I am one of those people who can feel alone in a room full of people. I am 6ft, blond hair, hazel eyes, 220lbs.
Have you found the posts so far very mundane, predictable and boring. Race: domiblk (brown skin) fucking the NC area specifiy for my job ;) I typiy enjoy men that are more laid back and loyal. Seeking for a 3 sum.
Nearly three-quarters of the 2. The lone cemetery in the city proper is at Mission Dolores. But the cemetery is just one-sixth its original size, says Andrew Galvan, the Mission Dolores curator. Eleven thousand dead people were buried there from to San Francisco was once full of cemeteries. These cemeteries took up between 60 and 70 square blocks. Streetcars had to navigate around these islands of the dead to transport residents to work and back. Just when you think the living have a hard time holding onto their place in San Francisco, imagine how the dead fared.
Headlines like "Cemeteries must go! The cemeteries had become a real mess. Statues and gravestones were toppled. The valuable bronze doors on private mausoleums were stolen.
People would reportedly wander in and get drunk, or have late-night sex orgies. It is the only city incorporated for the sole purpose of preserving and protecting the dead, says the historical association's Pat Hatfield. The founders had good reason to be explicit about the new town's purpose. After all, many of the remains that came to Colma had been moved several times. Those bodies were transferred only after sale of the land was approved in a Supreme Court ruling.
In they tried once more. The official argument against the measure alluded to the many notable pioneers buried in the cemetery. If the casket had deteriorated, the bones were placed in boxes. Most were reburied in mass graves, with a single monument to mark their presence. Instead, they were sold for a few pennies each to be used in public works, says Svanevik.
Others were spread around the city. That was Gleeson Library , which like much of the university was built over what was once Masonic Cemetery. Center for Science and Innovation , roughly 55 coffins, 29 skeletons and several skulls were unearthed. About 18, people were buried there. One person who got a close-up look at the Legion of Honor remains was photographer Richard Barnes. Whose past is honored and secured and whose is expendable? The area that now constitutes the first and thirteenth fairway was the Chinese section of the cemetery and the high terrain at the fifteen fairway and thirteenth tee was a Serbian resting place.
Some find the odyssey of San Francisco's dead prior to the 20th century unnerving. They have a Home Depot. At one point a portion of Greenlawn cemetery was cut away to make a movie theater. Live Stream information currently unavailable. And So Few in San Francisco? Workers remove bodies from a San Francisco graveyard. Colma is the last place you want to be when the zombie apocalypse goes down.
An map shows the 'Big Four' cemeteries in San Francisco. With no endowments to pay for upkeep, cemeteries like Laurel Hill, pictured here, fell into ruin. Until the s, two Jewish cemeteries stood where Dolores Park is today. Calvary Cemetery from above in the s. Workers remove bodies from the Odd Fellows Cemetery. A diagram of where human remains were found during a seismic renovation at the Legion of Honor in And so it goes Sign up for our newsletter. Enter Email Address Sign Up.
Thanks for signing up to the newsletter.
My dad was sent to live in Prague, at which point he was captured and hence the lard episode. But weeks later, he was able to get out from the border office, and later, to America. My aunt was sent away with other children on the kindertransport to England. Sometime later my grandparents were rounded up to the ghetto. In one of the first deportations that signaled the Final Solution after the Wannsee Conference, they were sent to their deaths in what turns out to have been the very first extermination camp.
When my father spoke of this time, it was in the present tense or maybe that was still a trace of his German syntax. When it came time for the Holocaust Remembrance day, students filed in quietly to the auditorium to hear a survivor speak in somber tones about his experiences. I am sure many of my friends wept.
I fled to the bathroom and stuffed paper towels in my mouth while my body wracked itself in panic. The conversation about what happened to his parents took place mostly in my head, although from time to time I would interview him about my grandparents. He told me that they first refused. He said that he was only offered one affidavit, for one individual, not two, so how do you choose?
In a photo book I found on the highest shelf of one bookcase in our book-lined apartment, I found and then spoke to my grandmother. In the sepia photo she peered out a zaftig woman with sad, almond eyes and tendrils escaping across her temples.
She draped one hand on a baby bassinet, with my aunt as a bonneted, moon-faced baby staring out placidly. Another hand rested on the shoulder of my father, a little boy in short woolen trousers, high socks, with a bowl and scarf bowtie. Standing on tiptoe, I put the photo book away before he caught me with them. At some point, he jumped up and left.
It could have been when Sophie, on line in a crowd of deportees, must make the awful choice between her two children. But I think it was much earlier, perhaps when it becomes clear that Nathan is both obsessed with the Holocaust and mentally ill. People in the audience swiveled. More people turned in their seats to look as light from the lobby momentarily flooded the theater.
The fall after graduating from high school, I lived in a brownstone with three Columbia friends on the first floor of a dilapidated brownstone in Brooklyn.
Walking the air-conditioned white hallways of the museum, I was awed by the heavily worked massive grey and brown canvases. Their impasto surfaces were scarified with grids and lines in paint that climbed to cathedral ceilings describing warehouses, barracks, and imperial buildings—vast and claustrophobic both. Some paintings showed fields and earth strewn with hay or ashy powder and scarred with metal.
In a packed deli between Fifth and Sixth, he sat sullenly reading the menu. I recently found the ship manifest of the DeGrasse, the steampship on which he secured passage, on November 10, , from Le Havre to New York in the digital archives at Ellis Island.
The list is one thousand names long and takes up several pages. I can see him making sure to be first on line. He did the same on lines throughout his life. People often just let him cut the line, as if sensing he could not psychologically wait in line. For him, his nationality was marked German, the place of visa, Prague, his profession, electrician, his destination, the address of the unknown sponsor whose name and contact his high school history teacher had given him. My dad had told us that he had twenty dollars when he left Le Havre.
I had somehow assumed that it was a small exaggeration. How could someone have so little money? I routinely spent his twenty-dollar bills going downtown to buy candy at the Citicorp with my friends.
But it turns out that was exactly what he had in his pocket. He was never an electrician, of course. I laughed at that one. He would have made a very bad electrician. There are three columns for which the answers are almost every one of the thousand on the list.
When I first saw the towers come down on the news on the morning of September 11, I was, like most people seized with a cold panic, and, immediately, I thought of the many people I knew who very well might have been on one of the planes or in one of the buildings that morning. I felt across the hundreds of miles and decades of time the sting of the humiliation he felt as a young man. For the first time, I saw my dad as terribly alone in his experience at the hands of the Nazis and facing genocide so intimately.
An act of war in New York, his island of safety, all those years ago, was too difficult to even imagine him processing at his age. At first the phone lines were down, and I kept trying until I got through. I brought it up carefully and he went quiet and changed the subject. It was after that, his heart and lungs weakened. The cardiologist said that his lungs had expanded and, actually, pushed up against the wall of the rib cage.
Shortly after that, he went into the hospital. I booked the earliest flight I could. My sister, who was in Amsterdam, had taken the overnight flight. Each of us took a cab to hospital. And, within an hour, my sister, my mother, and I were all there. It was rare for us three to be together. But there we were, his existential people, gathered around him, or was it still him, in his ICU room, the screens bleeping, a machine sending rumbling and artificial inhales and exhales of oxygen through his body?
And then we said goodbye to him and we were the ones left with this hole in our lives. Reva Blau-Parlante juggles teaching middle-school, raising two kids, and writing non-fiction with the support of her partner in life Joe and perhaps too much espresso with lemon. In July I take my daughter to her first swimming lesson.
We walk from our house down to the beach, where a young instructor and a few other neighborhood 2-year-olds meet. Tiny feet trod the path of my youth, hedge-lined, the bricks sprouting crabgrass. The same beach where my dad grew up. A history stretching back seventy years. My daughter is a little fish, just like me. She runs into the waves unafraid, despite encounters with small crabs, barnacled rocks, slippery seaweed.
She is at home in the water, splashing with delight. Plops down on the sand and lets the waves roll over her. I can feel that feeling, when she accidentally gulps a mouthful of seawater. Sting in her sinuses, briny taste on her tongue.
There in the waves, on the ripple-patterned sandbar, I find myself inside my own childhood, a feeling truer than an echo, more vivid than a dream. I am my small self standing under a strong sun, fair skin turning pink-brown, freckled nose peeling. The beach stretches itself out familiar and changing, low tide, high tide, choppy water, water smooth as glass.
