Category Archives: Albany

Some days I just feel like Albany is fucking with me. It’s like someone is playing some big cosmic joke, baiting me with nonsense like this that seems so far removed from what a reasonable person would do to themselves that it can’t possibly be true. When did bad ponytails become de rigueur for downtown Albany? No one will ever mistake us for Downton Abbey if this look continues (ok, and even if it doesn’t.)

These aren’t even bad ponytails, they’re horrendous. Atrocious. Vile. And please note that I’m not judging anything other than the hair these folks have decided to fashion atop their heads in this manner. We have less control over body-type and what will fit on us, but there is never an excuse for hair like this. Why would anyone with a mirror, or mirror-like substance (take out a piece of foil for God’s sake!) do something so ghastly to themselves? I just don’t understand it. I’m all for making your own mark on the world, so I shouldn’t judge. But I am. Because this is a choice, a very poor choice, and it could have been averted.

Now I have to walk around with a pair of scissors and hope no one gets offended when I offer it to them. Like I have nothing better to do on my lunch break. Unbelievable.

It struck me as I finally received some impeccable service at Starbucks that whenever I post about customer service experiences here in this blog, they’re usually complaints. That’s not fair, nor is it an accurate representation of the average service one gets. (Even if what gets reported here did actually happen.) However, in the name of the positivity of the Spice Girls, here is a post of a celebratory nature, one that extols the virtues of a particular Starbucks employee who always makes my day a little brighter.

I’ve gone to the Starbucks on the end of Wolf Road (airport side) a number of times. It’s the closest one to my home (aside from the atrocious pseudo-Starbucks run by the more-atrocious Price Chopper). Yes, there’s a crazy woman who works there and who once asked what size I wanted after I ordered a grande decaf (umm, grande?), but she’s otherwise benign. I keep coming back at the risk of encountering her for the possibility of getting served by her co-worker, a seriously kick-ass barista named Laura.

Laura always perks me up with her effervescent spirit, and she treats each customer as if they’re the most important person in her world. On days when I’m weary of humanity, when I’m less than thrilled with my life – and we all have those days – I am buoyed by her infectious energy and indefatigable spirit. That kind of care isn’t easily faked, and the enthusiasm and passion required to put it over is real and genuine, and always appreciated by this customer. She calls everyone “darling” and it’s not cloying or fake, and she has a knack for patience and friendliness that deserves mention and admiration. I’ll cc the powers-that-be at Starbucks on this one, because sometimes the good things are just as important as the bad. In fact, they’re more important. Thank you, Laura, for reminding me of how decent customer service, and simple human kindness, can make all the difference.

If you know the owner of this blue truck, please inform him that he is a total dick-wad/douche-bag. I had just pulled into the Price Chopper parking lot and was about to start walking towards the entrance when this truck recklessly pulled into the first handicapped spot. Aside from the fact that he almost hit me while I was on foot, he also did not have a handicapped tag hanger in his truck, nor any indication of such on the license plate. Instead, he hopped out of the driver’s seat in a pair of ratty flip lops, and jauntily strode into the store.

I almost said something, but he was sporting an almost-mullet, and I’m scared that anyone with a mullet doesn’t have the sense to deal with people in a reasonable manner. Instead, I watched, figuring maybe he was just in a massive hurry and needed to get something quickly. He grabbed a push cart and began his shopping, at which point I let it go.

As I came out after getting my few items, he was apparently still shopping, so the quick pick-up theory was out the window. I took these pics of his offending (and offensive) dilapidated vehicle, when an older woman hobbled out of her car, which did have a handicapped hanger in it. She saw me taking photos and asked if it was because he didn’t have a hanger. I said yes. She clutched the cart to keep herself upright and said she’d vouch for me if I needed her to. I smiled – I wasn’t filing a report or anything, I told her, I was just going to broadcast it to thousands of people. Public shaming usually goes further than a paltry Price Chopper police report.

“Oh, I don’t know how that Twitter and stuff works, but I’ll vouch for you if you need it,” she repeated. I said it wasn’t necessary, and bade her good day. She pushed her cart past the ugly truck and into the store.

