20 lumps of clay and a not so good day

Every time I try to make square covered jars they end up sucking quite a bit. I get really frustrated and destroy most of them and so now I have 6. Six little not so great-ish, not so square-ish pots. I don't know what I am looking for with these, but not finding it yet, that much I know. I went flipping through my back issues of Clay Times because I remember an illustrated article about making square pots from the round but couldn't find it. Maybe it's in one of my Ceramics Monthly. Who the * knows. For some reason I'm just not in a great mood today. So here's a story. I'll finish below.


So I go to the cable place (Time Warner Cable next to the liquor store, a FIIINE place if you don't mind interacting with robotrons) and they ask for our phone number (got it) name (got it) last four digits of Adam's SSN (um, what?) "I don't have that", I say. Well we need it. "You need his social security number for me to cancel cable? Don't you think that's a little intrusive?" It's our policy. "Well I don't have it. You have all the other stuff. I'm his wife." That doesn't matter. "What?" It's government regulation.

I try to call Adam but am unable to reach him. "Can I just leave this (the remote and cable box) here and I'll have him call you?" We can't give out our phone number. I feel like I've been dropped on my head. "You can't give out your phone number. Are you serious?" (I say these last three words with a slight valley-girl inflection) No we can't, but you can call this number. She hands me a card where I can reach a corporate answering clone. Store policy, she says again. "Okay fine, can I just leave this stuff here and as soon as I reach him I'll have him call." No. "I can't leave this stuff here?" No, she says again.

I am tired of pretending any longer that this conversation is rational. I pick up the box, checkbook, and remote and tuck the special little corporate contact card into my wallet. "You know," I say, "I don't expect you to care much because it's only 40$ a month, but when I tell my husband about this, he's gonna be furious and you're going to loose us as customers" (for this I receive a blank stare). I start to walk out, turn back around and say simply: "this is ridiculous" and then as I turn again to leave I drop my check book and bill onto the floor and so have to bend over while balancing the cable box, remote and my wallet, to pick them up from the floor. I wonder if this might have lessened the drama of my parting last words but then as I reach the door, I pause and turning only my head to aim my words with precision I say: "it's only cable you know", and walk away. I get into my car and carefully back out and drive away. No screeching tires, no slamming doors, no flipping of birds, just pure, dignified outrage.

So Adam WAS angry and called the corporate clone and canceled and we did have our revenge in a small way. He refused to drive up to return the cable box again, and so they are sending a postage-paid box for us to return everything in. They could have cared less we were cancelling and their cheerful parting words were: "is there anything else we can help you with today?" How friendly. How absolutely, condescendingly, corporately friendly. So now we have to switch from cable internet to DSL through the phone co. I'm not so sure we came out ahead here but sometimes we just have to prove a point.


Some sad clay worms recuperating from the abuse they suffered on the wheel and a beer which did not make me feel better one bit.