Blue sky bunched with cottony clouds, seagulls diving at spider crabs, the rock jetty harboring mussels, Charles Island in the distance. We race each other on kickboards, cut freestyle through the waves. I practice limp-limbed back-floats, water lapping my head, filling my eardrums, soundless, staring into the sky. Eventually, I kick myself upright, unable to touch bottom, surprised at how far the current has taken me.
Midday we flock to the cooler for sandwiches, egg salad escaping the bread with each bite. The juice of plums or nectarines dripping down our chins while we bury the pits in the sand. At low tide we run Red Rover on the sandbars, build drip castles from the black mud, dig moats, construct tiny bridges from reeds.
We inspect razor clams, collect sea glass, bury our legs and wait for the tide to wash us up like horseshoe crabs. We stab purple jellyfish, but handle starfish with care. Venture up to the seawall and crouch beneath the sailboats, ready-made forts.
On high tide days we swim. We are dolphins, mermaids, sharks. We swim until our skin is pickled, fingers and toes translucent and puckered; the whites of our eyes pink from salt.
Occasionally, my grandmother puts a bowl of goldfish crackers on the table that we eat one after another while my mother brushes our wet, tangled hair.
Memories roll in like so many waves. Less nostalgia, more a conjuring, a visceral recall that resides deep in the body. Watching my daughter repeat these routines on the same sand grants me sudden secret access to these other versions of myself, the sensation of experiencing new textures and tastes, color and light, learning the rhythms, the ebb and flow. The other kids take turns with a kickboard, but she resists. Refuses to dip even a toe in the water. The instructor is cheerful and encouraging, but my daughter is not charmed.
In the end, it proves too much, performing in front of strangers, an expectation imposed on her fun. I recall that tentative feeling, the fear and hesitation before trying something for the first time. That weekend, I show her how to scoop water with her small hands, the first step to doggy-paddle. I hold her in the waves, kick kick kick. We search the tide pools for hermit crabs. Dig in the sand. He catches her and swings her into the air before lowering her into the water.
She splashes and paddles and kicks. These are all the swimming lessons she needs right now. The wonder of the water, the body becoming buoyant, held by strong hands. The repeating, the return. She lives in coastal Connecticut with her husband, daughter and two cats. She is currently at work on a memoir.
She blogs daily truths at https: They looked at me with raised eyebrows. Unsure of the answer, I went over to the information kiosk, staffed by a white-haired gentleman who looked seasoned enough to know. I was annoyed that a docent could be so ill-informed.
All of them, I realize, involve my father. My parents split up when I was 7 years old, a moment that forever cleaved away the early part of my childhood. In the way of the newly divorced, my father compensated by frequently taking me to special places on his court-ordered every-other-weekends—the circus, the ballet, the zoo, and the natural history museum.
With my small hand in his, I remember standing at the base of the Smithsonian elephant and watching it slowly move, almost imperceptibly, like the shadow of a sundial.
I remember it facing a different direction every time I walked back into the rotunda. I remember the way the elephant seemed to spot me out of the corner of its eye as it came around again. There was no way I could be wrong. When the kids and I got home from the museum, I crowdsourced a query on Facebook: Did anyone else remember the Smithsonian elephant rotating?
The answers poured in: Still unconvinced, I finally tweeted the question to the Smithsonian itself, which responded unequivocally: I was, frankly, crushed. I began to wonder whether all my other childhood memories were suspect, too. Had I really almost drowned in a motel pool in Beach Haven, New Jersey, until my father swam up and saved me? Did we really keep a box turtle in our kitchen for a week after my dad found it on a bike trail?
Or was it all like the rotating elephant, a figment of my imagination? I may never know the answer. Scientists have studied the phenomenon of false memories for years, and the unreliability of memory has come up in countless cases involving eyewitness testimony. Apparently, our memories are malleable because our brains are taking in so much information all the time, and our thoughts about our memories, as well as our hopes and dreams and other input, inform what we are filing away for future retrieval.
Because my time with my father was so precious in those early days, my experiences with him were seared into my memory bank—or some version of them. Many times I have told the story about how a group of camera-toting tourists accosted my father and me outside the Kennedy Center in the s, convinced that I was presidential daughter Amy Carter and my dad was a Secret Service agent.
Did it really happen? Or maybe just being there with my dad made me feel like we were something more special, together, than we ever were apart. Still, like my father did before me, I like to take my kids to places like the Natural History museum, where they are forming their own memories of the elephant, fixed as it is on the museum floor. Maybe they find enough magic in its broad shoulders, its wide ears, and its sad eyes. In , she was chosen to be the first-ever writer in residence at Shenandoah National Park.
She lives in Arlington, Va. My childhood stairs were carpeted red with little black flecks. The rug was threadbare in places, and I spent hours every day pulling the little wiry strings back to reveal more wood.
The stairs always squeaked as they do in old houses, so that later, as a teenager, I knew exactly which side of which step to avoid when I snuck out to meet my boyfriend in the dead of night.
I felt most comfortable on those stairs, perched on the small landing exactly three stairs from the top, where upstairs became downstairs and daytime became nighttime. I floated down those stairs once; I can still feel the flight in my flesh, the ultimate little girl freedom dream when life had yet to leaden me. That night of the floating dream, I ended up pouring a glass of milk in the kitchen, the cold white liquid overflowing the tall glass, spilling on my hand and then the linoleum floor, waking me up.
One winter afternoon when I was about seven, my father came back from the hospital after having surgery on his hands. All I remember was he disappeared rather suddenly, and was gone at least a week. It was a Saturday morning, and I wore a flannel nightgown with a lace collar and elastic wrists I would pull until they ripped and stretched.
I wore my nightgown all day on the weekends, feeling the freedom of a day without pants. My father was a gorgeous man.
His mole, black and distinctive, sat right on his cheekbone, below his left eye. When he walked in the front door, which was directly at the bottom of the stairs, my mother had to help him take off his coat. She had driven him home. His thumbs were wrapped in white braces wrapped in Velcro to render them immovable. The Velcro scratched my neck, but I kept that to myself.
He kissed my head. He went into the kitchen to talk to my mother and I stayed in the foyer, the black marbled linoleum cold under my feet. A little later, after he went upstairs to rest, I crept up after him and sat again on the stairs, slowly inching my way toward his room. The door was closed and no light shone through the crack at the bottom. I reached the doorframe and sat outside. At first, I thought my father had the TV on. Long low moans punctuated by hiccupping sobs filtered through the doorjamb.
I had never heard my father cry before, though I would hear it again in the years to come. But on this day in my childhood, I had never even considered my father crying a possibility.
He was a mostly happy man who only seemed to ever get upset when I woke him up from a nap, or when my sister and I would pretend to run away, filling our knapsacks with stuffed animals for dramatic emphasis.
I scooted closer to the white, peeling door and held my arms wide and flat. I pressed my face up against it, and closed my eyes, smelling the old paint. My narrative on love, marriage and parenting was tight and exact. Everyone in my family met young, married young, and stayed together until they were old.
I grew up with parents and grandparents all who were still together and mostly happy. The people in my family loved their children fiercely. There was never a doubt in my mind that my parents would do anything for me or for my sister, anything at all. There still is no doubt in my mind about that. If I call, they come. It has been tested more than once, even in my darkest days.
I think, as a child, my understanding of this kind of love made me feel protected and safe. As I grew up and moved away, I set a goal for myself: So when I heard my dad cry from pain, or I saw my mom anxious and worried, or any sliver of doubt made its way under my fingernails, it unwound me.
What I decided on was probably the worst way to deal with anxiety: In a sense, it was this self-magnified promise of parental love and safety that rooted something in me that was both good and bad: As long as I can remember, I have been a hopeless maternal.
I would mother my friends, my pets, my sister and my stuffed animals. I wanted to be able powerful, multitasking, strong. Like my own mother. My mother put us before herself at every instance. There was never any doubt in my mind that my sister and I were the best things that had happened to her.
There was never any competition with friends, or work, or life, really. As I look back, I realize this may not have been the healthiest reality for her, but for us, it was paradise. And it was the way I learned what motherhood meant—giving everything, all of myself, to everyone else.
Every summer, still now, my family rents a cottage on a beach in Cape Cod. The house is tiny and sparse, but the beach is expansive, spectacular, ours. Almost every day, we would walk down to the completely desolate part of the beach, about a half a mile from the eighty stairs that took us up the dune and back to our cottage. There was clay that made itself from the water and the sand and the wind and we would paint it on ourselves with our fingers, sure it would do something magical to our skin and soul.