Scene: Price Chopper Store #188 – Shaker Road – Loudonville

It was 8 AM and I was in a rush to get to work. In my hand was a bouquet of flowers that I figured wouldn’t take more than two minutes to select and purchase. I foolishly assumed that the market would have enough registers open to get those of us en route to work in and out within a reasonable time frame. Of course, as I eyed the registers, there were only two open, and no one was even at the express lane. Five or six workers scuttled about the customer service space near the registers, so I caught the eye of the oldest woman there and asked if the express line was open (since it was, after all, lit). She said no, it wasn’t at that moment. I hurried to the only other open register, where a woman stood waiting for a manager to stop by.

She was wrangling with coupons. Lots of coupons. One of which was ringing up incorrectly and not giving “triple points” or some other nonsense. The manager haplessly scanned and rescanned and nothing worked. At this point I was just as mad at the miserly coupon lady as I was at the incompetent scanners. But, remembering my own five year stint of retail, I took a deep breath and re-ordered priorities. Five minutes later and no resolution in sight, the woman who had initially refused to take me in the open express lane had been forced to open up, but by then there were too many people for me to fight past to get in that line. Finally it was my turn and I was in no mood for small talk.

When the cashier asked me how I was, I replied, “I’m going to be late.”

She sensed my tone but instead of letting it go she decided to challenge me. “Why is that?” she asked.

“Umm, because this transaction took a lot longer than expected,” I replied.

“Well, you’re in a grocery store,” she shot back with just the slightest edge to her voice.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

Your line is, “I’m sorry for the delay.”

Blaming poor, and slow, service on the fact that it’s a grocery store is like blaming a match for being flammable.

I think she caught my look, because before I could say anything else she complimented me on my vest. Twice.

I thanked her and left, but it left me with the same sour taste that Price Chopper has been leaving in my mouth since we moved here.

Andy has been waging a mini-war with this particular Price Chopper store for years, finally starting to call them out on their exorbitant prices and actively comparing (with photos) their items with those of Hannaford. Price Chopper is almost always more expensive. I’ve had my own issues with this location – a leaky roof that was dripping onto their own products got a shrug from a manager on-duty one night I was there, while their Starbucks idiocy ended up with the parent company sending me a bunch of free drink tickets, but I’ve given up fighting back in person. Far better to put it down for posterity here, until someone sees the post and service improves. Thus far, that’s proven a futile effort, but it’s better to get it off my chest that take it out on their staff, no matter how much they claimed to like my vest.

For this year’s Gay Soiree, I had the privilege of watching Jeze Bel shine in this glorious Glinda get-up, while I stepped out in a houndstooth suit, corset, and ridiculously-heeled boots. All in all, it was a hoot and a half, and a badly-needed dose of glamour and fun in this never-ending winter.

I switched it up from the black lace underwear I wore to last year’s event to something much warmer, seeing as how I froze my lacy ass off that first time around. Wool is a much better choice for a chilly evening in early March. As for the venue, it was in one of those hidden jewels of downtown Albany – in a space that I believe had once been a bank (as so many gorgeous buildings once were). Thanks to the atmosphere and the Wizard of Oz theme, it was a magical night that felt like stepping into a Technicolor fun-house. I’m already looking forward to next year’s event.

“I’m sorry, but this is not a democracy.” ~ Madonna

In spite of those words, and the utterly-false promise of the post title, I’m still gunning to place on this year’s Metroland Readers’ Poll 2015. If you live in the Albany area, stop by and click on their Readers’ Poll section and give the voting a whirl. (If I had my wish, I’d be up for Best Local Blog for www.ALANILAGAN.com…hint, hint, oh-so-heavy hint.) An incentive: you need to see the acceptance speech I have planned in the unlikely event I make it to the top. Let’s just say it will have to be done via video. Yeah, it’s that precious.

In all seriousness, this is your chance to let the local small businesses shine, and excise the chain gangs once and for all (well, at least on a readers’ poll). It’s always disheartening to see something like D’Raymond’s get trounced by an atrocity like The Olive Garden, but that’s the problem when you put taste into the hands of the masses. I’m an acquired one, so I’m pretty sure I don’t stand a chance, but there are businesses and people who really deserve this, so click away and let your voice be heard.

(Minor side-note anecdote: I contributed one article to Metroland, over a decade ago. It was for their Sex issue that year, and it was a lament on how clean and sterile gay sex had gotten. They made me take out one line, and it happened to be my favorite line of the whole piece: “I want shit on the condom.” Out of context it doesn’t work as well, but damn it feels good to finally say it.)

