Vienna

"Slow down, you crazy child
you're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart, tell me
Why are you still so afraid?

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You'd better cool it off before you burn it out
You've got so much to do and
Only so many hours in a day

But you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want or you get old
You're gonna kick off before you even
Get halfway through
When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?"  - excerpt from "Vienna", by Billy Joel

I arrived in Vienna late Tuesday evening after an all day meeting at a hotel at Heathrow Airport. For those not in the know, I have been in Vienna for my product's European launch meeting, where we officially launch celebrate the launch with our internal European colleagues. Total headcount was about 70 people and the meeting lasted from Weds evening - Friday afternoon. The fun part was that I had about 4 1/2 weeks to plan and execute everything, and for 2 of those weeks I was travelling in America.

I spent several hours working with our event team and agency teams setting things up and then collapsed into bed around 1am. I was up at 6:30am on Wednesday and after a quick breakfast, proceeded to run non-stop for the rest of the day, working to get everything set up for the big kick-off that evening. For anyone who has not planned a meeting, there is SO MUCH work to be done that people just don't see. Setting up all the signage, ensuring the breakout rooms are configured and arranged, getting the A/V and lighting just right, checking and rechecking all the orders with the hotel so that nothing goes amiss - it's an immense amount of actions to check off on a to-do list. I ran around all day Wednesday until we officially kicked off the meeting at 19h with a knowledge fair + dinner buffet. The highlight was when I asked for my hamburger at lunchtime to be cooked medium rare and I was told quite vehemently (like when I was in Germany) that "NO! That is ILLEGAL". I wanted to counter that was should be illegal is overcooking meat, but I was too tired to be my usual pain in the ass self.

When the meeting kicked off, I was eyes and ears the entire time, making sure everything was going well, organised properly, and that all my VIPs were happy. Once the meeting ended at 20:30, there were another few hours of set-up to do. I think I got to bed that evening about midnight.

I was up at 5am on Thursday, as this was the big kick-off day. All of my VIPs (including our Regional President for Europe) were giving presentations and the day was chock full of workshops, three of which I was running as well. The meeting ran from 8am - 5:30pm, and then we met again at 7pm to go to the big dinner gala. The gala lasted until 1am, and I made it to bed (after some urgent, last-minute emails) about 2am.  I was up at 5am on Friday to deal with a logistical emergency. The meeting ran until 3:30pm, and then there was a good hour and a half of final details, packing things up, etc. By 5pm, I was ready to absolutely collapse. However, I rallied to meet the global team who had flown over from the U.S. for dinner, as I wanted to see Vienna on a Friday night. I got to bed last night at midnight, and then had the luxury of sleeping this morning until 9am. I worked until check-out at noon, and then spent the afternoon exploring a bit of the city, using up the very last of my precious energy reserves.

I'm proud to report that the meeting was an unqualified success. I had so many people complimenting the agenda, or the venue, and telling me that it was one of the best meetings they had ever attended. The gala dinner on Thursday night was at Palais Daun Kinsky, and people could not stop raving about it. Everything seemed to come together seamlessly and there were no snafus (that were visible to anyone besides myself and the event team). My boss, her boss and his boss were all extremely happy and I think I made a very good impression. I am more tired than I have been in years and I ache all over, but I'm happy. I wish I could disappear for a week to recharge, but that is most definitely not going to happen!

So, my thoughts on Vienna.

I really, really like this city. The people I have met have been amazingly helpful and friendly. I have very limited German, but I have found that they accept my attempts graciously and don't comment when I make grievous errors. I think it's just like in Paris - they like you more for making the effort. I did have a guy offer to "buy me" on the Karlsplatz... he said that in German and I thought I misunderstood, but when I asked him to clarify, he said in very loud, animated English "I.... BUY.... you!!!". I chose to ignore his obvious meaning and said winningly, "you buy me...frankfurter?" with a big smile. So I got a free lunch and managed to escape handily into a woman's shoe store thereafter. As expected, he did not give chase.