My mother, sister and I were painting with the magic clay when a gust of wind blew by, whipping sand into our faces. My sister got sand in her eyes and she burst into tears. Catlike, huge, taking up half of her face, they were quick to catch pinkeye and seemed to always be irritated by something. I had closed my eyes in time, my seven- or eight-year-old self much more sandstorm savvy.
We had nothing with us, no towel, not even a tee shirt. And she put her lips right up against one eye, and then the other, licking her eyelids.
That was the kind of thing that big love makes. My mother was a master of motherhood. She put us first always. In that moment, as I watched my mother heal my sister, I knew I needed to have children of my own someday; even then, I wanted the ability to come up with a solution out of thin air.
I wanted to love my children with that kind of thick, unconditional, and obvious maternal love. I wanted, of course, to be loved with that kind of awe too. I wanted, I still want, I think, the kind of gratitude that my sister had for my mother in that moment. Her mommy stopped her pain.
I was twenty-nine and had just had surgery to remove my thyroid and the cancer had grown. It was taking over every inch of my headspace, and I was slowly starting to drive myself crazy. What would my husband do? Should I leave to save him that choice? Usually, hopefully, it was possible to get it under control and live a long, happy life.
Doctors, patients and the internet showed me the gamete of other dire possibilities. Since then, I have heard more varying and optimistic versions. What if I got worse? When foreign agents entered my system, my body tried to kill them. Why would that not happen with a fetus?
Also, this disease and my other autoimmune maladies was genetic. My father suffered from several ailments, as did my grandmother. What right did I have to pass that on to an innocent child? I kept overthinking, bringing myself into reality: What if the cancer comes barreling back? What if I was too tired to help take care of them? What if my husband, Nick resented how much work of a burden he had to shoulder?
My mouth felt coated in cotton and tasted like play dough. Some of my prescriptions came with a side effect of dry mouth, and the aftertaste of the pills was always salty and surprising. I grabbed the water bottle by my side of the bed and took a long swig.
He sighed, turning over to face me. Our bedroom had one big window right next to the bed. I stared out of it in my insomniac nights, watching the trees. The phone lines and their birds turned from black silhouettes to 3-D as the morning arrived. Pinks and oranges painted the sky. Clouds swirled above the buildings and the trees. It was so big, that sky, it made me feel like I could believe in some sort of God.
The sunrise was blocked by the building across the street, but I got up and climbed onto the windowsill to peer around it, trying to find the sun.
I searched the sky for the answer to the real question: Could I live without giving birth? Could I really be like my mom on that day on the beach, ready for anything, giving it my all? Or would I be like her in different ways, ones less strong? We are not supposed to remember things before we are four, but I do, down to the feel of the wallpaper. I remember my mother, deep in her bed with her socks on, sticking out. She never wore socks, so I remember it surprised me.
Her heels were always cracked, like mine are now, and though she perpetually tried to soften them, with creams and gels and special razors, in the summer they immediately toughened up, calloused and yellow and split as soon as she set foot on them.
There was nothing wrong with her skin; it was just the way she was put together. When I was about twenty years old, my mother told me that the best thing she learned in therapy during that period was that at a certain point you get to choose if you want to stay miserable.
After all, we can live inside of sadness for a long time before we see the choice as real. She was sleeping, maybe. She had been in bed for days, maybe weeks, though at age two I should not have been able to remember anything like this, especially not the feel of time. The big fan in the attic was whirling. The air was heavy and hot.
It looked creased and old, though she was just over thirty. Her long dark brown hair spilled over the side of the bed but a thin piece stuck to her cheek with what I realize now was a glue of dried tears. Something was different about my mother then.
She was skinnier than I remembered, weaker. He had me on his hip, which was not really a hip for holding children—bony and sharp. His dog tags, actual dog tags because he thought it was funny to wear them, bumped up against an old Talmud pendant in sterling silver in the jingle that always told me he was there. He looked down at her, and just for a moment, lost his perpetual smile.
The jungle wallpaper behind him became 3-D and I reached out my hand over his shoulder to touch it. It was rough, like real leaves, which at the time I imagined it was. That night, staring out the sunrise, Nick tucked into bed, arguing with me about my chances at motherhood, I realized something. At different times in my life, both my mother and my father were sick in some way. This is true for every child, I suppose.
My mother had some times of sadness, like I do, and my father suffered the kind of severe genetic inflammatory disease I have been dealt. He has thyroid disease, and severe arthritis, and stomach problems, at times. I cannot know if the way I see the world is natural or nurtured. I imagine some of both. But I know what love is. And it is bigger than illness, in all its forms. The kind of love my parents have for me and my sister is fiery and absolute.
I have never doubted it for a minute and I can only hope that someday, someone will trust my love like that; that I will be that love that shines through any of my illnesses; that I will be strong enough. Years later, we are on the beach, the same beach that my family has been going to all my life, the same eighty steps down the bumpy dune from the cottage at the top.
I am with my family, my children, and Nick. Theo and Brieza and I are walking towards the surf. It is colder than usual in July, and the waves are rougher than they usually are on Cape Cod. Nick is perched in a chair out of the way of the water, dressed in a bathing suit and a sweatshirt, holding the rainbow umbrella he just put up with one hand, but having a tough time keeping it still.
My son and my daughter play ahead of me, both only in bathing suits, neither of them cold. I pull a Little Mermaid towel tight around my shoulders, but follow them to the foamy break.
Immediately, I know what happened, and I know what to do. I run to him, lift his five-year-old head in my hands, tilt his chin up and peel his balled up fists from his eyes. I lean down and lick the outsides of each of his eyelids, one by one. There is a thin line between having it all and losing it all. It is on that line I balance. I used to think the beat of my life was uneven, stopping and starting with the poison of sickness. But the more I think about it, the more it seems like the beating has been pretty steady all along.
And on and on. Nick and I have landed in our life. We have two healthy children I thought we could never have. We have jobs, we have a home. We are well more often than we are not. We have an old cat that likes to find the square of sun on the edge of the bed. We battle chronic disease. I used to wonder what would make me whole: Like my need to be healed.
Maybe, if I unfurl myself so that the palm of me is naked to the world, and I am here, in my body and in my life, in my remission, then I can finally be complete.
Right there is freedom. Right there is absolution. Right there is grace. Right there is me. He rang the bell twice and was about to turn around when a boy of perhaps eight opened the door. He had curly black hair Neal imagined girls would one day run their fingers through. Neal could pay for the pizza. Probably should pay for it, but where did that end.
He had never been especially charitable. It would be odd to start now, when he was neglecting his own family. Nevertheless he had the urge to hand over the pizza. He pictured the kid thanking him.
Mama Jane has to get paid. Otherwise there are no more pizzas. Charlie looked like he knew it, too, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head. What was one pizza? A lifetime supply of mint gum filled a Seven-Eleven bag on the floor of the car. Used pieces wrapped in foil sparkled beneath the seats, tumbled across floor mats when he took a sharp turn, flattened beneath his sneakers. He had stashed five thousand dollars in the glove box that morning and now he opened the box to gaze at the loose stack of hundreds.
His wife, Maddy, would be furious if she knew he had cashed in a CD. The thought made him smile. He got home at Maddy was in bed, reading a British novel, the kind that would make an unbearably slow movie. They used to watch movies like that together. She set the book on the nightstand and turned off the light. A halo burned around her white silk pajamas before his eyes adjusted.
She punched up her pillow. The room smelled of the Tom Ford lavender perfume he had put in her stocking last Christmas. In the past, she had worn it as an invitation. He had always been tender. Maybe that was the problem.
Standing outside, he re-read the stickers on the door: Can I come in? Since Maddy had gone back to work as a paralegal a month ago, he drove the girls to school in the morning. He had looked forward to spending the time with them. He had forgotten it the night before. It was his fault they were pushy. Always giving them whatever they wanted. He had once taken pride in earning enough to spoil them, and it had been easier than saying no.
Now it was too late. He knew from experience to give in or Avery would throw a fit. Wrestling with the sign, he scratched the roof of the car, cutting a jagged line through the luminous paint.
He drove to school, both girls riding in the back, making him feel like a goddamn chauffeur. They used to fight to sit in front with him. In the rear view mirror, he stared at them. Allie had recently cut hers in a bob, he guessed so people would stop calling her Avery. How two such attractive girls could have come from him was a mystery. After he dropped them off, emptiness took hold of his day. Alone in the house, he started at sounds of appliances breathing on and off, and birds smacking into windowpanes.