“And if you don’t vote, you’re gonna get a spanky. Cut.” ~ Madonna

When the barista at Starbucks gets to the point where she says, “You’re going to shoot me,” it’s a clear indication that something has gone tragically wrong with an order. Having just expounded upon last week’s incident at the Starbucks located in the nearby Price Chopper, I decided to give them another chance a week later. I guess it was too soon.

Deciding that perhaps I had been too harsh in my hasty first-world-problems as outlined in earlier posts, I decided to give the company a more devoted try, putting another $25 on my Starbucks card just last night. I got in touch with a friend at work and asked if she wanted anything, so I went into the store and ordered her drink (an iced Venti pumpkin latte) and a decaf Salted Caramel frappuccino for myself (in the hopes that the salt and caramel had arrived).

The issue this time wasn’t the ingredients, but the decaf. Apparently Starbucks doesn’t have decaf frappuccinos. Which was strange, considering all the ones I’ve ordered in the last three years. I don’t care one way or another, I’d order a simple decaf coffee, but someone in Starbucks is wrong somewhere here, and they really need to straighten that out. I then asked for an iced decaf, which they said they couldn’t do. Exasperated, but still trying to be kind, I asked what sort of decaf drink they might be able to make. A hot decaf drip was it. So I said that would work.

As they finished making the drinks, the server recited the opening lines of this post: “You’re going to shoot me.” I had just produced my newly reloaded Starbucks card and she eyed it wearily. “The register isn’t accepting Starbucks cards.”

Of course it isn’t! Why would the registers be working when the store has been open for well over a week? That would be like having iced decaf on hand at a Starbucks! I told them I didn’t have any cash, but there’s money on the card, basically waiting for them to make some sort of offer. I told them my boss would be very upset if I didn’t bring in her drink. The manager then came over and said since they had already made them I could have them for free, provided that I agree “in good faith” to come back again. (Her words.)

“Yes. Absolutely,” I said.

(As soon as they have decaf coffee and accept Starbucks cards.)

I really want to like Starbucks. I enjoy their coffee, I respect their stance on social issues, and for the most part I appreciate the friendliness and competence of their employees. Yet certain locations in the Capital District seem hell-bent on making me hate the company. There was this incident, where I was ejected from a store because I didn’t have a Starbucks drink in hand. I forgave and forgot, but now comes another bad experience.

When I heard that a Starbucks was opening in the newly-revamped Price Chopper behind my house, I did a little happy dance. Prior to this, the closest location was on Wolf Road, and I try to avoid Wolf Road if at all possible. While the signs indicate that the new store is open and ready for business, do not be fooled. They are not ready to serve people, as evidenced when I tried to order a decaf salted caramel frappuccino. They scrambled for the “recipe” then realized they did not have the salt or the caramel for it. I asked for a decaf mocha frap at that point, which they also had to look up. I repeated that it was decaf, then averted my eyes so as to make things less uncomfortable while the drink was made, looking around at the ruckus going on in the front of the store. Loud crashes and the pounding of hammers accompanied the morning. It was not the first time I wondered at the wisdom of keeping the store open during a complete renovation.

As they brought my coffee to the register, I asked one last time if it was decaf (this sort of forgetfulness has happened in the past, and my co-workers will agree that it bodes well for no one if you get me hyped-up on caffeine) at which point the woman all but shrieked and said she’d forgotten. She handed it back to the other person to make again, and said she would ring me out while we waited. Of course, not one of the Starbucks registers was working, so we went over to the deli area to settle up.

Now, I don’t mind a snafu or two, particularly in the early-days of a just-opened store, but having had absolutely every part of this simple transaction go wrong, they clearly weren’t ready to open. I wouldn’t have bothered if I’d known what an ordeal it was going to be. And since the store renovation has been going on for over a year, a few more days to properly train employees would not have mattered. If you’re going to pretend you’re open, at least be ready for, say, a paying customer.

A friend who knows more about the company advised that I seek out free-standing stores unaffiliated or attached to other companies or locations. He may be onto something, as the incompetence I experienced at the Price Chopper-housed kiosk reeked of Price Chopper service. That particular store is notorious for dismal customer service – this is the one where the ceiling was leaking rainwater onto merchandise one night and when I told the only person I could find I was met with a shrug and indifference (and a mental note to not buy any frozen goods in that section of the store.)

I’ll try back in a couple of weeks, and keep my snarky Tweets to a minimum – Price Chopper is likely sick of reading them. In the meantime, I strongly advise that you get your Starbucks fix elsewhere.