I have fallen in love with the architecture. I don't know why people don't build like that anymore, as it truly is stunning. I think what impresses me the most is the level of detail involved. Modern buildings, intricate though they may be, seem so boring and cheap compared to the grand designs of Europe. I just think that in 500 years, these buildings will still be standing. I doubt, however, that future alien races will marvel at our glass and steel monstrosities. (I will find out first-hand, of course, since I'll be having a robot body and will still be around, just like that little robot kid from AI)

Friday night at dinner we went to this charming little Austrian restaurant where the menu was all in German and the food choices consisted of boiled meat + potato, fried meat + potato or sausage + potato. I opted for the boiled version – called Tafelspitz – and it was surprisingly good. I loved the potatoes and carrots that came with it even more. I guess it feels familiar since that is pretty much standard Cincinnati fare – meat and potatoes.

I want to finish this blog entry before my next birthday, and so in the interest of time, I’m just going to bulletpoint the rest of my thoughts (apologies to those of you expecting more lush narrative…)

• Smoking is still allowed in Vienna. You can have a smoking or non-smoking room. The restaurant we ate in was about as big as my flat and half of it was a “smoking section”. (Which was filled with an old man and a couple who were apparently trying to have sex with one another through their clothes during dinner… strange thing was no one seemed to mind this at all…)
• German is easier to figure out than I originally thought. After so many days of hearing it and staring at it, it started to make a bizarre sort of sense to me – thus reinforcing my long standing belief that I have missed my calling as an uber-linguist and/or ninja spy.  I am actually only sort of kidding in that respect, since I really am good with languages. I picked up the accent in Austria well enough to fool people into responding to me in full-blown sentences. I’d ask for water, or buy a ticket or ask for directions and then have to haltingly say, “Entschuldigen Sie… Ich spreche kein Deutsch. Sprechen Sie Englisch?”, using up all the German I have at my disposal.
• The city was very clean – surprisingly clean given the number of tourists wandering to and fro
• I now have Ameri-dar (kind of like gaydar, but for Americans). I can spot them miles away. In one case it was an obvious case of wearing a visor + Rockports, but in another it was all about the posture and the way they walked. I don’t know how to describe it but I can see someone across a crowded space and just know. Is it the look of overfed entitlement? Is the map-holding and stupid commentary? Is it the fact that they seem to congregate in fast-food restaurants with their loud, ill-behaved children? Or is it something more primal… a secret ancient sensing of one’s own “tribe”? These are the thoughts which keep me awake sometimes… LOL
• I wonder if I’m that obviously American? I am thinking not, since I had so many people just walk up to me and start conversations in German. Not trying to sell you stuff German, just the “hi, how are you” kind of things. Must be because my family history is… well, German.
• Many of the men do sound pretty much like Arnold – yes, the Governator. But there is a distinctive Viennese accent and they are quick to point out that they speak Austrian German, not regular German. Which is true… as their version is much more lyrical than say, Munich German.
• I am an idiot. I didn’t need to go to Vienna to suss this out, but the trip reinforced it. I’d like to blame it on severe exhaustion and stress, but it’s pretty much down to me being a ‘tard. You see, I was reading all these magazines in my room and they kept mentioning “Wien” and going to “Wien” and so on and so forth. And so I was really puzzling out where this “Wien” place (I was pronouncing it “ween” in my head)… until at the end of my second day it just suddenly hit me that “Wien” = Vienna, just like “Munchen” = Munich. To quote my friend Charlie Sheen, “Duh”.
• They seem to eat a surprising amount of fish in Vienna – this may not surprise others, but it did me.
• The art history in Vienna is just as fascinating as the musical history. I am a HUGE Klimt fan, and it was fantastic to go see an exhibit at the Leopold Museum featuring him and Egon Schiele (another favourite). I’m thinking I need to do an Art History tour of Europe…

And with these scattered thoughts, I shall end this missive. I enjoyed my brief trip and I would love to go back – not only to Vienna (and explore the famous nightlife that I didn’t get to see, but some of my co-workers did until six in the morning ¬¬) but also to the rest of Austria. Which is funny because Austria was never on my list of places to see.

But I’m proud of myself because I pushed through the fatigue and spent a good 12 hours exploring the city, fulfilling my resolution to see as much of Europe this year as possible… and of course, not to deprive Europe of seeing as much of me as possible, either. ;)

Next stop? Helsinki… stay tuned!

