed on to be parishioners.

Why? Well, to be honest, we were holding out. For one thing, St. Thomas More is about 35 minutes from our house in Peoria. Plus, the Masses themselves are long, making what’s supposed to be (in our minds) a 50-minute mass an over two-hour-long event. The distance also makes it nearly impossible to attend Mass during the week for any other Holy Days, which we’re rarely aware of anyway. (There are few things more guilt-inducing than when either of us call our saintly mothers back home only to find that they just returned back from Mass because today is, after all, the Feast of Saint Agnes of Bohemia, yet we are home watching American Idol.)

So while we attended Mass each week, we were all the while waiting for a new Catholic Church to pop up closer to our house, where they don’t sing every verse of every song and you don’t have to hold hands during the Our Father.

This has not happened. That it ever will is starting to feel far-fetched. But we have been able to explore some other options in the meantime. For example, we did try attending a different church that was a similar distance away in a different direction. I also got the opportunity to attend Mass at St. Mary’s Basilica in Phoenix a couple of months ago.

The one church, well…didn’t exactly set our worlds on fire. (We were the youngest people there. By 50 years.) And while St. Mary’s was beautiful, the homily I heard was blah (yes, I judged the oldest church in Phoenix based on one sermon), and I couldn’t bend over for three weeks after sitting in the pews there.

So a funny thing happened on our journey to find a new church: we started to appreciate the one we had been going to all along. We began saying things like, “That’s not how they do it at St. Thomas,” and “Why are there dentures in this collection basket?” and “Wake up -- we’re in church!”

We began to realize that St. Thomas More, though not perfect by our idealistic standards, had everything that was really important to us. We feel welcome there, the pastor is fantastic, and every week we walk away stronger in our faith. (There’s also a Dunkin Donuts nearby. I’m just saying.) When our family comes to visit us, we take them to St. Thomas More for church, because that is where they expect to go. We’re starting to know our fellow churchgoers as well, like the couple who always winds up sitting behind us and the guy who goes up and down the aisles to shake hands during the Sign of Peace. And people know us, too. As “the couple who refuses to hold hands during the Our Father.” But still. They know us.

Last week during Mass they made an announcement inviting any visitors to sign up and become parishioners. My wife and I both looked at each other and decided it’s about time. After all, it doesn’t look like anything is “popping up” closer to our house. And even if something did, who knows if it would be as fulfilling. We plan on becoming parishioners, officially, this week. I think St. Agnes will be proud. St. Thomas, too, of course. I think they are friends. I’ll have to ask my mom.

Paying it forward and not looking back

Note: This column appears in the 11/20 issue of The Glendale Star, and the 11/21 issue of the Peoria Times

I’m not much of a good deed type of person. It’s not that I don’t want to perform good deeds, it’s just that doing so is not as instinctual for me as it is for others. For example, last Saturday night my wife and I were out for a drink with friends. While we were standing around talking, a very drunk man fell off of his barstool behind me. My first instinct was not to help the guy up, but to make sure everyone else saw this happen, because I thought it was funny. By the time the bouncers were hauling him outta there, the look on my wife’s face said it all -- Good deed: Unaccomplished.

Because I am apparently not the type of person to spontaneously spring into action, my good deeds must be carefully plotted out. I must create opportunities, or, at this rate, I am going to be in big trouble down the line. But here’s the other thing: Good deeds are not always accepted with open arms (evidenced by the time I tried to give a homeless man $2…also, he was not homeless), and the last thing I need is any sort of backlash for my good intentions. What to do?

Well, a couple of years ago my wife was watching the news when a segment aired about a man who had offered to pay for the person behind him at the drive-thru window of a fast food restaurant. Apparently, this gesture continued throughout the day, each person paying for the person behind them. “Pay it forward,” they called it.

To me, this was perfect. It was the chance to do a good deed, without the risk of a potentially disastrous social interaction. In fact, after hearing about it, my wife and I tried it that very next weekend, at our favorite establishment: Dunkin’ Donuts. We had big dorky smiles on our faces as we happily paid for the man behind us at the drive-thru. It was a really good feeling and it only cost us a couple of bucks.

Based on the events of last weekend, I knew that a good deed was in order, so I wanted to try this again. Unfortunately, the local Dunkin’ Donuts does not have a drive-thru window, and I typically try to steer clear of fast food. Eventually I decided to undertake this good deed at that great light tower of the needy: Starbucks.

So there I was last Monday morning sitting on the ridiculously long line at the Starbuck’s drive-thru. I looked in my rear view and saw the car behind me. One woman. Good. Though I hoped she wasn’t getting treats for her entire office. (My good deeds have financial limitations.) For some reason I was so nervously excited. It cost me an extra $3.50 or so at the window, and I was happy to pay it forward.

