The Gift That Keeps on Giving

Today, my sister LM texted me a photograph of her Christmas present from our mother. Yep, she too got a box of meat from Omaha Steaks. I stopped eating red meat a while ago, although I was never a big fan before then. LM, on the other hand, hasn’t had a piece of red meat, other than bacon, which doesn’t count, since 1987. She has even less interest in a gift of burgers, hot dogs, and steaks than I.

I didn’t really do anything about my unwanted gift, other than to find the whole story amusing enough to share it. My sister, however, is much more proactive. She doesn’t take shit, or steaks, lying down. She is a problem solver, and red meat or no, she was going to get the gift she deserved. And deserve it she does. She still sees my mother every month or so, if for no other reason than to lessen the guilt that comes from estrangement.  I support her in her efforts. That way I still know what’s going on in the world of crazy in which my mother lives, but without any of the shitstorm that goes along with it.

LM called the 800 number on her meat gift invoice and spoke with some unhelpful asshat in the customer service department. She explained to him that she received the gift of meat, and that as a non-meat eater, she would like to return it or exchange it for some non-meat products she would rather have. The Omaha agent told her they don’t do refunds, and she should just donate her unwanted gift to a neighbor or the fire department. She even offered to take it back to her local Omaha Steak store, but representative told her they don’t take back food, and if she did that, they would still have to throw it away. Better to give it to the firemen.

She sat on that information for a little while, but had trouble digesting it, much like she would with meat.  She called them back and spoke with someone else. This time, the customer service person agreed with her logic that giving meat to a non-meat eater and making her keep it or give it away didn’t seem fair. She made a notation in my sister’s now open meat account that she didn’t eat meat, and then offered her a $65 credit to be used towards other products that they offer, products like side dishes and desserts, products that don’t bleed. She could do what she liked with the meat she received, give it to a neighbor, a fireman, back to our mother, whatever.  She texted me the much abbreviated version of her experience along with the customer service number she found on their website.

I figured, hell, it worked for her, I’ll give it a try too. I called the number she texted me, and spoke with a different asshat who had the same script. I explained to him that my mother had sent me the gift of meat, but as a non-meat eater, I wanted to know if I could return it or exchange it for other products. He told me to give it to my local fire department or a neighbor. Seriously, what is it with the fire department? When I went on to explain about my mother having memory problems, he then told me that it was between me and my mother, and that I needed to tell her what kind of gifts I liked better than meat.

Rude does not begin to describe how that man spoke to me. I have been harassed by collection agencies with more tact and manners. Well, not personally, but I hear they are pretty horrible. I had no intention of calling Omaha at all, but now I was pissed.

I asked to speak to a supervisor, and the asshat put me on hold while he told his supervisor his side of the story. I hate that being on hold part; it feels like waiting while your mugger decides to just stab you or rape you and then light you on fire. The supervisor got on the line and gave me the same speech about the firemen, adding that it would be a shame for good food to go to waste. I told him that was debatable, the good food part. I have no problem with feeding firemen. They are hungry guys.

We went back and forth on the whole confused mother thing. I explained to him the reason I  had asked to speak to him was that his representative was rude. I don’t expect them to be able to do anything about my mother, although how amazing would it be if there were an 800 number for that service? I reminded him about his 100% satisfaction guaranteed policy, and pointed out I was not, in fact, satisfied. He offered to return my mother’s money to her, and I accepted.  

I still wasn’t happy. I just had that bitter taste of frustration left in my mouth, not unlike the metallic irony taste of beef. I got on my computer as a distraction, but found myself perusing the Facebook page for Omaha Steaks. I noticed that every comment that had been left received a reply from an Omaha representative. I thought I would try again. They had a post about sharing your Omaha story with them, so I commented something along the lines of having a shitty customer service experience that I would be happy to share.

Apparently, the customer service pros are all on Facebook over there, because not ten minutes went by before I got an instant message asking me to explain what had happened, followed by a request for my phone number to discuss it further with me, followed by not one but two calls during dinner, just like my mother would do, to try to remedy a negative comment on their Facebook wall.

I called back and spoke with my third customer service individual, because clearly I had nothing better to do yesterday than fight over some unwanted steaks. The man  with whom I spoke apologized repeatedly for the rudeness I had experienced earlier in the day. He said there was nothing they could do to fix the situation other than to stop it from happening again. His solution? Fax a copy of my mother’s power of attorney to them, so that if she tries to order me more red meat, they can call her authorized representative for approval.  At least he didn’t ask for a copy of my mother’s medical records to prove she actually had a diagnosis of dementia.