Federman out.

The Airport

I have a love/hate relationship with the airport. I love that being
here means I am off on a new adventure. I hate the hassle, though.

Take today. I had a meeting at a hotel near Heathrow Terminal 5. I had
to walk to the Terminal, take the elevator down a level, then go down
two more levels and wait 15min for a train. The train then took me one
stop to this weird junction where I had to follow this weird maze, go
on another elevator ride, more walking, two escalators... All before I
ended up outside of Terminal 3.
I checked into my flight with little drama - hallelujah for my BA
silver card which let's me hop to the first class line. Then I had to
go through security. I always pick the wrong line...this time I ended
up smack dab behind Ali Baba and what looked like three of his forty
thieves. These people were rocking turbans of some sort, massive
amounts of facial hair and were wearing what looked like old
bedsheets. They were setting off all kinds of alarms. They had to be
wanded, patted down, basically strip searched. And guess who was stuck
behind this little circus?

So I finally clear security and have to go through passport control.
Where the same thing happens EVERY time. "How long were you in the UK
for?" they ask. "I live here." I answer. Then there is much flipping
of passport pages and grumbling until they find my UK visa sticker.
*sigh*

I managed to avoid the sinful temptation that is the duty free
extravaganza (sooo hard. I don't wear a lot of makeup but I loves me
the packaging. So shiny, so pretty!) and ended up being pleasantly
surprised by my YO! Sushi salmon/tuna box. (Let's see if I still feel
that way in a few hours...)

I am now on the plane - after the mile long trek to the gate, the use
of some extremely dubious toilet facilities, and a jam-packed
weaving-all-over bus ride to the plane. I love how, even with assigned
seats, all these people were fighting to get on the plane. Where they
will sit for two and a half hours. Idiots.

But I am happy to be travelling and I can't wait to explore Vienna.

In other news, I have to get more pages added to my passport (tricky
feat as I have to be in town long enough to allow for the 10-14 day
processing time). When I got my passport in 2003, I never could have
imagined that I would have travelled - and would be travelling - so
much.

And despite my grumblings, I love it. Frankly, I start to feel
uncomfortable if I'm in town for too long. I'm not quite that guy from
Up In The Air, but I understand the bizarre comfort of the anonymity
of frequent travel. Especially these days when most hotel rooms tend
to be bigger than my current flat.

And now I am off... Shutting down before the flight attendant giving
me the evil eye makes it to my row.

Federman out.

E-Fed vs. Virgin Media

I had no idea my little war with Virgin Media would prove so popular! As requested, the text of the infamous email is below. However I do believe I should provide some context to the situation first. I have Virgin Media for television, broadband and home telephone. I never use the home telephone (except for when I answer telemarketing calls for “Curtis”, something that is happening with increasing frequency).  The broadband tends to work okay, except for when it doesn’t. And when that happens I just chalk it up to “England”, and wait 20-30 minutes. Voila, it comes back good as new. Up until recently, I’ve had no issues with my cable television (other than the fact I had to install it myself rather than wait the standard Slovakian 3 months that it normally takes in these here parts).

So I was out of town for the past two weeks, during which time I guess my love for cheesy television shows caused my Virgin Media V+ box to just go psycho. I returned to discover that none of my shows were recorded (no Vampire Diaries, no Nikita, no Mentalist, no Criminal Minds) and that, even better, my TV was stuck on FIVEUSA. My remote control would not change the channel, no matter how many times I replaced the batteries or unplugged and rebooted the V+ box. Knowing the pain that is Virgin Customer Care, I tried nearly every option – before I accepted the inevitable and picked up my home phone last night and dialed 150. The secret code for Virgin phone customers that gives you a direct line to customer service. Or so I thought.

What happened was a bit like that scene in Back to the Future where Marty and the Doc are high fiving each other because the dog came back from a minute into the future… and then the Libyans show up all fired up over some plutonium. Ok, bad example, but it still felt like an ambush.

I dialed 150, navigated through the labyrinthine automated menu, only to be greeted by a male human voice speaking a language I have never heard in my life. “Excuse me, sir?” I asked. “Did I call Virgin Media?” I did not understand the response, and indicated as such. And so, in the tradition of morons everyone, he began jabbering LOUDER at me, as if that would help. I pointed out – again – that I could not understand him. This went on and on, with me requesting to speak to someone who spoke English and him yelling at me. Finally, he just hung up on me.