Maddy had left a printout of the Landtech job description on his desk. When he saw it, his chest tightened. Struggling to breathe, he ran out the back door, sat on the concrete stoop, and put his head between his knees.
The first time it happened, he was in front of a room full of clients, giving a presentation, like hundreds he had given before. As he clicked through his PowerPoint slides.
Sweat soaked his forehead and splattered the remote control. He mopped his face with a linen handkerchief. Never had he been so afraid without knowing what he was afraid of. The oak conference table wavered. His clients were a blur of blue suits. Somehow he managed to get through the slides and never-ending questions. That was five years ago, and hardly a week had passed since then without an episode. They happened at work and occasionally at home if he was thinking about work.
When his consulting firm went bankrupt two months ago, he secretly celebrated, filled with relief. He had an MBA. How could work terrify him? Early on, he had diagnosed himself on the Internet, ordering Klonopin from a Mexican website, popping two when the panic attacks were at their worst. When his breathing returned to normal, he went inside. On their monogrammed stationery, Maddy had left him lists of things to do.
They had let go of the housekeeper, but if Maddy thought he would scrub toilets or mop floors she was mistaken. She had never done those things, taking golf lessons while the kids were in school. He crumpled the list of household chores and tossed it in the trash, folded a grocery list and put in his pocket.
Allie had stayed after school for band practice. They had gone only half a block when she opened the glove box. His heart pounded in his temples. Are you a drug dealer? Is that what you do all day? Glancing over, he saw her counting the money and he grabbed the bills, swerving and nearly hitting a parked car. He shoved the money back in the glove box and banged it shut.
With the back of his hand he wiped his forehead. What did she want it for? Did she do drugs? But the worst of it was how she mocked him, writing in one: I have to buy his shirts by the dozen. He had positioned the laptop behind his rear wheel and backed over it, thinking about the man in the plaid cap whose red nose Maddy had so often mocked.
Then he had laid the machine on her pillow. He pretended to look at the issue of Sports Car Market he had been reading. Maddy cradled the computer, trying to keep its shattered parts together. To get to the pizza shop, Neal drove through a neighborhood of castle-like homes. Swimming pools liquefied sprawling backyards. Changing rooms the size of small homes pushed up out of the ground.
Anorexic teens lay on lounge chairs, sipping lemonade served by Central American maids. She never asked personal questions, though she must have wondered about the BMW and the thick gold wedding ring. Neal remembered delivering pizza the summer of his senior year in high school, sleeping until two in the afternoon, getting stoned before heading to work, and flirting with a girl named Melissa who came in for slices.
When she learned he was starting Cornell in the fall, Melissa waited for his shift to be over and then blew him in his Camaro among empty soda cups and burger wrappers. Even without a family, she seemed happy. Perhaps that was the secret, Neal thought.
She muted Jimmy Fallon. Delivering pizzas out of his car the past few weeks, open space all around him, he had felt calm. People all over the world live on less than a hundred dollars a month. The girls were a problem. Their expectations were too high. We should sell the house and move to an apartment. I could get rid of the car, buy a beater for the pizza route.
She turned toward the TV. Gave Jimmy back his voice. The studio audience was laughing at a bit, but Neal imagined even they thought his idea was ridiculous. She hugged her legs and dropped her forehead to her knees. Her voice, softer now, sounded like it might crack. Just because I sent e-mails to a golf pro? Here was his opportunity to confess his malady. She was volunteering at a soup kitchen. But it had been years since their lives revolved around anything other than the girls and the remodel and getting into the right golf club, which turned out to be the disastrously wrong golf club.
When he picked Avery up after school the next day, she snapped open the glove box. He was starting to hate her. He still loved her but he also hated her. The car swerved but he righted it. It was at the root of all of his problems. Or she was making the girl up. She should ask her parents. Furious, Neal leaned over and grabbed her arm. All he was to her—to all of them—was a paycheck. Maddy had already replaced him with an alcoholic golf pro.
The sound of the impact wiped everything else out. The interior of the car flashed white. Neal was shoved back in his seat, his eyes closed. Avery had broken three ribs and had a concussion. Her hair was a patchwork, shaved in half a dozen places where the doctors had stitched her scalp. A jagged cut furrowed her right cheek. She would find out soon enough, and she would blame him for destroying her appearance and the status that went along with it and for all the glances she would get that would be curious rather than admiring.
It was his fault. Allie stood behind her mother, staring at Avery. Allie fell asleep in a chair and Maddy motioned for Neal to follow her into the hall. New lines appeared beneath her eyes. Bright hospital lights bounced off the walls and the linoleum floor. It seemed an appropriate place for an interrogation. Neal longed to go back in time, uncash the CD, and save Avery. Maddy had rushed to the hospital from work and still wore her tailored gray suit and narrow pumps.
She shifted back and forth, uncomfortable in the shoes or the conversation, or both. When he tried to take her hand, she pulled away. And we were doing that goddamn remodel. Everything was so expensive. The fixtures, the windows, the cabinets—they might as well have been made of gold. I was worried enough for the both of us. You stopped talking to me. Telling me what was going on inside you.
I thought you were having an affair. He spent the next day in the hospital with Avery, who ignored him except when she wanted something. In the hospital gift shop, he bought the copies of Elle and Vogue she had asked for.
And anything he tried to say, about how she would get through this, she would contradict. That was how it had been lately.
Not from the cafeteria. From the health food store on Lakeville. He returned with her lunch and was about to enter the room when he heard her sobbing. Neal gathered them, dropped them in the trash, and washed his hands. Mama Jane was kneading dough without looking at it, pressing and folding it over itself.
The dough looked pure and smelled ripe with yeast. Neal briefly wished he were a pizza chef instead of a delivery boy. I could sell it by the slice and save you a trip. He picked the box up off the counter. He was betting on a sure thing. When he arrived at the house, he set the pizza down, rang the doorbell and retreated to his car.
Driving away, he saw in his rear view mirror Charlie take the box inside. Maizes lives in Colorado with her husband, Steve, and her dog, Rosie, under the benevolent dictatorship of Arie, the cat. We like to have a destination when we walk. A place to arrive. Life with a baby is easier with small goals, the day divided into manageable hours. An hour of tummy time. An hour of napping. An hour at the thrift store, hunting for cheap treasures. Boomerangs, with its orange block-lettered sign and kitschy window displays a chess game set up mid-play on a wicker table with matching chairs, a mannequin wearing a vintage fur-trimmed dress looking into heavy mirror rimmed with embossed gold , sits just a few doors down from the Goodwill and its junkier junk.
In the gentrified neighborhood of Jamaica Plain, three miles west of downtown Boston, Boomerangs serves the young white professionals like us who drive the rent up and pay more for their plastic art deco chair, their distressed leather jacket. We picked out a hardcover copy of Make Way for Ducklings , an adorable story set in Beacon Hill, and a copy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory for when Benna is a bit older and can sustain attention for chapter books. She had custody of me from the time I was two, and I had started memorizing my books by then.
It was called Not So Rotten Ralph. The story features a lanky red cat with green, globular eyes that plays practical jokes on people and gets sent to feline finishing school in an attempt to make Ralph good. I court nostalgia where I can. When I cracked the still-stiff spine, an unopened card fluttered down to the dirty tile floor of the store. Its envelope was still crisply sealed and folded, preserved like a clover by the covers of the book.
I tore the envelope open immediately. I was twelve years old in Frizzy, curly hair bluntly cut and hanging triangular around my face. My first love, John Lacy, moving away in the seventh grade. My first experience with unshakeable sadness. Did its recipient, the grandchild, feel slighted by its lateness, or simply uninterested in the banality of the accompanying book? Or was it simpler than I was making it, the card and check simply misplaced and forgotten in the chaos of a home with young children?
And what about the sender? A man in a relationship with someone who was not Grandma. A man who wrote out, in careful cursive, a twenty-five dollar check and placed it inside a card that makes a subtle nod to shortcomings. My own father, dead two years now, often gave money as a present.
Sometimes for no reason at all, he would slip me a twenty, a fifty, even a hundred dollar bill. It used to upset my mother, the way he spoiled me without cause, the way he used money to show love, dropping me off at her house on Thursday evenings loaded with shopping bags from the mall.