Am I 100% satisfied? No, but I am 100% tired of thinking about steaks. I will not be sending a copy of a power of attorney to Omaha steaks. My mom may or may not get her money back. My sister gets to pick out more chicken and a cheesecake. My other sister still didn’t get a gift from my mother. And my husband? Well, he can’t wait to fire up the grill.

For Me? You Shouldn't Have

I received the oddest Christmas present today from my mother. Never mind that Christmas was two weeks ago, and it just arrived today, and given that it came with its own little bag of dry ice, it was, no doubt, ordered within the past couple of days. I suppose it is the thought that counts, and I should be thankful she sent me anything. Except what I am counting is the lack of thought, or maybe just the afterthought.

This is the card I would like to send:

Only it would be lost on her.

My mother sent me a box of meat. Omaha steaks, to be exact. The gift included, in addition to some fabulous dry ice that my husband no doubt will play with after dinner, four (4) steaks, four (4) chicken breasts, four (4) burgers, eight (8) hot dogs, and four (4) stuffed baked potatoes. It’s a generous gift, I suppose. I spent a good twenty minutes researching their website to find the value of the meaty gift assortment, and I couldn’t find this particular grouping, which makes me think she selected the items individually to make her own package. Or perhaps there was a coupon in the Sunday paper that isn’t reflected on the website. Maybe Costco had a special. Regardless, I got a box of meat, mostly red, to enjoy with my family.

This would be a good time to tell you that I don’t eat red meat.

I shouldn’t have to tell my mother I don’t eat red meat, because she knows. Or she used to know. Most likely she forgot, and in her defense, she does have some pretty significant memory problems.  Really, though, that doesn’t matter so much as the part where she decided that was the gift she wanted to give me, her daughter. I am not a big meat eater, nor have I ever been. I am also not hungry, like millions of Americans who do not have enough to eat and would be thrilled to receive a box of meat. I can afford to buy food for myself and my family, food that we actually want to eat.

But seriously, who gives their daughter the gift of meat? If you don’t know what to get someone, or you don’t want to put a lot of time and energy into gift giving, do you consider meat your default? What are you, a butcher?

When I was a pre-teen, which is what kids were called before they came up with tween, my mother also did not eat red meat. She gave up her extra rare London broil about the same time she gave up cigarettes, two healthy habits that lasted until about three or four years ago, which means for a good thirty years. I remember one time after my mom stopped eating red meat, my grandmother invited us over for dinner. She had made a big pot of meaty chili, and my mother had a conniption fit. How dare her own mother forget she no longer ate beef?  If memory serves me correctly, she screamed and stomped around like a two year old. What was she supposed to eat? Didn’t my grandmother think of anyone but herself? Couldn’t she for once support my mother in anything she tried to do? I wish my grandmother had told her to just eat the beans out of the chili. That would have been funny. Instead, my grandmother didn't have us over to dinner for a long time, because who needs that kind of abuse?

Blogging about my mother giving me a box of red meat isn’t the equivalent of having a temper tantrum. I can use the chicken. I can feed the rest to my husband or some friends or a pack of wild dogs. It will not go to waste.

Honestly, when my children received checks in the mail last Friday, and still over a week after Christmas, I was taken aback. Where was my check? My mother didn’t send anything to me? Did she forget about me, or was that a subtle fuck you?  

I didn't forget about her. In fact, I sent her gift early, so there was no doubt I planned on getting her a present. Hell, I even sent her something I knew she would like, because I thought about her, and thinking about my mother isn’t something I enjoy doing.

It feels good to know she didn’t forget about me. My sisters still haven’t received anything, although I am sure their steaks will be there tomorrow. One of my sisters also doesn’t eat red meat, so I know she is looking forward to her gift. And my other sister doesn’t want to eat meat of unknown and dubious origin or quality. Just because it came in the mail doesn’t make it safe or healthy or ethical.

Whatever. At least it wasn’t another box of flowers that I have to arrange myself. Besides, that’s my birthday present.

I am not really upset, more just amused. I gave birth to you. Now we don’t talk much.  Here’s some meat. I wonder what she gives to people she likes. I also wonder if there are any such people.

I love my daughters, and I am pretty sure they love me too. I have promised them no matter what happens in life, no matter if we get along or don’t, I will never send them mail order meat for Christmas.