I was irritated, but willing to give Virgin a pass. Everyone has bad days, and working in a call center has to suck. So I called back – picked up my home phone and hit those three magic numbers once again. This time I got a woman… who was no more understandable than the man. What I did discern was that she had major attitude problem. I’m talking Jackee in 227 attitude problem. I’m talking Lil’ Kim after jail attitude problem. She didn’t even really give me a chance, just began screaming at me and then hung up.

Now I was getting pissed off. I called again, punching those numbers in the automated system with controlled fury. I got a guy this time – who still was not intelligible. I tried to discern what he was saying, or where I was calling, but it literally sounded like he was speaking a language that has yet to have been discovered. I kept saying, “Sir, I have no idea what you’re saying to me. If you can understand me, can you please direct me to someone who speaks English?”. This went on for 14 minutes (I counted) before he simply screamed “AAAAAAARGGGHuuuuuiuhhyYOOOOOU” in the phone and hung up.

Ok, now I was really pissed, approaching DEFCON 2 (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DEFCON). I called back again. Lesser men may have given up, but not me. I was on a mission and I was about to make someone feel the pain. This time I got a guy, who kept trying to tell me his name was “Rupert”. Um, not in this lifetime buddy, unless Rupert is a name commonly used by people in a country where they speak a language that sounds somewhere between the guy in the Simpsons who works at the Qwickie Mart + Klingon + drunken Polish. I had had enough at this point. I explained to him that I could not understand him, that I’m sure he was trying hard, but that I desperately needed to speak to someone who spoke English so I could get my damn TV fixed. I explained that I lived in the UK, and as such, expected to speak to people who spoke English. (At this point, I would have even settled for Geordie) I did not sign up for Virgin Whateverthehellcountryyou’rein, I signed up for Virgin Media UK. I have no idea what “Rupert” thought of this since I could not understand a damn word he said. After repeating myself six times (I counted, making tick marks on the back of a minicab flyer, each tick getting increasingly darker and more ragged), he finally put me on hold. I sat mute, hoping beyond hope I would get a nice supervisor who spoke English. I could be accented English – I didn’t care. I just wanted to hear something I recognised.

Alas, ‘twas not to be. I received a woman who identified herself as the “zoopwerwyyyysuher” and proceeded to yell and jabber at me for a good minute or so. I could only make out a few words, from which I used my context clues (learned in 4th grade… thanks Mrs. Bolin!) to piece together that she thought I was an asshole who hated people with accents (not kidding). I tried to explain that I had mass love for everyone, but that I wanted to find someone who spoke English. My argument was that if I habla’ed Espanol, I’d get someone who could habla away with me. Therefore I wanted someone who could speak English – plain and simple. “But klajfileuaflkdjaklfjdlkajflkdjalkakljdlaj!!!” she screamed at me. When I explained I couldn’t understand her, she said, in a painstainkingly slow pronunciation “youuuuuuueh lllliiiieeeeeeeee”.

Well, ladies and gents, that just set me off. I had been calm until then, but my blood was boiling. However, age and wisdom prevailed (and more honestly, fatigue, as I had been at this now for 45 minutes) and so I tried to remain calm. I tried to work with old girl, even telling her that since she couldn’t speak English, if she could spell the letters, we could try to communicate that way. So thus went the next 20 minutes of my life.

Her: “alkdjlkajflkdjlkfjadlkjflakjfkdlajfkldajflkdjalkfjad”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I have no idea what you just said. Could you spell it please?”

Her: “Wuuuh-ahahaich-ahhh-tuh zeee-ehhh-ehhh-muuuuu-zeeee tooooo buh zuh kaljdlkajfkldjalkfjdakljfldakjlakj”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m moving a bit slow. If my Hooked on Phonics serves me well, are you trying to ask me What seems to be …something or other?”

And so, and so forth. Until I had explained my issue and she had spelled out some sort of half-ass resolution. Which still made no sense. At this point, I had been dealing with this mess for 1h 14m, and was near an Incredible Hulk level of rage. I chose to just smile, nod and hang up rather than fight the good fight.