Buying love, she said, though we both came to understand it differently. He once sent me home with a check for five thousand dollars. Give this to your mother, he told me. And yes, sure, he still loved her. It made him vulnerable, easily pierced, even preemptive in his need to know I loved him. He lived in the apartment above my aunt, his footsteps muffled by brown shag carpet and the sound of the television, the History Channel or a Yankees game. Occasionally, his need would grow so loud that it required immediate relief.
Then he waited to hear the words. I love you so much. Desperate for rest, we sleep-trained Benna when she was six months old. I heard that it is customary for Home Depot to offer a small psychological test during an initial interview.
I was employed by Home Depot and a psychological test was pre emptive before the interview in We are dealing with the general public and as a customer service employee presentation is a necessity. I have been patience with them and they just seem to be a bumbling bunch of misfit's Saint Cloud Florida is one of the worst stores to do Business Timothy is been drop on his head to many times.
Home Depot is not what it used to be. I will take my business some where else I recommend you do to.. I was going to purchase 27 boxes of laminate flooring but before doing so i asked an asst. ID card to do so and to purchase tounge and grove pine for my wall at a later date. I was not carrying my ID Card and the attendant explained that I had 7 days to claim. Not so, when I returned 4 days after, the Assistant Mgr. The week of Feb. Larry said he was not aware of the 7 days and he would talk to the Store Mgr Hector R.
I will continue buying at HD, but I feel sorry that your mgt seems to believe that I do not deserve at least the promised call to show that you care.
I am a semi-retirde general contractor. Your company comes into an area and knocks out all the local lumber yards. That's fine, that's business, but then you masquarade as a supplier for general contractors.
I was trying to put in an order of approx. I'd love to hear what one of you Coraorate wives would say if their house was ripped apart and that they had to wait till Monday for me to order material. Being a Contractor is not an office job. We do not have the luxury of staying home on Sat. I'm a contractor on Maui, I have had your pro desk give me a quote on a window which I spec out for them. They did a great job finding and ordering the sample window for me.
I explained to them that each building will have 3 windows times 84 units. The window and door dept.
I was told that they had to let him go. I can't believe that they would fire some one without training someone else. The Pro desk guys can do so much. The are great and very helpful but they are also so busy with at the counter. Mo, Misty, Dawn, Pat, Thank you, you guys rock at the pro desk. I sent the president and treasure of the assoication to Home depot to pay for all the windows. They went to the pro desk but were very busy. They went to the windows and doors desk,no one was there.
They were there for about 45mins. No one came by to help them. They did go back to the pro desk but they were very busy. So, they walked out.
That put me in a bad spot and you guys just lost a sale. I have had to go else where to get windows and doors. There is no one at window and doors there that knows what to do. They should have a sign out there, Temp. Hello I am a Marine Combat disabled vet of 10 years. I have been putting in my application to Home Depot Elk Grove branch for months now. I never got a call back and when I went in to talk to the human resources rep she turned me away.
I called the store manager and he hung up on me. I know home depot advertises that they hire veterans I don't know how I can be more of a veteran. Freedom isn't free and some of us are carrying the load for everyone else. When it was time for me to do my 2 bathrooms, I thought of having them do my bathrooms since they did a good job on my kitchen except for my LG Refrigerator which I bought at the store.
It was a nightmare. It took about 3 mos. The designer ordered different style cabinets, incomplete holes on tub deck, holes not big enough to fit bath faucets. In between these issues they would stop and it will take working days before they come back to work and stress filled phone calls to the store and contractor.
They moved on somewhere to their next project and they are just trying to fit me into their schedulemind you, I paid for the installation and materials in advance.
On the last day, the silestone guy came an hour late to drill bigger holes on my tub deck. I called the contractor so they can start early. Apparently, I have to wait for them to finish rewiring their office before they can come to my house.
They finished at almost 8: When we were doing the walk thru I asked about my motion sensor occupancy switch which was not installed. The contractor told me that I will just get reimbursed for it. I know I paid more than that 4. She also said, If i want to have it installed,they will charge me extra for installing it. They demolished my old bathroom last Nov. I am still battling them over my refund. The store was suppose to call me back two days ago. Please, I want this resolved.
That's the power of Home Depot" I was very disappointed to find out that Home Depot altered its policy towards veterans. I know that your policy is that you'll honor any competitor's prices I had no idea you were a bunch of left wing liberal butt heads. You have every right to pull the advertising, i have every right to stop spending our hard earned money at your company. I do not wish to have my tax money spent so some woman with loose morals can feel good about having sex at will and know she has someone else around that will pay for her contraception.
You guys suck and i will not be using your store any more. Are you also opposed to health insurance covering viagra? Sure does sound like he needs some Viagra. Wouldn't be surprised if this right-winger hasn't had any for a while. Dozens of people standing around, very friendly, smiling, greeting, asking "can I help you find anything? After 3 'helpers' all of whom state with a big smile that they know nothing about asphalt patch products, I am led around up and down aisles while we search for it together.
I follow and follow. Concrete patch, but no asphalt patch I guess they moved it! As I left I passed 3 more very friendly people who asked me "Can I help you find anything? Stayed home and hired people to bring in materials and delivery did not show up, after my paid help left then i got a call that delivery was on its way.
I refused to accept it, but SAM the delivery co-ordinator he said he is wants to co-ordinate my delivery to suit himself. He is very rude and is in need of some customer relations training. Home Depot, a lot of your employees are rude, please invest in some customer relation training. It would be very nice and refreshing to have more pleasant people helping us the paying customers.
I contacted Home Depot in Lakeland Florida three days ago to check on a special order placed on and was to receive in 7 to 10 days. I got a phone call that it was delayed which is not good, then when I called to store to check on this and tell them why this was not acceptable due to the fact that I am having contractors in for remodeling and this is disrupting the agreed upon dates and the original order was placed in plenty of said delivery date, the person I talk to was to call me right back and here it is three days later and still no return call.
This store is very slow and does not give the best of service nor are they representing your advertised helpful staff. I am a former US Marine that served this country for 6 years, I have purchased numerous products at your facilities in many locations. So if your policy has changed toward the military personnel, my policy will change toward your facilities and I will contact all the past veterans in the VFW and Post that I frequent and relate your bias policy toward veterans Charles mc Gee Bayonne, NJ I'm writing this message because my review of a product on the Home Depot website was "rejected.
I returned to the website to confirm that the faucet was included, which the website confirmed. Nine days later, today, I still have yet to receive the faucet. I called Home Depot to inquire, and guess what, the website now indicates that the faucet "is not included.
I was informed that nothing can be done without proof, and here I am, vanity set without a faucet. I only purchased this product because it was supposed to come with everything, vanity, sink and faucet.
Significantly, some of the old reviews even indicate that the faucet was included. I noted this to the person on the phone, but she could not help me. So, I received my rejection notice today by e-mail. The e-mail states that "Unfortunately, your review did not meet our guidelines for posting on our site for the following reason s: Some type of content that did not conform to our guidelines.
Sign into your homedepot. Write your product review. Preview your review and submit. Product reviews are intended to help fellow customers make informed buying decisions. Focus on the product features and your experience with them.
Provide details about why you like or dislike the product. Because this is a public site, we read all reviews before posting them. Reviews containing any of the following types of content will not be posted: Obscenities, discriminatory language or other language not suitable for public forums.
E-mail addresses, URLs, phone numbers, physical addresses or other forms of contact information. Critical or spiteful comments on other reviews posted on the page or their author. Unless I am missing something, how does my review fall outside of these guidelines? I am clearly focusing on my experience with this product, my dissatisfaction buying from the website, and if anything, shining light on false advertisement.
Significantly, my product review is certainly helping fellow customers make informed buying decisions, such as, print out product description from website as evidence of everything the product is supposed to include. Unfortunately, that was my mistake. I am so completely appalled by how I was treated that it would be catastrophic for me not to post reviews of the HD everywhere. Clearly the Home Depot does not care at all about my concerns or any of their customers. I will never purchase from here again.
After today's experience and reading all of these reviews, I don't think I will be shopping at HD anymore Why does The Home Depot Sales Associates recommend products that they have little or no knowledge about?
They do not conduct any type of formal training, or for that matter, even have a real training program! So I don't understand how they can allow people to recommend products that they do not truly understand themselves. The Home Depot is garbage The customer service is cheesy, the Home Depot website has no real presence and they are behind the times when it comes to utilizing different methodology such as Lean Six Sigma or the Kanban Systems for supply logistics.
The people are not engaged and the corporate agenda only sees dollar signs. Success Sharing is a joke. You overwork and under pay your people year around, then after taxes they don't have anything left.