I sped away as fast as I could, fearing that this woman would chase me down on the highway and demand I roll down my window as she yelled, “What do think I am, poor?!” Once I knew I was in the clear, I smiled as I sipped my coffee and zoomed past a car with a flat tire on the side of the road.

“One good deed at a time,” I thought.

Country’s 43rd best magazine names Peoria 55th best place to live

Note: This column appears in the 7/25 issue of the Peoria Times

If you’re like me, then you subscribe to Money magazine and you firmly believe in everything it states, especially when it comes to a subjective compilation of the best places to live.

Which is why I was so ecstatic to discover that Money magazine listed Peoria, AZ -- yeah, this one! -- as the No. 55 best place to live in the United States of America.

My first reaction to this news was this: “Wait, there are 54 places better than here? Get my real estate agent on the phone!” My second reaction was this: “How the heck did they come up with this information?”

It’s simple, really. Money magazine has a staff of approximately three million people, who were each assigned to live in various locales with populations ranging from 50,000-300,000 people, for one year. Each staff member created an Excel spreadsheet detailing all of the aspects of their respective town, including the weather, school system, proximity to a Cheesecake Factory, crime, how many houses decorate for Christmas, and the ingenuity of local television car dealership advertisements. All of this information was then brought back to Money magazine headquarters, where it was compiled into a giant computer that crashed immediately, forcing Money magazine to make up this entire list.

This process would serve to explain why exactly zero Arizona cities made the list in 2007, yet four made the cut this time around. It’s difficult to decipher how a city can gain or lose its ability to provide for its citizens in twelve months time, but this probably has much to do with the perceived monotony of naming the same cities each year. It reminds me of People magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive” issue, which differs from year-to-year, as if Matthew McConaughey lost his sexiness or something. C’mon People!


I mean really

Nevertheless.

As far as the other Arizona cities on the list, each of them -- Gilbert, Chandler, and Scottsdale -- were ranked higher than Peoria. However, Scottsdale was only ranked No. 47, which means that Money magazine deems that Scottsdale is only a very slightly better place to live than Peoria. Something to think about the next time you’re dragged to a Scottsdale bar and seven fake-breasted women are bragging about seeing Matt Leinart at the local Safeway. Now you can roll your eyes with confidence!

The factors involved in Peoria’s inclusion on this list were its parks and recreation, its grid system (always a tourist attraction), the spring training allure of the Peoria Sports Complex, its ability to develop while maintaining preserved space, and its general awesomeness.

And hey, guess what? Peoria really IS a great place to live! I mean, that’s why my wife and I moved here in the first place. I guess I just didn’t need a list to tell me that. Especially a list that named Plymouth, Minnesota -- in Minnesota, by the way -- as the best place to live in the country.

But a list is a list, and people seem to like them, and this is certainly good press for the great city of Peoria. In that regard, I urge all of us to work towards making Peoria an even better place to live for 2009, so that it moves up on this list instead of falling completely off. My first suggestion: ten Dunkin’ Donuts stores.

Seriously. It’s our only hope of moving ahead of Edison, NJ.


Only thing holding us back...

Dunkin Donuts: The good, the ugly

There are two types of Dunkin’ Donuts establishments: those with employees who know what they are doing, and those with employees whose training consisted of “the milk goes in the refrigerator, and the money goes in the cash register – not vice versa.” There is no in between. There is no such thing as a “kind of good” Dunkin’ Donuts. You either get great service, or you’re walking out of there carrying a chocolate-frosted donut topped with cream cheese and a lukewarm cup of coffee with a lid that’s partially on.

I consider myself lucky because the Dunkin’ Donuts I go to every morning before work (Route 35 in Middletown, NJ) is one of the great ones. You can judge any good Dunkin’ Donuts establishment by how fast the morning line moves, and this one is a quick assembly line of great service. All the workers there are friendly, they know the regulars, and most of the time you don’t even have to tell them what you want – it’s waiting for you by the time you reach the counter. I’ve also noticed that, for the most part, the longer a particular D&D has been around, the better it is. To use a sports analogy involving baseball players named “B.J.,” you can always count on a B.J. Surhoff-type of D&D to come through when it matters, but if you risk going to a B.J Upton-type of D&D, a “home run” may be simply getting what you ordered, while “grounding into a double play” may end in you suffering a heart attack because they didn’t hear you say “decaf.”

I bring this up only because I have noticed an increasing amount of the Dunkin’ Donuts/Baskin Robbins establishments popping up throughout the Tri-State area. In fact, one sprung up by our house just about a year ago (Route 9 in Marlboro, NJ) – and let me tell you, it is THE worst Dunkin’ Donuts establishment in the history of the world. I dare anyone to find one that is worse.