But I couldn’t resist. I tried one more time… and this time on the magic 150 line, I got someone in the UK. Or at least with a UK-style accent. And I let loose, boy did I let loose. If you think the above was harsh, you should have heard me – pacing my living room in my boxer shorts and T-shirt, cup of green tea in hand, hair all wild and filled with the fiery fury of a thousand dying suns. Hence, the £50 credit.

Most people would have been happy to stop there.

I am not. most. people.

I decided to send one of my famous email missives, reproduced for your viewing pleasure below. The result of said email was a phone call today from Virgin Customer Care (in the UK, natch) and an additional £45 credit being added to my account. There was also quite a bit of apologising. I pointed out that while I appreciated the credit and the apologies, what I would appreciate more is a call centre where people speak English. Well, apparently their computer systems allow them to track the people who answered my call (who naturally didn’t record any notes in my file, of course)… this is because I called from the Virgin batphone (my home phone). So I know a few crazy ass foreigners who are not having a good day right now… *evil grin

I didn’t consider the following email to be my finest piece of work – it was written in anger – and even now in copying it, I have to resist the urge to edit, to finesse, to improve. But here it is… over-the-top, furious and quite entertaining with a bit of distance. I hope you enjoy. I know I’ll sure enjoy my two months of free service!

The Email

“Dear Virgin Customer Care:

I am writing this letter to complain about the horrendous service I received while dialling Customer Care (150 from my home phone) on Sunday, 6th March. My account number is ******** and I have been a Virgin Media Customer since October 2011.

I attempted to contact your Customer Care department, as directed by your website, to report a fault with my Virgin Media V+ Box. I ended up spending 1h 15m on the phone, during which I spoke with five of your “representatives” – three of which yelled at me, insulted me and hung up on me.

The larger issue is not the unconscionable abuse I received from your employees, but rather the fact that not one of the five representatives with whom I spoke had a proper command of the English language. To be clear, I’m not referring to bad grammar, or a heavy accent, or even a speech impediment. I am referring to the fact that each of them sounded like an emissary from a foreign country populated by rude, incompetent and mentally unbalanced radicals. I realise that sounds extreme, but I encourage you to search your records for your calls. I made my first call at 21:08 GMT from my landline, ***********. Subsequent calls followed thereafter as I was continuously screamed at and hung upon.

As an American living in the United Kingdom, I have come to terms with the poor levels of customer service offered by companies. I have realised that what I would consider to be absolutely intolerable and unacceptable is simply the norm. I have spent hours arguing with customer care representatives from all sorts of industry – utilities, department stores, estate agencies – just to be granted what I consider to be the basic minimum of acceptable customer support. However, at no time have I ever been so offended, insulted and abused as when I called your Customer Care office for assistance.

For a company that likes to maintain that you are committed to customer care, the actions of your employees speak otherwise. I strongly doubt your company mission or vision involves hiring unintelligible associates who make a practice of abusing and insulting your customers. I switched from Sky because of their horrible customer service. It was extremely depressing to realise that I preferred dealing with them, because a) at least I could understand them when they refused to support my needs and b) they never insulted, screamed at or hung up on me.

I realise that I am just one customer of many and that if I leave your service, you will not suffer greatly. However, what I can promise you is that I will trumpet my cause far and wide. One of me may not cause a problem. A hundred may raise eyebrows. If I can communicate to a thousand – or more – of your customers, then you are facing real issues. Because everyone knows that the power of one dissatisfied customer outweighs even the best marketing or retention campaign (I should know, I’m in that industry). I can assure you that if my issues are not resolved to my satisfaction, that I will leverage the power of my extensive social networks to share my horrible experience with your company.

In today’s political environment, I doubt the hard working taxpayers of the UK would be pleased to know that jobs are being shipped offshore and taken from their reach – only to have those self-same UK taxpayers be insulted and abused by people who don’t even have a 10 year old’s command of the English language.

I expect a representative of your company to contact me immediately to resolve this issue. I look forward to learning how you will be addressing the grievous errors perpetrated by your “representatives” as well as to how you plan on retaining my business.

Regards… “