You should give them a bonus, Success Sharing or not! Aparently the instalation dept its not up to part yet. The products that you buy in home depot are cheaply made and are not worth the low price that you pay for them.
I bought a kitchen faucet there and it would not pass water. Apparently there was an orifice that had not been machined and there was no place for the water to exit.
Bought a bathtub there and the finish was of such poor Quality that it has to be scrubbed every time it is used or it looks like hell. And that sink faucet, after one year the finish looked as if had been installed thirty years ago. I honestly believe that every corner on every product in there line has been cut in order to boost corp. Everything that is purchased there will have to be replaced within five years witch is good for even more profits.
First of all, I would like to thank you for the oppertunity to work at The Home Depot. But the problem is I'm not getting my oppertunity. Why can't front end departments crossclock? I don't think that's fair to associates who want to advance their skills and knowledge.
Well I am a big supporter of Home Depot and I also support coke own stocks. I say to both of you — you are doing the right thing. Being against voter fraud. Democrats seem to love voter fraud, because they fight against doing the right thing — they will find any excuse to stop laws identifying voters to pass. Imagine democrats fighting against honest voting. But that what they do — anything to gain and stay in office, and in the process screw up the country. Give you one example of a person both screwing up the country and everyone in it.
Thu, Apr 5, 8: A Hampton Bay fan. Everyone that I have spoken to in the H. I've been trying to get a replacement part. I tried the factory in California. I tried at my local H. Today the elcon man was here. Although I explained my problem and my need for the correct piece a remote receiver to him on the phone yesterday BEFORE he came here, he assured me that he could fix my fan and indeed had the part in his truck , because I do not want to become my own general contractor.
His final response and diagnosis, once in my home, was "I think I once installed a fan like this. He used MY ladder to examine the fan -- his apparently wasn't tall enough. Further, "They might not make this part anymore" and "The new part may not be compatable with what is in your fan" again, OMG!!!
What is going on at Home Depot? I was told again that I have to order the part. I should order the part when a so-called professional is flumoxed by the project? Hopefully you can help me. I've searched the Internet and my universal remote is still sold. My remote receiver is broken.
They can't be incompatable if the universal remote is still sold on the open market. When I called California they weren't open yet.
When they opened they were overwhelmed by the east coast calling them and I was told to call back about 3 o'clock to avoid a crowd. This is how business is done at Home Depot? How can I depend on someone, sight unseen, to order a part for my fan when the professional who saw my fan couldn't do the job? This is not my field of expertiese and I do not want to act as a general contractor! I just saw where a young man was fired from Homo Depot for wanting to join the Marines.
You can bet your bottom dollar this is going to go viral and hurt your business. On March 19 I ordered a double security door from Home Depot online.
When I ordered I was told someone would call to let me know when the delivery would take place so that I could arrange to be home. I have been checking the online status faithfully and was told the order is "being processed". I have called the customer service several times, stayed on hold for over 20 minutes, and had to hang up. Today I stopped at home during my lunch break. There on my porch, blocking the front door, were the heavy security doors!
I am a 64 year old female. I struggled to move the doors to get into the house. This is my first and last order from Home Depot online. Thanks for the crappy customer service. When I go to the store in ElCerrito Richmond CA if you need help you need to be a cowboy with a rope to catch some one to help you. When they see you coming they run away with their cell phone to their ear, yes that is what they do most of the time there talk on the cell phone. I was trying to fine 3 or 4 good 4 by 4s today this is the worst place to look for lumber they are stacked and the 4by4s were on the bottom run and four 4ft back I was on my knees trying to find one that was good or even half way good.
I was not able to move any of the lumber and the ones I could see were the worst. I wish a better store would open up here I would be the fisrt one in the door. I can not understand how they have been around since There needs to be a national do not shop at Home Depot. Oh we use to have a great store here in our area "Yard Bird" untill Home Depot bought them out Wow did I cry that day.
Home Depot get your act together or get out of town. I have 7 kids I am trying to raise!!! I was in a serious car accident in and was unable to work until jusr recently. I am a Home Depot fan always have been. So you can imagine my excitement when the opportunity came up to work as an installer for one of your many istallation companies. I was proud to tell my wife and kids I was going to install for the Home Depot.
I am a skilled tradesmen with 16 years experience in my trade. Customer service is my top priority. I am well respected in my trade by both my customers and fellow tradesmen. I have no idea how you allow second rate companies like the installation company that I worked for do anything for you.
They are thieves and hacks. They are pimping out our skills at cut throat rates that don't equal a first year apprentice wage. I have no idea if Home Depot has even a clue what this company pays the installers that go into your house but its nothing compared to what you are paying them.
We are your clean up crew guys. We walk into your customers homes. We are the ones who cause a customer to say "WOW!!
If everyone could do my job I would not have a job. I served a 4 year apprenticeship and gave another 12 years of field service. This makes me a professional with the ability to tell you what my skill is worth. I know this makes no difference to Home Depot they see us as a dime a dozen.
I am here to tell you though your installers are a dime a dozen and I personally am embarrassed that I ever installed anything for Home Depot.
My suggestion to Home Depot is this, hire local tradesmen pay them what they are worth and you wont have to threaten them over tens. You will automatically get them. Your customers deserve the best. Only on hold for 2 min a rep in kitchen and bath said "No we dont have them in stock",.
I asked if they can check another store and right away he said no other stores have them. He expected me to be satisfied with that answer. Then I said "What can I do" and he said I can order them for you. I agreed to have them ordered. Not even 24 hours after that phone call I went to home depot to get some other items I needed and figured Id check the cabinet section and right in front of me were 3 of each of the 2 cabinets I needed. I went to another rep in kitchens and without telling the story I asked if he had these 2 cabinets in stock and right away he said oh no we dont have them.
I walked him over and showed him that in fact you do have 3 of each and he said "OH". So i told him I am going to bring back my damanged and return them for the undamaged cabinets. He told me to go to the front desk. After going there I expressed I dont want any problems when returning the cabinets because I have to borrow a truck to return them and pick them up. She said there will be no problem. She said we ordered these cabinets for you and they arent in yet and I said "You have 3 of each in stock".
After an hour she finally returned the 2 I had for the 2 undamaged ones. I find on my statment that they gave me the credit for the cabinets and charged me 2 times for the cabinets I exchanged them for.
I went back yesterday and explained and again she took that charge off. I look at my online recent activity and yet again they charged me again. What should have been a simple exchange turned into 2 credits and 3 charges. I will not buy another thing from home depo again they are to willing to sell you an extended warranty on a purchase I made then when I had trouble with the item they were of no help the staff at return desk was rude an no help this happen at lake ozarks store in Missouri I will tell everyone I know not to wast your money at home depo go to lowes they are more helpful an honor there extended warranty san are more than,willing to help I am very sorry I wasted my time buying anything here last time I make that mistake.
I live in Maine and am a Disabled American Veteran. Shame on you Home Depot. I urge all you Vets retired and active to shop at Lowes where you are still appreciated for your service. To Home Depot Management: Throughout my 20 years association with your company, I likewise have had good and poor service. Ben disappointed several times but have eventually worked out the issues.
On more than six occasions within the past two months, Jeremy has seen my wife and I loading goods into our car and excitedly came to help us. He is an absolutely GREAT credit to your organization and so pleasant that my wife and I do look forward to our trips to your store.
Although I am 65 yrs old and my wife 60, Jeremy does not just lavish his attention on older shoppers; I see him helping anybody loading their cars or trucks in the parking lot. Whatever you are paying him, it's not enough. I say to you to consider him for management. He certainly has the right attitude for greater contributions to your corporate culture. James Vigent of Sacramento, Calif. I have been going to home depot for several years now here in clinton ms.
I have just realized that there is not one single person there that can make a intelligent decision. After being blessed enough to open yet a second company I have found that home depot does not need nor want my little two to three thousand dollars a week. See they let telachecck decide who gets to buy from them. Ihave had two checks denied because of telacheck in two days in a row even after I was promised the first day that it would not happen again but guess what it did.
I have never had a returned check in my life and dont plan on starting now but thats not the real issue here. Iwas told its not because of returned checks or the amount of checks that are written or even the amount of money in the account they just tell me that I dont fit there criteria at this time so they decline my check.
The young lady that I call last told me she understood but it could and would continue to happen but all I had to do is put my material to the side and call them while Im at the store so they can call me on my company phone and verify that I am who I am and they would let the check go thruogh.