First of all, I don’t know who came up with the idea to combine Dunkin’ Donuts with Baskin Robbins. I don’t know what was wrong with these two places existing as separate entities. It doesn’t even make any sense to me. But whatever. Anyway, the D&D by our house is sooooo bad, that I have felt compelled to call the Dunkin Donuts 800-number to report the travesties that have occurred there. Actually, I have had the phone out before, ready to dial, but my wife intervened because she didn’t want anyone to get fired.

And by “anyone” I mean...

There is a man who is always there working at this D&D. I would normally be left to assume that he is the manager, except that his only managerial skills involve standing up straight. For one thing, he has the personality of a cardboard box – a cardboard box that wants to kill you because you had the audacity to come into Dunkin Donuts and request one of their edible products. He speaks limited English, and he understands limited English. And he uses the small amount of English that he does know to give out misinformation. For example, a few months ago I went there with my wife and sister, and my sister asked him if they offered decaf iced coffee (she cannot have caffeine for health reasons), to which he replied, “Yes. It is all decaf.” She did not understand this reply. He went on to explain in mumbled jargon that all of their coffee was decaffeinated. In fact, everything in the store was decaf, including the muffins. Apparently, we were not at a Dunkin Donuts that offered decaf coffee – we were actually at the first Decaf Dunkin Donuts. Also, my sister ordered the iced coffee and couldn’t finish it because it wasn’t decaf.

I went to this Dunkin Donuts again last night to pick up some coffee for my wife and I, and lo and behold – this guy was behind the counter. My wife wanted a pumpkin spice donut, but I noticed that they didn’t have any left. Now, I knew the risk I was taking by asking this guy a question, but I figured “what the heck?” So I asked him if they had any more pumpkin spice donuts coming out. His response was to look behind him at the donut wall, and then turn back to me and nod his head “no.” Apparently, this particular Dunkin Donuts does not have a back room where donuts are made. Instead, when the tray is empty, a new batch magically appears at some point. So, this guy was nice enough to inform me, in head nod form, that the new batch of pumpkin spice donuts had NOT, in fact, magically appeared as of yet. So I had to order my wife a chocolate donut instead, which was coincidentally – and I’m not kidding – the “manager’s special” that day.

I also realized last night that I must be mistaken in my confusion with regards to the combination of D&D and Baskin Robbins, because I was, in fact, feeling like some ice cream. When I informed this guy that I would also like some ice cream, his response was to start walking over to the Baskin Robbins counter, as if to say, “Follow me, and carry your coffees and donut over here too because I’m not your bitch.” Of course, Baskin Robbins had to be witty when they named their ice cream flavors, so it wasn’t awkward at all when I had to inform a guy who speaks limited English that I would like two scoops of the “Honest to Good Nuts” ice cream. Again, his response was to stare at me while holding an ice cream scooper, as if he wanted to scoop my heart right out of my chest, toss it on the floor, and stomp on it repeatedly. So, I had to point to the ice cream instead.

Then it was time for him to ring me up. I was thanking my lucky stars that I didn’t have a coupon with me, because the last time my wife and I tried to give this guy a coupon, it ended up with every worker in the store examining it as if it were written in Aramaic, and trying to think of any possible excuse to tell us why they couldn’t accept it. I think the cash resister started smoking when they tried to input it, and I know I ended up paying more than I would have if I didn’t have a coupon in the first place. Anyway, the guy started ringing me up. He did not put my ice cream cup in a bag, or give me a spoon and napkins, nor did he put my coffees in a tray. The only thing bagged up was the donut, and I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if he had just sat that on the counter as well.

Another great thing about this guy is that you actually have to ask him for your change back. I don’t know if he doesn’t comprehend the process of giving back change, or if he just assumes that the rest is his, but after you pay him, he just kind of gives you a look like, “This transaction has been completed. Please leave the store.” So, I had to hold out my hand like a panhandler until this guy reluctantly gave me my change back. My money did not go in the tip jar, and I must say, if glass had feelings, then that tip jar was embarrassed to be there.

You may wonder if my wife and I are gluttons for punishment, since we continue to go back to this D&D for an occasional evening coffee fix. But if this place serves any purpose whatsoever, it makes us appreciate the good Dunkin Donuts stores in the area, like the one I go to every morning. And to be honest, the D&D by our house is so freakin’ bad, that it’s actually funny. I mean, I can’t begin to describe how hilarious it is when we pull up through the drive-thru only to see that guy’s head pop out of the window. It’s like, we know we’re not getting what we ordered, but we have to laugh.

By the way, this Dunkin Donuts also has a tip jar at the drive-thru window, just in case you just blindly received the best service of your life, even though you’re not yet sure if what you ordered is correct.

The nerve. A tip jar at the drive-thru window.

Honest to good nuts.