Mother Of Five

The mother of five had a long day, and yet, not even noon. Well, a long week, really. Honestly, every week, but let's focus on what's at hand. Of the numerous issues, the accumulated aggravations, and perpetually recurring chores, the task of the moment was a recent bill. Macy's. She enjoyed this delightful store. A fun place to browse for clothes and household decor, pick up a thing or two as needed, of course, only during those rare occasions when she actually had time with which to browse. That infrequency of available time made it special.

The bill was received in last week's mail. A billing error was noted and today was designated for resolution seeking. The error was a double charge. Same amount, same date. Certainly just a mistake, but a phone call was necessitated for a fix, and in the midst of a busy week, because every week for her is busy. Today, though, it gets done, along with all the regular chores which continue to resurface day after day, week after week. She was tenacious, efficient, and determined to see this through to its fruitful completion, as she would everything else.

She had five youngsters, two at home and three more in school. The two were napping, thankfully. It had never occurred to her in younger years, as a young mother, when she had just the one, then two kids, and so forth, in those years past with a growing brood in her future. Of all the conceptions, she had never conceived of how thankful she would one day be for the institution of grade school. From the hours of 8 am to 3 pm she had help. Familial assistance with at least some of her kids contained in school.

School days, those seven blessed hours were her opportunity to get things done. Her To-Do list could entail any of a wide variety of tasks from laundry, vacuuming, grocery shopping, washing floors, meal preparation, ironing, diaper duty, school drop offs and pick ups, you know, household tasks. Today, though, it was the phone call to Macy's. Must resolve before that bill comes due, and that date was encroaching more quickly than tasks were getting completed, despite her vaunted efficiency. So goes her frustration.

The two youngest were down for a nap. She viewed nap time as her daily superpower, her efficiency boost. If lucky, maybe an hour of napping peace while she stepped up her game, the wonder woman she is. Nap time allowed her to tackle tough tasks unencumbered, those requiring some concentration. Something of which she found herself to be in short supply with so many little ones afoot.

Looking into her future, there appeared no break on the horizon, even with a fourth entering grade school next year. How to get it all done and have the strength to do it again another day, every day, she pondered, but only briefly because there was too much to do, and very little time leftover for the luxury of a good pondering.

She dialed the phone number indicated on the bill, engaged the phone system matrix to speak with a representative about the billing error. 'A human, please,' she thought to herself. She was flustered at this additional chore, this phone call, this having to deal with a human, when she already had too many items from which to choose needing her dangerously diluted attention. Her patience, typically commendable, even under her busy familial constraints, was running short today.

She was on hold, looking at her watch. As each minute on hold ticked off, her kids' nap time wound down by that same corresponding minute. Time to seek resolution was slipping away, as if seeping through a sieve, before even having a chance to engage. Finally, there it was, the representative picked up!

"Hello, thank you for waiting. How may I help you," asked the phone representative.

"Hi, yes, thank you. There was a billing error on my current bill. Can you please fix it," started the mother of five, no time for pleasantries, straightforward was the way.

"I'll certainly try to do that. First, what's that account number?"

"I've already provided that on the automated phone system before it put me on hold."

"Thank you, and I'm sorry for the inconvenience. The account number didn't carry forward. Will you please provide it again?"

The mother of five did as requested, then the questioning promptly resumed.

"Just a few questions, please. They're needed for verification."

"OK, if that's needed. What information do you need," pursed lips in an effort to contain her waning patience.

"What is your PIN?"

"My what?"

"Your phone PIN, ma'am. You might have set that up when you first opened the account," offered the phone rep hoping this would provide the useful nudge needed to move the phone call forward.

"I don't understand what you're asking me," replied the mother, nervously looking at the baby monitor on the kitchen countertop, thankfully still quiet.

"Your PIN. It would be a numerical code you entered. This is used for the verification process," explaining further, knowing instinctively this was not going to progress as hoped.

"This account was opened more than five years ago. I don't remember any PIN," losing her cool in just the slightest. A kink in the armor, if you will. A budding impatience broaching the surface of her consciousness, but she must retain her cool long enough to complete the task. "Can you please tell me my PIN so I can write it down for next time," asked the mother.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, you need to tell me the PIN. I can't tell you."

"Well, I don't understand what that is. Is there another question you can ask instead," an edge in her voice as she looked at the clock knowing nap time was getting dangerously close to concluding.

"There is a backup question. I'll ask you that," offered the phone rep.

"Yes, please, I just hope this won't take long."

"What are the birthdates of your children."

"The what? You want the birthdate? For which child."

"All the birthdates," the phone rep said, closing her eyes and cringing to herself as she said it.

With that, the mother of five was on the cusp of snapping. Her mind going through the mental gymnastics being triggered with this engagement. All the birthdates?! Who are these people to think a busy mom can have such details available on a whim, at a moment's notice, when there is so much she already has juggling in the air at any time. Dammit if this load was not one load too far, this unreasonable ask. 

Slowly, a deep breath to try to keep calm, without so much as a peep at first, the five-second pause before the storm, but it was too much. Her brain wrapped itself around the roadblock to her resolution. There was no time for such bullshit as is being requested by her phone foe. She exhaled. There was nothing left to unravel. This ball of yarn had become completely unwound. Her shoulders slumped. It was too much and too far. Her patience had leaked out as if from a compromised helium balloon. Then she fired back.

"All the birthdates?! I have five of 'em! I can't remember all of them off hand," her tone of voice and cadence changed as if she had transformed into a leather-clad super villain. She might as well have been wielding a bicycle chain swinging over her head looking for blood and assessing how to inflict maximum damage.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, that's the back up question," an uncomfortable pit in her belly, feeling solidarity for the mom.

"Certainly you're joking! Five birthdates," she exclaimed before redirecting. Task completion must be the focus. Bring it back under control. "How about the years born instead," hoping to broach a more attainable qualifying threshold.

The phone representative, it turned out, was no foe. She was a sister-in-arms living under familiar familial constraints, to the point that going to work was sometimes a treat to get out from under the endless domestic tasks necessitated by her own children, an escape, a reprieve. Five birthdates on the whim. Yes, the phone rep knew it was baloney, these protocols passed down by the elites in corporate's ivory tower. She could barely remember the birthdates of her own kids under the tension of this phone call.

"Sister, you're absolutely right. Tell me those birth years, please. Nail those and we'll consider you verified," crossing this threshold into decency, helping out the mother in her moment of distress. Screw the protocols, she would do the right thing instead.

In the background a baby monitor started to sound off. One of the children was awake, not yet crying, but soon would be, then the second would follow. Resolution was underway, but it must be prompt. Her stress seemingly never ending. 

[This is based on a real life scenario as recently told by my Mom, probably took place in the late 1970s, my four siblings and I were youngsters. A Macy's billing error to resolve. She specifically recalled the phone rep asking for ALL FIVE birthdates. Mom got upset at the audacity of asking for All five, let the phone rep know it, then pivoted to offering the birth years. Mom was laughing about it now, 50 years after the fact. My parents had five of us, and it was Mom maneuvering all us monkeys every day, and still, she was nails, never flinched, and got things done, even brought that phone verification conundrum to its successful resolution. wdk]