Well I cant speak for anyone eles but I have emploies waiting on me so I cant just hang out and wait on telacheck. So Italk to the manager of the store and he says there is nothing he can do and that I should open a credit card account well that really pissed me of because we pay as we go thats why both of my companies are dedt free not everyone lives on credit and credit cards and I didnt see that as a fix.
So Icall the customer complaint department and tell me the understand but I was going to have to call telacheck and see if Icould get this fixed. Well geuss what to hell with home depot they are the ones losing my business from both companies as well as the two companies that I have interest in so u would think they would grow a pair and find out therselve why telacheck is running of customers insteaed of asking the customer to do ther damn job for theem.
Lowes,Ace Hardware,84Lumber Prassles do not have a problem taking my company checks at all. My business is going very well I hate I can no loner go to home depotbecause they are less than two min. I would like to know how to get in touch with someone with home depot that can make a decision with out telling me that I have to work out the problems myself. Iwould hope that someone is the damn boss and isnt scared.
Until I can I cant go back to home depot for any reason. If anyone with home depot sees this and gives a damn about my busneiss. My email is tlwadford gmail. They say that their core values is taking care of their people this company is far from that.
I just want say that store is the place to go if you're an Identity thief. How easy can that be when a thief makes a boo-boo like that and nobody questioned it? Accuracy, I think not, far from it.
These errors will compound on one another and will affect all levels management in there planning and implementation processes leading to a displeasing end. To who might concern, I am very disappointed by the lack of professionalism of the management of the Home Depot in New Rochelle.
Last Friday I went to the store to order 4 patio doors the person in the door department was absent so somebody from management named Clyde came to help me.
After a good hour we had finally picked the doors but he could not print the proposal due to what he said were technical difficulties. He promised to send it by e-mail that evening. The proposal never came. I called on Saturday and subsequently on Monday. Clyde was nowhere to be fund and after leaving messages with my information I never received a call back or any e-mails. Last night finally somebody called me to tell me that the sale had expired but if I wanted I could have gone down to the store to order the doors.
It is clear that your personnel have no interest in helping clients I can understand the lack of interest from the part of a low level employee but I was not expecting it from management.
It is often that you see complaints on these types of sites, but I would like to comment about a wonderful experience that I had yesterday at the Gurnee, IL Home Depot store After the bank I stopeed at Home Depot to pick up some gardnening supplies.
I searched everywhere in my car and it was nowhere to be found. I realized that my daughter was trying to get into my purse and I was certain she must have pulled it out and dropped the envelope at Home Depot. I called the store and spoke to 2 different women, but no one had turned in the envelope. I then decided that I should still run to the store and retrace my steps, perhaps it was still somewhere on the floor. At this point I was very doubtful that I would find the money.
I was certain that someone had found it and kept it. I retraced my steps and was ready to leave the store when I noticed a store employee near the customer service desk, we made eye contact and as I'm walking out the door, something told me to turn around and go ask him if anyone had turned in the envelope. After I describe the envelope and the amount and type of bills, he tells me the money is safe, he found it and put it in the HOme Depot safe.
I actually had a few tears. To come across an honest person such as him is amazing, most people today would have found the envelope and kept the money in it. I have a Cub Cadet Zero Turn riding lawn mower. I purchased the extended warranty from Home Depot. But of course now that I need to use the warranty, it seems that it can't be fixed or under the warranty!
They told me I had to write a letter to claims to get it approved to be fixed I call all the numbers and get no where! No one will let me talk to the people that are making the decision on what they can fix! Guess its time to take further actions legally. Most the products are pretty good. I haven't experience a lot of difficulties with their service or products except when they change to cheaper product vendors, sometimes the installation may take longer to install.
As with any store you have to select the best quality products that will last, keeping your customers happy is the name of the game. Well, after reading all the negative comments I would like to add one more. Home Depot should be ashamed of their customer service status. What a nightmare it has been My daughter ordered a new kitchen counter.
The counter was cut wrong with the backsplach being a foot too long and a small section of counter being cut too small. They were told that yo often have to "sand" down the back splash or cut it with a mitre saw.
Needless to say, they are newly weds and a mitre saw was not a bridal gift nor was it on their registry. So after calling and visiting the store they have made a compromise You should get what you ordered.
They don't want to lose money to correct the problem so they expect the consumer to compromise. They just keep draggin it out hoping you will give u p. Well, Home Depot, hang on for the ride of a life time because I don't give up! They are such a bunch of assholes and con artists They will never see another dime from this family and we will do everything in our power to see friends and family to not support them.
My adult daughter and I visited the Home Depot in Irving, Texas this afternoon with the intent of staying for several hours to possibly purchase tile and new counter tops for home projects.
We were in the store for about 30 min looking around and walking. We had already looked at time and counter tops but were awaiting the professional help desk when we walked over to the paint area. My daughter was dresses in a sleeveless top and shorts and I was in a short sleeve top and cotton pants.
There must have been changes from the corporate office. I talked to a couple of my friends whose children work at home depot in the DFW metroplex and they said their children complain all the time about the heat. They said to remember it is a warehouse I would think Home depot would be interested in keeping customers in the store and to make their experience wonderful so they would stay longer and want to come back. Quit acting like a cheap business and think about your customer service!
My product that I paid for was not delivered for a week and when it did it was all defective. I was treated very rotten by store at tilly mill and the managers Erick and Scott were down right rude and very un professional and ignored me after a month of run around!!! Im filling a law suit and I will win but it just tells you how much HD really cares!!!!!!!!!! Shame on them for trying to take advantage of a small bus. I will not buy a pencil from them anymore. I reported them to BBB and will go all out to do anything I can to turn people away.
My name is Rami and my bus. I am also a contractor and I am done with them hd. Today whish is June 8th , I went to Home depot in Belton Missouri to look into buying a humidifier. I saw one on line and needless to say, it was not in the store.
So the store helper by the Name of Jennifer, asked if she could assist me. She took me over to the area where the humidifiers were and what I was looking for was not there. But she said follow me if you spotted it on line. She took me to the customer service desk, turned the computer screen so I could see it and helped me buy the dehumidifier on line, that would be delivered free of charge to my house.
Jennifer was very patient, understanding, helpful and friendly. Not only does she. I was even allowed to use my military discount. Thank you Jennifer and thank you home depot for all your support. Sincerely Jim Lumpkin Missouri. I am getting the clear impression that there are employees at our HD that are not interested in doing business.
Certainly not all of them, but one is too many. I've been trying to get a Privacy fence installed. After three trips to discuss and negotiate, I finally get my call from what I was told would be the HD folks who would arrange to come by my house and show me what they had and what it would cost.
The call was from the installer, after-hours who told me he doesn't have access to the information that I gave the Contractor's desk in the store, and that they don't come to the house. My only requirement was that the fence not have knot holes or splits. That the spacing be 6 foot rather than 8 foot, and that I preferred the panels mounted in the galvanized clips rather than on the face of the 4x4s.
Without even discussing any cost to me, I was told that HD wouldn't do what I was asking. I wasn't looking for something that I wouldn't be paying for. Good way for HD to insure that they go out of business by not taking the business from the customer 'at the door'.
That will never happen again. Ive never felt so disrespected in my life. Then doing a little research I have found out that this employee has had several complaints about him and he is sleeping with a member of management so he never gets in trouble.
If this is how you want your customers to feel then keep up the good work as for Ernie if you dont do something maybe the local authorities can. On June 2nd I ordered a refrigerator which had to be sent from the warehouse.
I was told they would have it in the store on the 11th and that on June 12th it would be delivered to my home. Today I received a call telling me my refrigerator would be delivered June 16th. Two weeks ago I paid for this refrigerator. I expected them to deliver as promised. If it needed to be one day late, I could understand. I will never buy anything again from Home Depot.
Do yourself a favor and do not shop at home depot. I have spent literally thousands and thousands of dollars at home depot I'm a contractor. I have an issue with an inferior product emergen switch generator panel which they no longer stock Bye bye home depot! This is all taking place at the Boca Raton store on Glades rd. I will like to extend my deepest appreciation to MIKE the store manager and his crew of the home depot in western hills Cincinnati Ohio location.
Mike brought a crew and Tool Boxes to build and helped the men here build them. The men were so thankful and so happy after Mike left. Thank you so much. Mike and his crew were able to help the men reminisce about a lot of good memories from their past. The smiles and the enjoyment I seen in my residents faces, because of that I thank you. Went to the Home Depot at 2 colma blvd in Colma California and was very disapointed in what I saw when I left the store.
They had a very tattered american flag on the flag pole. I am not sure they know this is a huge sign of disrepect to our country and the people who fight for it. Heres some american flag etiquette for the novice Please pay attention to number 5 on the list 1. There are flag disposal services that will gladly take care of your flag respectfully for you, but you should never, ever throw away a flag.
That Old Navy t-shirt is a violation of the Flag Code. Flag boxers, flag ties, etc. Advertisements are a no-no. The American Flag is not supposed to be used in advertising of any kind. The American Flag should never be displayed beneath the flag of another country — everyone knows that!
They have to be at the same height. And if you display the flag of another country, the two have to be about the same size.
The American Flag should only be hung from the Union side the side with the stars on the blue field or displayed flat against a wall. If you display your flag after dark, light it. I brought a tool from home and asked one of your employees if you had others in store just like it.
I also asked what the name of the tool was. He took it out of my hands, proceeded to put it up to his ear and told me that "girls like me should wear tools for earrings or necklaces" and then laughed at me.
I don't think I need to tell you how disgustingly and overtly sexist that is. I didn't catch the man's name, as I was so shocked I just wanted to make my purchase and leave as quickly as possible. I have already posted on Home Depot's Facebook page with this story, as well as mine. I plan to tell everyone I know how sexist and degrading my experience was.
For the record, I am an artist. I sell my merchandise at a local store and purchase all materials for said art at Home Depot. I'm disappointed I have to find a new place to shop. Dear Frank Blake You and your company SUCKS your store managers can't or wont work with a person that needs to work a second job to support their Family with a second job because there is a disability in the family due to the fact the man of the household was hurt on the job and needs a second income at store in richfield ut how sad is that you say you are family oriented what a crock of bull that is you will never understand that income is so important to ends meet wow what a company!!!!
Hope home depot enjoys stealing money from. They were finally delivered today. My contractor opened the first box and the drawers didn't match the cabinet!! Trying to get help at store level is a complete joke!
Trying at corporate level is worse. Everyone keeps passing the buck. No one wants to be accountable for their mistakes. We have spent over 10 grand there but will never shop at their stores again.
Will not match contractors prices with Lowe's. They have lost our business for good. Their personnel are horrible people. No courtesy towards customers. Lowe's has all of my and my family and friends business in the future.
I know a store manager who is stealing from his store, giving away merchandise… is HD interested in knowing who he is? I had a fence installed through the Smyrna TN location and a year after it was installed the fence has started leaning outward because the company they contracted to come out and put the fence up didn't drill like they said they would if they hit rock. Instead come to find out they just went as far down as they could poored the concrete and put up the fence.
Now Home Depot is refusing to have my fence fixed properly since that company didn't do it correct the first time. Brian McLaughlin I bought a generator panel for my home that is hooked into the main electrical panel in the house,this is for plugging your generator into after a hurricane so that the generator sends power to this panel which in turn electrifies the circuits you tie it into in the main panel which eliminates the use of extension cords running everywhere which is quite dangerous and a general pain in the arss.
It's a great device to have when it works correctly as your fridge is running and even the hot water tank so you can take a hot shower as well as general lighting and outlets in the areas you will need the most like the kitchen and entertainment center.
So anyway the one had installed in my house burned up twice and had to have it repaired. This has been going on for over 2 years to get this taken care of. So I finally reached the end of my rope and demanded I get either a new one by another manufacturer or my money back.
Basically they told me to go f myself, and I have spent thousands and thousands of dollars at home dopey over the 20 years I've remodeled homes. Sorry for the length of my post. I only ever used them for construction materials 2x4's, metal studs,drywall and so on as that is all they were ever good for No faucets no sinks no appliances.
And now you know Thanks guys, aren't you glad you asked? When it comes to socially controversial issues, it's best for corporations to remain neutral. Home Depot's public support for homosexuality is such an issue. Home Depot's flaunting of this support slaps the faces of many Christian customers who shop at the stores.
After numerous failed attempts to convince Home Depot it needs to remain neutral or alienate most of its customers, my family, friends, and acquaintances decided to no longer shop there. Just to let you know. The cashier was Daniel DVV and he was being supervised by a women. The female supervisor insisted that the green tag be removed from the carpet.
I asked if I could have the green tag or a copy of the green tag. Cashier Daniel checked with the woman that was supervising him, and I was told, no you cannot have the green tag or a copy of the green tag. As I do not have the green tag or a copy of the green tag or the clear rapping, I can only let you know.
Why is this chain still in business with all these complaints? I know there are many more that do not spend the time to write because it doesnt get anywhere.
I personally know people employed by HD and will never work for them again,. Also the common complaint is geared towards their customers and the poor service rendered so why doesnt BBB do domething about this? I had no idea this website had soooooo many complaints and I too, am a very unhappy customers after four purchases of different items and each time it was a long dragged out experience. I DID give them the "benefit of doubt" Clean up your act or get out of the business!
My sister and my self were there to buy some lattice. We walked down the isles of the store and for a minute there was no one around to help us, just as we started to comment on this, a man appeared out of nowhere and asked if he could help, he looked as if he was just comming in to work because he had his home depot shirt in his hand. We told him what we where looking for and he told us which isle to go to and that he would send someone over.
Shortly afterwards a man named Ceasar came over he was the nicest most helpful person that I had every seen in any kind of store. Not only did he help us find what we where looking for but he helped us to roll it up, made us feel secure about it not breaking and went on to help us look for the little things that we needed such as hooks and zip ties.
He made us feel like he knew us personally and us him. It felt like a breath of fresh air. Home depot to need to employ more people like these two gentelmen in that Orange Connecticutt store. I speng way too much time walking up and down those aisles of Home depot. They always get new and better tools than the ones I bought a couple mnths ago.
I am a "new tool" fanatic i guess. Ordered a refrigerator, they said I should get a phone call when they would be delivering it Received no phone call. They left the refrigerator in front of my door. No knock or anything. What kind of delivery service is that???? Called Home Depot and they said it is their standard delivery service.
Home Depot needs to get it together and focus on the fools they hired. But then again it usually comes from the head of the company.
So it's like the Blind leading the Blind. Called to order a refrigerator and the operator said that is not an appliance. What the HECK you call it then????? I rarely used it for 8 months. Within the last 5 months of use it has broken on me twice. The first time it broke it took over 3 weeks. Within 1 week of me using it again it broke again. I took it back to the store and they had to send it back to Atlanta Ga. I live and purchased the equipment in Memphis Tn. To this day it has been 2 weeks and they have not even received it in the repair center.
This has been a nightmare for customer service and store policy of repair and procedure. My only satisfaction at this point is a refund.
I have exhausted all efforts to get satisfaction from the store management , Rigid customer service and even Home Depot Corporate Office. What more can I do? Dear Customer Service Manager: I am compelled to write to you about the absolutely horrible service the we have been receiving while remodeling our bathroom. When our workers opened the medicine cabinet box to install, there was no parts box. I was given a date it would be in.
I called for over 10 days and no toilet. Next, I went to the Pittsburgh Ohio Twp. I waited and waited. No one came to help me. Quite a few employees walking around though. Today, I went to the Pittsburgh store to purchase my faucets for the bathroom, light switch plates and cleaning products. I stood in line for 25 minutes, with the two lines that were open stacking up behind me. Home Depot workers were standing around and watching.
The women in front of me, was applying for a Home Depot Credit Card on the tiny device you use to swipe your card. This was taking forever. This should be taken care of at the Service Desk. People are on their lunch break and have to get back to work. Finally, I said something, while everyone behind me was complaining. The cashier then called for assistance and took my purchases to another cash register.
I have been told by every contractor who has worked on my home not to use Home Depot. After reading all the negative comments, I have many doubts if Home Depot has any concern for customer service.
By Sarah Bousquet. In July I take my daughter to her first swimming lesson. We walk from our house down to the beach, where a young instructor and a few other neighborhood 2-year-olds meet. Mean And Funny Things To Say To Your Ex ★[ MEAN AND FUNNY THINGS TO SAY TO YOUR EX ]★ Suge Knight Girlfriend Missing ★ Mean And Funny Things To Say To Your Ex ★★ Get you. Radio Codes & Signals -- California. Email us your Radio Codes & Signals or Fleet code / Talk Group Updates. Scanner Frequencies & Codes Subscribe to National Communications Magazine America's #1 Scanning/CB/Two-Way Magazine.